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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0fccedc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54097 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54097) diff --git a/old/54097-0.txt b/old/54097-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b404b80..0000000 --- a/old/54097-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11998 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Black is White, by George Barr McCutcheon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Black is White - -Author: George Barr McCutcheon - -Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54097] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK IS WHITE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -BLACK IS WHITE - -By George Barr Mccutcheon - -Author Of “Graustark,” “Brewster's Millions,” “Truxton King,” “Rose In -The Ring,” “Mary Midthorne,” Etc. - -London - -Everett & Co., Ltd. - -1915 - - - - - -BLACK IS WHITE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -The two old men sat in the library, eyeing the blue envelope that lay -on the end of the long table nearest the fireplace, where a merry but -unnoticed blaze crackled in the vain effort to cry down the shrieks of -the bleak December wind that whistled about the corners of the house. - -Someone had come into the room--they did not know who nor when--to poke -up the fire and to throw fresh coals into the grate. No doubt it was the -parlourmaid. She was always doing something of the sort. It seemed to -be her duty. Or, it might have been the housekeeper, in case the -parlourmaid was out for the evening. Whoever it was, she certainly had -poked up the fire, and in doing so had been compelled to push two pairs -of feet out of the way to avoid trampling upon them. - -Still they couldn't recall having seen her. For that matter, it wasn't -of the slightest consequence. Of course, they might have poked it up -themselves and saved her the trouble, but these ancients were not in the -habit of doing anything that could be done by menials in the employ -of Mr Brood. Their minds were centred upon the blue envelope that -had arrived shortly after dinner. The fire was an old story; the blue -envelope was a novelty. - -From some shifting spot far out upon the broad Atlantic the contents -of that blue envelope had come through the air, invisible, mysterious, -uncanny. They could not understand it at all. A wireless message! It was -the first of its kind they had seen, and they were very old men, who had -seen everything else in the world--if one could believe their boastful -tales. - -They had sailed the seven seas and they had traversed all the lands of -the earth, and yet here was mystery. A man had spoken out of the air -a thousand miles away, and his words were lying there on the end of a -library-table, in front of a cheerful hearthstone, within reach of their -wistful fingers; and someone had come in to poke up the fire without -their knowledge. How could they be expected to know? - -There was something maddening in the fact that the envelope would have -to remain unopened until young Frederic Brood came home for the night. -They found themselves wondering if by any chance he would fail to come -in at all. Their hour for retiring was ten o'clock, day in, day out. -As a rule they went to sleep about half-past eight. They seldom retired -unless someone made the act possible by first awakening them. - -The clock on the wide mantelpiece had declared some time before, in -ominous tones, that half-past ten had arrived, and yet they were not -sleepy. They had not been so thoroughly wideawake in years. - -Up to half-past nine they discussed the blue envelope with every inmate -of the house, from Mrs John Desmond, the housekeeper, down to the -voiceless but eloquent decanter of port that stood between them, first -on the arm of one chair, then the other. They were very old men; -they could soliloquise without in the least disturbing each other. An -observer would say, during these periods of abstraction, that their -remarks were addressed to the decanter, and that the poor decanter had -something to say in return. But, for all that, their eyes seldom left -the broad blue envelope that had lain there since half-past eight. - -They knew that it came directly or indirectly from the man to whom -they owed their present condition of comfort and security after half -a century of vicissitudes; from the man whose life they had saved more -than once in those old, evil days when comforts were so few that they -passed without recognition in the maelstrom of events. From mid-ocean -James Brood was speaking to his son. His words--perhaps his cry for -help--were lying there on the end of the table, confined in a flimsy blue -envelope, and no one dared to liberate them. - -Frederic Brood deserved a thrashing for staying out so late--at least, -so the decanter had been told a dozen times or more, and the clock, -too, for that matter, to say nothing of the confidences reposed in the -coal-scuttle, the fire implements, and other patient listeners of a like -character. - -It may be well to state that these bosom friends and comrades of half a -hundred years had quarrelled at seven o'clock that evening over a very -important matter--the accuracy of individual timepieces. The watch of -Mr Danbury Dawes had said it was five minutes before seven; that of Mr -Joseph Riggs three minutes after. Since then neither had spoken to the -other, but each slyly had set his watch by the big clock in the hall -before going into dinner, and was prepared to meet any argument. - -Twenty years ago these two old cronies had met James Brood in one of the -blackest holes of Calcutta, a derelict being swept to perdition with -the swiftness and sureness of a tide that knows no pause. They found him -when the dregs were at his lips and the stupor of defeat in his brain. -Without meaning to be considered Samaritans, good or bad, they dragged -him from the depths and found that they had revived _a man_. Those were -the days when James Brood's life meant nothing to him, days when he was -tortured by the thought that it would be all too long for him to endure; -yet he was not the kind to murder himself as men do who lack the courage -to go on living. - -Weeks after the rescue in Calcutta, these two soldiers of fortune, and -another John Desmond, learned from the lips of the man himself that he -was not such as they, but rich in this world's goods, richer than the -Solomon of their discreet imagination. Shaken, battered, but sobered, he -related portions of his life's story to them, and they guessed the rest, -being men who had lived by correctly guessing for half the years of -their adventurous lives. - -Like Brood they were Americans. But, unlike him, they had spent most of -their lives in the deserts of time and had sown seeds which could -never be reaped except in the form of narrative. Ever in pursuit of the -elusive thing called luck, they had found it only in hairbreadth escapes -from death, in the cunning avoidance of catastrophe, in devil-may-care -leaps in the dark, in all the ways known to men who find the world too -small. - -Never had luck served them on a golden platter. For twenty-five years -and more these three men, Dawes, Riggs, and poor John Desmond, had -thrashed through the world in quest of the pot of gold at the foot of -the rainbow, only to find that the rainbow was for ever lifting, for -ever shifting; yet they complained not. They throve on misfortune, they -courted it along with the other things in life, and they were unhappy -only when ill luck singled one of them out and spared the others. - -What Brood told them of his life brought the grim smile of appreciation -to the lips of each. He had married a beautiful foreigner--an Austrian, -they gathered--of excellent family, and had taken her to his home in -New York City, a house in lower Fifth Avenue where his father and -grandfather had lived before him. And that was the very house in -which two of the wayfarers, after twenty years, now sat in rueful -contemplation of a blue envelope. - -A baby boy came to the Broods in the second year of their wedded life, -but before that there had come a man--a music-master, dreamy-eyed, -handsome, Latin; a man who played upon the harp as only the angels are -believed to play. In his delirious ravings Brood cursed this man and the -wife he had stolen away from him; he reviled the baby boy, even denying -him; he laughed with blood-curdling glee over the manner in which he had -cast out the woman who had broken his heart and crushed his pride; he -wailed in anguish over the mistake he had made in allowing the man to -live that he might gloat in triumph. - -This much the three men who lifted him from hell were able to learn from -lips that knew not what they said, and they were filled with pity. Later -on, in a rational weakness, he told them more, and without curses. A -deep, silent, steadfast bitterness succeeded the violent ravings. He -became a wayfarer with them, quiet, dogged, fatal; where they went he -also went; what they did so also did he. - -Soon he led, and they followed. Into the dark places of the world they -plunged. Perils meant little to him, death even less. They no longer -knew days of privation, for he shared his wealth with them; but they -knew no rest, no peace, no safety. Life had been a whirlwind before they -came upon James Brood; it was a hurricane afterward. - -Twice John Desmond, younger than Dawes and Riggs, saved the life of -James Brood by acts of unparalleled heroism: once in a South African -jungle when a lioness fought for her young, and again in upper India -when, single-handed, he held off a horde of Hindus for days while his -comrade lay wounded in a cavern. Dawes and Riggs, in the Himalayas, -crept down the wall of a precipice, with five thousand feet between them -and the bottom of the gorge, to drag him from a narrow ledge upon which -he lay unconscious after a misstep in the night. More than once--aye, -more than a dozen times--one or the other of these loyal friends stood -between him and death, and times without number he, too, turned the grim -reaper aside from them. - -John Desmond, gay, handsome, and still young as men of his kind go, met -the fate that brooks no intervention. He was the first to drop out of -the ranks. In Cairo, during a curious period of inactivity some ten -months after the advent of James Brood, he met the woman who conquered -his venturesome spirit; a slim, clean, pretty English governess in the -employ of a British admiral's family. They were married inside of a -fortnight. After the quiet little ceremony, from which the sinister -presence of James Brood was missing, he shook the bronzed hands of his -older comrades, and gave up the life he had led for the new one she -promised. At the pier Brood appeared and wished him well, and he sailed -away on a sea that bade fair to remain smooth to the end of time. He -was taking her home to the little Maryland town that had not seen him in -years. - -Ten years passed before James Brood put his foot on the soil of his -native land. Then he came back to the home of his fathers, to the home -that had been desecrated, and with him came the two old men who now sat -in his huge library before the crackling fire. He could go on with life, -but they were no longer fit for its cruel hardships. His home became -theirs. They were to die there when the time came. - -Brood's son was fifteen years of age before he knew, even by sight, the -man whom he called father. Up to the time of the death of his mother who -died heart-broken in her father's home--he had been kept in seclusion. - -There had been deliberate purpose in the methods of James Brood in so -far as this unhappy child was concerned. When he cast out the mother he -set his hand heavily upon her future. - -Fearing, even feeling, the infernal certainty that this child was not -his own, he planned with diabolical cruelty to hurt her to the limit of -his powers and to the end of her days. He knew she would hunger for this -baby boy of hers, that her heart could be broken through him, that her -punishment could be made full and complete. - -He sequestered the child in a place where he could not be found, and -went his own way, grimly certain that he was making her pay! She died -when Frederic was twelve years old, without having seen him again after -that dreadful hour when, protesting her innocence, she had been turned -out into the night and told to go whither she would, but never to return -to the house she had disgraced. James Brood heard of her death when in -the heart of China, and he was a haggard wreck for months thereafter. - -He had worshipped this beautiful Viennese. He could not wreak vengeance -upon a dead woman; he could not hate a dead woman. He had always loved -her. It was after this that he stood on the firing-line of many a -fiercely fought battle in the Orient, inviting the bullet that would rip -through his heart. - -It was not courage, but cowardice, that put him in spots where the -bullets were thickest; it was not valour that sent him among the -bayonets and sabres of a fanatical enemy. It was the thing at the bottom -of his soul that told him she would come to him once more when the -strife was ended, and that she was waiting for him somewhere beyond -the border to hear his plea for pardon! Of such flimsy shreds is man's -purpose made! - -Five years after his return to New York he brought her son back to the -house in lower Fifth Avenue and tried, with bitterness in his soul, -to endure the word “father” as it fell from lips to which the term was -almost strange. - -The old men, they who sat by the fire on this wind-swept night and -waited for the youth of twenty-two to whom the blue missive was -addressed, knew the story of James Brood and his wife Matilde, and they -knew that the former had no love in his heart for the youth who bore his -name. Their lips were sealed. Garrulous on all other subjects, they were -as silent as the grave on this. - -They, too, were constrained to hate the lad. He made not the slightest -pretence of appreciating their position in the household. To him they -were pensioners, no more, no less; to him their deeds of valour were -offset by the deeds of his father; there was nothing left over for a -balance on that score. He was politely considerate; he was even kindly -disposed toward their vagaries and whims; he endured them because there -was nothing else left for him to do. But, for all that, he despised -them; justifiably, no doubt, if one bears in mind the fact that they -signified more to James Brood than did his long-neglected son. - -The cold reserve that extended to the young man did not carry beyond him -in relation to any other member of the household so far as James Brood -was concerned. The unhappy boy, early in their acquaintance, came to -realise that there was little in common between him and the man he -called father. After a while the eager light died out of his own eyes -and he no longer strove to encourage the intimate relations he had -counted upon as a part of the recompense for so many years of separation -and loneliness. - -It required but little effort on his part to meet his father's -indifference with a coldness quite as pronounced. He had never known the -meaning of filial love; he had been taught by word of mouth to love the -man he had never seen, and he had learned as one learns astronomy--by -calculation. He hated the two old men because his father loved them. - -In a measure, this condition may serve to show how far apart they stood -from each other, James Brood and Frederic. Wanderlust and a certain -feeling of unrest that went even deeper than the old habits kept James -Brood away from his home many months out of the year. He was not an old -man; in fact, he was under fifty, and possessed of the qualities that -make for strength and virility even unto the age of fourscore years. -While his old comrades, far up in the seventies, were content to sit -by the fire in winter and in the shade in summer, he, not yet so old as -they when their long stretch of intimacy began, was not resigned to the -soft things of life. He was built of steel, and the steel within him -called for the clash with flint. He loved the spark of fire that flashed -in the contact. - -It was a harsh December night when the two old men sat guard over the -message from the sea, and it was on a warm June day that they had said -good-bye to him at the outset of his most recent flight. - -The patient butler, Jones, had made no less than four visits to the -library since ten o'clock to awaken them and pack them off to bed. Each -time he had been ordered away, once with the joint admonition to “mind -his own business.” - -“But it is nearly midnight,” protested Jones irritably, with a glance at -the almost empty decanter. - -“Jones,” said Danbury Dawes with great dignity and an eye that deceived -him to such a degree that he could not for the life of him understand -why Jones was attending them in pairs, “Jones, you ought to be -in--hic--bed, damn you both of you. Wha' you mean, sir, by coming in--hic--here -thish time o' night dis-disturbing----” - -“You infernal ingrate,” broke in Mr Riggs fiercely, “don't you dare to -touch that bottle, sir! Let it alone!” - -“It's time you were in bed,” pronounced Jones, taking Mr Dawes by the -arm. - -Mr Dawes sagged heavily in his chair and grinned triumphantly. He was a -short, very fat old man. - -“People who live in--hic--glass houses--------” he began amiably, and then -suddenly was overtaken by the thought of the moment before. “Take your -hand off of me, confoun' you! D' you sup-supposh I can go to bed with -my bes' frien' out there--hic--in the mid-middle of Atlan'ic Oc-o-shum, -sinking in four miles of wa-wa'er and calling f-far help?” - -“Take him to bed, Jones,” said Mr Riggs firmly. “He's drunk and-and -utterly useless at a time like this. Take him along.” - -“Who the dev--hic--il are you, sir?” demanded Mr Dawes, regarding Mr Riggs -as if he had never seen him before. - -“You are both drunk,” said Jones succinctly. Mr Riggs began to whimper. - -“My bes' frien' is drawnin' by inches, and you come in here and tell me -I'm drunk. It's most heartless thing I ever heard of. Isn't it, Danbury, -ol' pal? Isn't it, damn you? Speak up!” - -“Drawnin' by inches--hic--in four miles of wa-water,” admitted Mr Dawes -miserably. “My God, Jo-Jones, do you know how many--hic--inches there are -in four miles?” - -Moved by the same impulse, the two old men struggled to their feet and -embraced each other, swayed by an emotion so honest that all sense of -the ludicrous was removed. Even Jones, though he grinned, allowed a note -of gentleness to creep into his voice. - -“Come along, gentlemen, like good fellows. Let's go to bed. I'm sure the -message to Mr Frederic is not as bad as you----” - -Mr Riggs, who was head and shoulders taller than Mr Dawes, made a -gesture of despair with both arms, forgetting that they encircled his -friend's neck, with the result that both of his bony elbows came in -violent contact with Mr Dawes's ears, almost upsetting him. - -“Don't argue, Jones,” he interrupted dismally. “I know it's bad news. So -does Mr Dawes. Don't you, Danbury?” - -“What d' you mean by--hic--knockin' my hat off?” demanded Mr Dawes -furiously, shaking his fist at Mr Riggs from rather close quarters--so -close, in fact, that Mr Riggs suddenly clapped his hands to his stomach -and emitted a surprised groan. - -Jones inserted his figure between them. - -“Come, come, gentlemen; don't forget yourselves. What now, Mr Riggs?” - -“I'm lookin' for the gentleman's hat, sir,” said Mr Riggs impressively -from a stooping posture. - -“His hat is on the rack in the hall,” said Jones sharply. - -“Then I shan't ex-expect an--hic--'pology,” said Mr Dawes magnanimously. - -Mr Riggs opened his mouth to retort, but as he did so his eyes fell upon -the blue envelope. - -“Poor old Jim--poor old Jim Brood!” he groaned. “We mustn't lose -a minute, Danbury. He needs us, old pal. We must start relief -exp'ition' fore mornin'. Not a minute to be lost, Jones--not a----” - -The heavy front door closed with a bang at that instant, and the sound -of footsteps, came from the hall--a quick, firm tread that had decision -in it. - -Jones cast a furtive, nervous glance over his shoulder. - -“I'm sorry to have Mr Frederic see you like this,” he said, biting his -lip. “He hates it so.” - -The two old men made a commendable effort to stand erect, but no effort -to stand alone. They linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder. - -“Show him in,” said Mr Riggs magnificently. - -“Now we'll fin' out wass in telegram off briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, -straddling his legs a little farther apart in order to declare a staunch -front. - -“It's worth waiting up for,” said Mr Riggs. - -“Abs'lutely,” said his staunch friend. - -Frederic Brood appeared in the door, stopping short just inside the -heavy curtains. There was a momentary picture, such as a stage-director -would have arranged. He was still wearing his silk hat and top-coat, and -one glove had been halted in the process of removal. Young Brood stared -at the group of three, a frank stare of amazement. A crooked smile came -to his lips. - -“Somewhat later than usual, I see,” he said, and the glove came off with -a jerk. “What's the matter, Jones? Rebellion?” - -“No, sir. It's the wireless, sir.” - -“Wireless?” - -“Briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, vaguely pointing. - -“Oh,” said young Brood, crossing slowly to the table. He picked up the -envelope and looked at the inscription. “Oh,” said he again in quite a -different tone on seeing that it was addressed to him. “From father, I -dare say,” he went on, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows. - -The old men leaned forward, fixing their blear eyes upon the missive. - -“Le's hear the worst, Freddy,” said Mr Riggs. - -The young man ran his finger under the flap and deliberately drew out -the message. There ensued another picture. As he read, his eyes widened -and then contracted; his firm young jaw became set and rigid. Suddenly -a short, bitter execration fell from his lips and the paper crumpled in -his hand. Without another word he strode to the fireplace and tossed it -upon the coals. It flared for a second and was wafted up the chimney, a -charred, feathery thing. - -Without deigning to notice the two old men who had sat up half the night -to learn the contents of that wonderful thing from the sea, he whirled -on his heel and left the room. One might have noticed that his lips were -drawn in a mirthless, sardonic smile, and that his eyes were angry. - -“Oh, Lordy!” sighed Danbury Dawes, blinking, and was on the point of -sitting down abruptly. The arm of Jones prevented. - -“I never was so insulted in my----” began -Joseph Riggs feebly. - -“Steady, gentlemen,” said Jones. “Lean on me, please.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -James Brood's home was a remarkable one. That portion of the house -which rightly may be described as “public” in order to distinguish it -from other parts where privacy was enforced, was not unlike any of the -richly furnished, old-fashioned places in the lower part of the city -where there are still traces left of the Knickerbockers and their times. -Dignified, stately, almost gloomy, it was a mansion in which memories -dwelt, where the past strode unseen among sturdy things of mahogany and -walnut and worn but priceless brocades and silks. - -The crystal chandelier in the long drawing-room had shed light for the -Broods since the beginning of the nineteenth century; the great old -sideboard was still covered with the massive plate of a hundred years -ago; the tables, the chairs, the high-boys, the chests of drawers, and -the huge four-posters were like satin to the eye and touch; the rugs, -while older perhaps than the city itself, alone were new to the house of -Brood. They had been installed by the present master of the house. - -Age, distinction, quality attended one the instant he set foot inside -the sober portals. This was not the home of men who had been merely -rich; it was not wealth alone that stood behind these stately -investments. - -At the top of the house were the rooms which no one entered except by -the gracious will of the master. Here James Brood had stored the quaint, -priceless treasures of his own peculiar fancy: exquisite, curious things -from the mystic East, things that are not to be bought and sold, but -come only to the hand of him who searches in lands where peril is the -price. - -Worlds separated the upper and lower regions of that fine old house; a -single step took one from the sedate Occident into the very heart of the -Orient; a narrow threshold was the line between the rugged West and the -soft, languorous, seductive East. In this part of the house James Brood, -when at home for one of his brief stays, spent many of his hours in -seclusion, shut off from the rest of the establishment as completely -as if he were the inhabitant of another world. Attended by his Hindu -servant, a silent man named Ranjab, and on occasions by his secretary, -he saw but little of the remaining members of his rather extensive -household. - -For several years he had been engaged in the task of writing his -memoirs--so-called--in so far as they related to his experiences and -researches of the past twenty years. It was not his intention to give -this long and elaborate account of himself to the world at large, but -to publish privately a very limited edition without regard for expense, -copies of which were to find their way into exclusive collections and -libraries given over to science and travel. This work progressed slowly -because of his frequent and protracted absences. When at home, he -laboured ardently and with a purpose that more than offset the periods -of indifference. - -His secretary and amanuensis was Lydia Desmond, the nineteen-year-old -daughter of his one-time companion and friend, the late John Desmond, -whose death occurred when the girl was barely ten years of age. - -Brood, on hearing of his old comrade's decease, immediately made -inquiries concerning the condition in which he had left his wife and -child, with the result that Mrs Desmond was installed as housekeeper in -the New York house and the daughter given every advantage in the way of -an education. - -Desmond had left nothing in the shape of riches except undiminished love -for his wife and a diary kept during those perilous days before he met -and married her. This diary was being incorporated in the history of -James Brood's adventures, by consent of the widow, and was to speak for -Brood in words he could not with modesty utter for himself. - -In those pages John Desmond was to tell his own story in his own way, -for Brood's love for his friend was broad enough even to admit of that. -He was to share his life in retrospect with Desmond and the two old men, -as he had shared it with them in reality. - -Lydia's room, adjoining her mother's, was on the third floor at the foot -of the small stairway leading up to the proscribed retreat at the top -of the house. There was a small sitting-room off the two bed-chambers, -given over entirely to Mrs Desmond and her daughter. In this little room -Frederic Brood spent many a quiet, happy hour. - -The Desmonds, mother and daughter, understood and pitied the lonely boy -who came to the big house soon after they were themselves installed. His -heart, which had many sores, expanded and glowed in the warmth of their -kindness and affection; the plague of unfriendliness that was his by -absorption gave way before this unexpected kindness, not immediately, it -is true, but completely in the end. - -By nature he was slow to respond to the advances of others; his life had -been such that avarice accounted for all that he received from others -in the shape of respect and consideration. He was prone to discount -a friendly attitude, for the simple reason that in his experience all -friendships were marred by the fact that their sincerity rested entirely -upon the generosity of the man who paid for them--his father. No one had -loved him for himself; no one had given him an unselfish thought in all -the years of his boyhood. - -The family with whom he had lived in a curious sort of retirement up to -the time he was fifteen had no real feeling for him beyond the bounds of -duty; his tutors had taken their pay in exchange for all they gave; his -companions were men and women who dealt with him as one deals with a -precious investment. He represented ease and prosperity to them--no more. -As he grew older he understood all this. What warmth there may have been -in his little heart was chilled by contact with these sordid influences. - -At first he held himself aloof from the Desmonds; he was slow to -surrender. He suspected them of the same motives that had been the basis -of all previous attachments. When at last he realised that they were not -like the others, his cup of joy, long an empty vessel, was filled to the -brim and his happiness was without bounds. - -They were amazed by the transformation. The rather sullen, -unapproachable lad became at once so friendly, so dependent, that, -had they not been acquainted with the causes behind the old state of -reticence, his very joy might have made a -nuisance of him. He followed Mrs Desmond -about in very much the -same spirit that inspires a hungry dog; he watched her with eager, -half-famished eyes; he was on her heels four-fifths of the time. - -As for Lydia, pretty little Lydia, he adored her. His heart began for -the first time to sing with the joy of youth, and the sensation was a -novel one. It had seemed to him that he could never be anything but an -old man. - -Not a day passed during his career at Harvard that he failed to write -to one or other of these precious friends. His vacations were spent -with them; his excursions were never carried out unless they found it -possible to accompany him. He followed Mrs Desmond, met many women, but -he thought of only two. They appeared to constitute all femininity so -far as he was concerned. Through their awakening influence he came to -find pleasure in the companionship of other young men, and, be it said -for him, despite a certain unconquerable aloofness, he was one of the -most popular men in his class. - -It was his custom, on coming home for the night, no matter what the -hour, to pause before Lydia's door on the way to his own room at the -other end of the long hall. There was always a tender smile on his lips -as he regarded the white panels before tapping gently with the tips of -his fingers. Then he would wait for the sleepy “Good night, Freddy,” - which invariably came from within, and he would sing out “Good night” - as he made off to bed. Usually, however, he was at home long before her -bedtime, and they spent the evenings together. That she was his father's -secretary was of no moment. To him she was Lydia--his Lydia. - -For the past three months or more he had been privileged to hold her -close in his arms and to kiss her good night at parting. They were -lovers now. The slow fuse of passion had reached its end and the flame -was alive and shining with radiance that enveloped both of them. - -On this night, however, he passed her door without knocking. His dark, -handsome face was flushed and his teeth were set in sullen anger. With -his hand on the knob of his own door, he suddenly remembered that he -had failed Lydia for the first time, and stopped. A pang of shame shot -through him. For a moment he hesitated and then started guiltily toward -the forgotten door. Even as he raised his hand to sound the loving -signal, the door was opened and Lydia, fully dressed, confronted him. -For a moment they regarded each other in silence, she intently, he with -astonishment not quite free from confusion. - -“I'm--I'm sorry, dearest----” he began, his first desire being to account -for his oversight. - -“It _is_ bad news?” she demanded, anxiously watching his face. “I was -afraid, dear. I couldn't go to bed.” - -“You, too?” he exclaimed bitterly. “The old chaps--but it's a shame for -you to have waited up, dear.” - -“Tell me what has happened. It can't be that your father is ill--or in -danger. You are angry, Frederic; so it can't be that. What is it?” - -He looked away sullenly. - -“Oh, it's really nothing, I suppose. Just an unexpected jolt, that's -all. I was angry for a moment----” - -“You are still angry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. She was a -tall, slender girl. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own. “Don't -you want to tell me, dear?” - -“He never gives me a thought,” he said, compressing his lips. “He thinks -of no one but himself. God, what a father!” - -“Freddy, dear! You must not speak----” - -“Haven't I some claim on his consideration? Is it fair that I should be -ignored in everything, in every way? I won't put up with it, Lydia! I'm -not a child. I'm a man and I am his son. But I might as well be a dog in -the street for all the thought he gives to me!” - -She put her finger to her lips, a scared look stealing into her dark -eyes. Jones was conducting the two old men to their room on the floor -below. A door closed softly. The voices died away. - -“He is a strange man,” she said. “He is a good man, Frederic.” - -“To everyone else, yes. But to me? Why, Lydia, I--I believe he hates me. -You know what----” - -“Hush! A man does not hate his son. I've tried for years to drive that -silly notion out of your mind. You----” - -“Oh, I know I'm a fool to speak of it, but I--I can't help feeling as I -do. You've seen enough to know that I'm not to blame for it, either. And -then--oh, what's the use whining about it? I've got to make the best of -it, so I'll try to keep my mouth closed.” - -“Where is the message?” - -“I threw it into the fire.” - -“What!” - -“I was furious.” - -“Won't you tell me?” - -“What do you think he has done? Can you guess what he has done to all of -us?” She did not answer. “Well, I'll tell you just what he said in that -wireless. It was from the _Lusitania_, twelve hundred miles off Sandy -Hook--relayed, I suppose, so that the whole world might know--sent at -four this afternoon. I remember every word of the cursed thing, although -I merely glanced at it. - -“'Send the car to meet Mrs Brood and me at the Cunard pier Thursday. -Have Mrs Desmond put the house in order for its new mistress. By the -way, you might inform her that I was married last Wednesday in Paris.' -It was signed 'James Brood,' not even 'father.' What do you think of -that for a thunderbolt?” - -“Married?” she gasped. “Your father married?” - -“'Put the house in order for its new mistress,'” he almost snarled. -“'Inform her that I was married last Wednesday'! Of course he's married. -Am I not to inform your mother? Isn't the car to meet Mrs Brood and him? -Does he say anything about his son meeting him at the pier? No! Does he -cable his son that he is married? No! Does he do anything that a real, -human father would do? No! That message was a deliberate insult to me, -Lydia, a nasty, rotten slap in the face. I mean the way it was worded. -Just as if it wasn't enough that he had gone and married some cheap -show-girl or a miserable foreigner or Heaven knows----” - -“Freddy! You forget yourself. Your father would not marry a cheap -show-girl. You know that. And you must not forget that your mother was a -foreigner.” - -“I'm sorry I said that,” he exclaimed hoarsely. Then fiercely: “But -can't you see what all this will come to? A new mistress of the house! -It means your mother will have to go--that maybe you'll go. Nothing will -be as it has been. All the sweetness gone--all the goodness! A woman in -the house who will also treat me as if I didn't belong here! A woman -who married him for his money, an adventuress. Oh, you can't tell me; I -know! 'You might inform Mrs Desmond that I was married'! Good Lord!” - -He began to pace the floor, striking one fist viciously in the palm of -the other hand. Lydia, pale and trembling, seemed to have forgotten his -presence. She was staring fixedly at the white surface of a door down -the hall, and there was infinite pain in her wide eyes. Her lips moved -once or twice; there was a single unspoken word upon them. - -“Why couldn't he have wired me last week?” the young man was muttering. -“What was his object in waiting until to-day? Wouldn't any other father -in the world have telegraphed his only son if he were going to--to bring -someone home like this? 'Have the car meet Mrs Brood and me'! If that -isn't the quintessence of scorn! He orders me to do these things. He -doesn't even honour me with a direct, personal message. He doesn't tell -_me_ he is married. He asks me to inform someone else.” - -Lydia, leaning rather heavily against the door, spoke to him in a low, -cautious voice. - -“Did you tell Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs?” - -He stopped short. - -“No! And they waited up to see if they could be of any assistance to -him in an hour of peril! What a joke! Poor old beggars! I've never felt -sorry for them before, but, on my soul, I do now. What will she do to -the poor old chaps? I shudder to think of it. And she'll make short -work of everything else she doesn't like around here, too. Your mother, -Lydia--why, God help us, you know what will just have to happen in her -case. It's----” - -“Don't speak so loudly, dear--please, please! She is asleep. Of course, -we--we shan't stay on, Freddy. We'll have to go as soon as----” - -His eyes filled with tears. He seized her in his arms and held her -close. - -“It's a beastly, beastly shame, darling. Oh, Lord, what a fool a man can -make of himself!” - -“You must not say such things,” she murmured, stroking his cheek with -cold, trembling fingers. - -“A fine trick to play on all of us!” he grated. - -“Listen, Freddy darling: your father has a right to do as he chooses. -He has a right to companionship, to love, to happiness. He has done -everything for us that man could----” - -“But why couldn't he have done the fine, sensible thing, Lydia? Why -couldn't he have--have fallen in love with--with your mother? Why not have -married her if he had to marry someone in----” - -“Freddy!” she cried, putting her hand over his mouth. - -He was not to be stopped. He gently removed her hand. - -“Your mother is the finest woman in the world. Perhaps she wouldn't have -him, but that's not the point. Good Lord, how I would have loved him for -giving her to me as a mother. And here he comes, bringing some devil of -a stranger into--oh, it's sickening!” - -He had lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, keeping his eyes fixed on -the door down the hall. The girl lay very still in his arms. Suddenly a -wild sob broke in her throat, and she buried her face on his shoulder. - -“Why--why, don't cry, dearest! Don't!” he whispered miserably. “What a -rotter I am! Inflicting you with my silly imaginings! Don't cry! I dare -say everything will turn out all right. It's my beastly disposition. -Kiss me!” - -She kissed him swiftly. Her wet cheek lay for a second against his own, -and then, with a stifled good night, she broke away from him. An instant -later she was gone; her door was closed. - -Somewhat sobered, and not a little perturbed by her outburst, he stood -still for a moment, staring at the door. Then he turned and passed -slowly into his own room. - -A fire smouldered in the grate. In this huge, old-fashioned house there -were grates in all of the spacious bedrooms, and not infrequently fires -were started in them by the capable Jones. Frederic stood for he knew -not how long above the half-dead coals, staring at them with a new -and more bitter complaint at the back of his mind. Was there anything -between Mrs Desmond and his father? What was back of that look of -anguish in Lydia's eyes? He suddenly realised that he was muttering -oaths, not of anger, but of pain. - -The next morning he came down earlier than was his custom. His night had -been a troubled one. Forgetting his own woes, or belittling them, he had -thought only of what this news from the sea would mean to the dear -woman he loved so well. No one was in the library, but a huge fire was -blazing. A blizzard was raging. - -Once upon a time, when he first came to the house, a piano had stood in -the drawing-room. His joy at that time knew no bounds; he loved music. -For his age he was no mean musician. But one evening his father, coming -in unexpectedly, heard the player at the instrument. For a moment he -stood transfixed in the doorway watching the eager, almost inspired face -of the lad, and then, pale as a ghost, stole away without disturbing -him. Strange to say, Frederic was playing a waltz of Ziehrer's, a Waltz -that his mother had played when the honeymoon was in the full. The -following day the piano was taken away by a storage company. The boy -never knew why it was removed. - -Frederic picked up the morning paper. His eye traversed the front page -rapidly. There were reports of fearful weather at sea. Ships in touch -with wireless stations flashed news of the riotous gales far out on the -Atlantic, of tremendous seas that wreaked damage to the staunchest of -vessels. The whole seaboard was strewn with the wreckage of small craft; -a score of vessels were known to be ashore and in grave peril. The -movement of passenger-vessels, at the bottom of the page, riveted his -attention. The _Lusitania_ was reported seven hundred miles out, and in -the heart of the hurricane. She would be a day late. - -The newspaper was slightly crumpled, as if someone else had read -it before him. He found himself wondering how he would feel if the -_Lusitania_ never reached New York! He wondered what his sensations -would be if a call for help came from the great vessel, if the dreadful -news came that she was sinking with all on board! - -He looked up from the paper with what actually seemed to him to be a -guilty feeling. Someone had entered the room. Mrs Desmond was coming -toward him, a queer little smile on her lips. She was a tall, fair -woman, an English type, and still extremely handsome. Hers was an honest -beauty that had no fear of age. - -“She is a staunch ship, Frederic,” she said, without any other form of -greeting. “She will be late, but there's really nothing to worry about.” - -“I'm not worrying,” he said confusedly. “Lydia has told you the--the -news?” - -“Yes.” - -“Rather staggering, isn't it?” he said with a wry smile. In spite of -himself he watched her face with curious intentness. - -“Rather,” she said briefly. - -He was silent for a moment. - -“I was instructed to inform you that he was married last Wednesday,” - he said, and his face hardened. “And to have the car meet them at the -dock.” - -“It won't be necessary, Frederic. I have given Jones his instructions. -You will not even have to carry out the orders.” - -“I suppose you don't approve of the way.” - -“I know just how you feel, poor boy. Don't try to explain. I know.” - -“You always understand,” he said, lowering his eyes. - -“Not always,” she said quietly. There was something cryptic in the -remark. He kept his eyes averted. - -“Well, it's going to play hob with everything,” he said, jamming his -hands deep into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to hunch forward and -to contract. - -“I am especially sorry for Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs,” she said. Her voice -was steady and full of earnestness. - -“Do they know?” - -“They were up and about at daybreak, poor souls. Do you know, Freddy, -they were starting off in this blizzard when I met them in the hall!” - -“The deuce! I--I hope it wasn't on account of anything I may have said to -them last night,” he cried in contrition. - -She smiled. “No. They had their own theory about the message. The storm -strengthened it. They were positive that your father was in great -peril. I don't like to tell you this, but they seemed to think that you -couldn't be depended upon to take a hand in--in--well, in helping him. -They were determined to charter a vessel of some sort and start off -in all this blizzard to search the sea for Mr Brood. Oh, aren't they -wonderful?” - -He had no feeling of resentment toward the old men for their opinion of -him. Instead, his eyes glowed with an honest admiration. - -“By George, Mrs Desmond, they _are_ great! They are _men_, bless their -hearts. Seventy-five years old and still ready to face anything for a -comrade! It _does_ prove something, doesn't it?” - -“It proves that your father has made no mistake in selecting his -friends, my dear. My husband used to say that he would cheerfully die -for James Brood, and he knew that James Brood would have died for him -just as readily. There is something in friendships of that sort that we -can't understand. We never have been able to test our friends, much less -ourselves. We----” - -“I would die for you, Mrs Desmond,” cried Frederic, a deep flush -overspreading his face. “For you and Lydia.” - -“You come by that naturally,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm. -“Blood will tell. Thank you, Frederic.” She smiled. “I am sure it will -not be necessary for you to die for me, however. As for Lydia, you must -live, not die, for her.” - -“I'll do both,” he cried impulsively. - -“Before you go in to breakfast I want to say something else to you, -Frederic,” said she seriously. “Lydia has repeated everything you said -to her last night. My dear boy, my husband has been dead for twelve -years. I loved him, and he died loving me. I shall never marry another -man. I am still the wife of John Desmond; I still consider myself bound -to him. Can you understand?” - -“I talked like a lunatic last night, I fear,” he confessed. “I might -have known. You, too, belong to the list of loyal ones. Forgive me.” - -“There is nothing to forgive, dear,” she said simply. “And now, one more -word, Frederic. You must accept this new condition of affairs in the -right spirit. Your father has married again, after all these years. It -is not likely that he has done so without deliberation. Therefore, it is -reasonable to assume that he is bringing home with him a wife of whom he -at least is proud, and that should weigh considerably in your summing -up of the situation. She will be beautiful, accomplished, refined, and -good, Frederic. Of that you may be sure. Let me implore you to withhold -judgment until a later day.” - -“I do not object to the situation, Mrs Desmond,” said he, the angry -light returning to his eyes, “so much as I resent the wording of that -telegram. It is always just that way. He loses no chance to humiliate -me. He----” - -“Hush! You are losing your temper again.” - -“Well, who wouldn't? And here's another thing, the very worst of all. -How is this new condition going to affect you, Mrs Desmond?” She was -silent for a moment. - -“Of course, I shan't stay on here, Frederic. I shall not be needed now. -As soon as Mrs Brood is settled here I shall go.” - -“And you expect me to be cheerful and contented!” he cried bitterly. - -“You are a man, Frederic. It is for you to say yea and nay; women must -say one or the other. A man may make his own bed, but he doesn't always -have to lie in it.” - -“Sounds rather like Solomon,” he said ruefully. “I suppose you mean -that if I'm not contented here I ought to get out and look for happiness -elsewhere, reserving the right to come back if I fail?” - -“Something of the sort,” she said. - -“My father objects to my going into business or taking up a profession. -I am dependent on him for everything. But why go into that? We've talked -it over a thousand times. I don't understand, but perhaps you do. It's a -dog's way of living.” - -“Your father is making a man of you.” - -“Oh, he is, eh?” with great scorn. - -“Yes. He will make you see some day that the kind of life you lead is -not the kind you want. Your pride, your ambition will rebel. Then you -will make something out of life for yourself.” - -“I don't think that is in his mind, if you'll pardon me. I sometimes -believe he actually wants me to stay as I am, always a dependent. -Why, how can he expect me to marry and----” He stopped short, his face -paling. - -“Go on, please.” - -“Well, it looks to me as if he means to make it impossible for me to -marry, Mrs Desmond. I've thought of it a good deal.” - -“And is it impossible?” - -“No. I shall marry Lydia, even though I have to dig in the streets -for her. It isn't that, however. There's some other reason back of his -attitude, but for the life of me I can't get at it.” - -“I wouldn't try to get at it, my dear,” she said. “Wait and see. Come, -you must have your coffee. I am glad you came down early. The old -gentlemen are at breakfast now. Come in.” - -He followed her dejectedly, a droop to his shoulders. - -Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs were seated at the table. Lydia, a trifle pale and -distrait, was pouring their third cup of coffee. The old men showed no -sign of their midnight experience. They were very wideawake, clear-eyed, -and alert, as old men will be who do not count the years of life left in -the span appointed for them. - -“Good morning, Freddy,” said they, almost in one voice. - -As he passed behind their chairs on his way to Lydia's side, he slapped -each of them cordially on the back. They seemed to swell with relief and -gratitude. He was not in the habit of slapping them on the back. - -“Good morning, gentlemen,” said he. Then he lifted Lydia's slim fingers -to his lips. “Good morning, dear.” - -She squeezed his fingers tightly and smiled. A look of relief leaped -into her eyes; she drew a long breath. She poured his coffee for -him every morning. Her hand shook a little as she lifted the tiny -cream-pitcher. - -“I didn't sleep very well,” she explained in a low voice. - -His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment in a gentle caress. Then he -sat down in the chair Jones had drawn out for him. - -“Well, gentlemen, when does the relief boat start?” he asked, with a -forced attempt at humour. - -Mr Dawes regarded him with great solemnity. - -“Freddy, it's too late. A man can be saved from the scourge, tigers, -elephants, lions, snakes, and almost everything else in God's world, -but, blast me, he can't be protected against women! They are deadly. -They can overpower the strongest of men, sir. Your poor father is lost -for ever. I never was so sorry for anyone in my life.” - -“If he had only called for help a week or so ago, we could have saved -him,” lamented Mr Riggs. “But he never even peeped. Lordy, Lordy, and -just think of it, he yelled like an Indian when that lion leaped on him -at Nairobi!” - -“Poor old Jim!” sighed Mr Dawes. “He'll probably have to ask us to pull -out, too. I imagine she'll insist on making a spare bedroom out of our -room, so's she can entertain all of her infernal relations. Jones, will -you give me some more bacon and another egg?” - -“And I thought it was nothing but a shipwreck,” murmured Mr Riggs -plaintively. - -Frederic hurried through breakfast. Lydia followed him into the library. - -“Are you going out, dear?” she asked anxiously. - -“Yes. I've got to do something. I can't sit still and think of what's -going to happen. I'll be back for luncheon.” - -Half an hour later he was in the small bachelor apartment of two college -friends, a few blocks farther up-town, and he was doing the thing he did -nearly every day of his life in a surreptitious way. He sat at the cheap -upright piano in their disordered living-room and, unhampered by the -presence of young men who preferred music as it is rendered for the -masses, played as if his very soul was in his fingers. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -The next three or four days passed slowly for those who waited. A -spirit of uneasiness pervaded the household. Among the servants, from -Jones down, there was dismay. It was not even remotely probable that Mrs -Desmond would remain, and they confessed to a certain affection for her, -strange as it may appear to those who know the traits of servants who -have been well treated by those above them. - -Frederic flatly refused to meet the steamer when she docked. As if -swayed by his decision, Dawes and Riggs likewise abandoned a plan -to greet the returning master and his bride as they came down the -gangplank. But for the almost peremptory counsel of Mrs Desmond, Brood's -son would have absented himself from the house on the day of their -arrival. Jones and a footman went to the pier with the chauffeur. - -It was half-past two in the afternoon when the automobile drew up in -front of the house and the fur-coated footman nimbly hopped down and -threw open the door. - -James Brood, a tall, distinguished-looking man of fifty, stepped out of -the limousine. For an instant, before turning to assist his wife from -the car, he allowed his keen eyes to sweep the windows on the lower -floor. In one of them stood his son, holding the lace curtains apart and -smiling a welcome that seemed sincere. He waved his hand to the man on -the side-walk. Brood responded with a swift, almost perfunctory gesture, -and then held out his hand to the woman who was descending. - -Frederic's intense gaze was fixed on the stranger who was coming into -his life. At a word from Brood she glanced up at the window. The smile -still lingered on the young man's lips, but his eyes were charged with -an expression of acute wonder. She smiled, but he was scarcely aware of -the fact. He watched them cross the side-walk and mount the steps. - -He had never looked upon a more beautiful creature in all his life. A -kind of stupefaction held him motionless until he heard the door close -behind them. In that brief interval a picture had been impressed upon -his senses that was to last for ever. - -She was slightly above the medium height, slender and graceful even in -the long, thick coat that enveloped her. She did not wear a veil. He had -a swift but enduring glimpse of dark, lustrous eyes; of long lashes that -drooped; of a curiously pallid, perfectly modelled face; of red lips and -very white teeth; of jet-black hair parted above a broad, clear brow -to curtain the temple and ear; of a firm, sensitive chin. Somehow he -received the extraordinary impression that the slim, lithe body was -never cold; that she expressed in some indefinable way the unvarying -temperature of youth. - -He hurried into the hall, driven by the spur of duty. They were crossing -the vestibule. Jones, who had preceded them in a taxicab, was holding -open the great hall door. Dawes and Higgs, shivering quite as much -with excitement as from the chilly blast that swept in through the -storm-doors, occupied a point of vantage directly behind the butler. -They suggested a reception committee. Frederic was obliged to remain in -the background. - -He heard his father's warm, almost gay response to the greetings of the -old men, whose hands he wrung with fervour that was unmistakable. He -heard him present them to the new Mrs Brood as “the best old boys in -all the world,” and they were both saying, with spasmodic cackles of -pleasure, that she “mustn't believe a word the young rascal said.” - -He was struck by the calm, serene manner in which she accepted these -jocular contributions to the occasion. Her smile was friendly, her -handshake cordial, and yet there was an unmistakable air of tolerance, -as of one who is accustomed to tribute. The rather noisy acclamations of -the old adventurers brought no flush of embarrassment to her cheek; not -the flicker of an eyelid, nor a protesting word or frown. She merely -smiled and thanked them in simple, commonplace phrases. - -Frederic, who was given to forming swift impressions, most of which -sprang from his own varying moods and were seldom permanent, formed an -instant and rather startling opinion of the newcomer. She was either a -remarkable actress or a woman whose previous station in life had been -far more exalted than the one she now approached. He had an absurd -notion that he might be looking upon a person of noble birth. - -Her voice was low-pitched and marked by huskiness that was peculiar in -that it was musical, not throaty. Frederic, on first seeing her, had -leaped to the conclusion that her English would not be perfect. He was -somewhat surprised to discover that she had but the faintest trace of an -accent. - -The exchange of greetings at the door seemed to him unnecessarily -prolonged. He stood somewhat apart from the little circle, uncomfortable -and distinctly annoyed with the old men who, in their garrulous -gallantry, blocked the way in both directions. He awoke suddenly, -however, to the realisation that he had been looking into his new -stepmother's eyes for a long time and that she was returning his gaze -with some intensity. - -“And this?” she said, abruptly breaking in upon one of Danbury's hasty -reminiscences, effectually ending it. “This is Frederic?” - -She came directly toward the young man, her small, gloved hand extended. -Her eyes were looking into his with an intentness that disconcerted him. -There was no smile on her lips. It was as if she regarded this moment as -a pronounced crisis. - -Frederic mumbled something fatuous about being glad to see her, and felt -his face burn under her steady gaze. His father came forward. - -“Yes; this is Frederic, my dear,” he said, without a trace of warmth in -his voice. As she withdrew her hand from Frederic's clasp James Brood -extended his. “How are you, Frederic?” - -“Quite well, sir.” - -They shook hands in the most perfunctory manner. - -“I need not ask how you are, father,” said the son, after an instant's -hesitation. “You never looked better, sir.” - -“Thank you. I _am_ well. Ah, Mrs Desmond! It is good to be home again -with you all. My dear, permit me to introduce Mrs John Desmond. You have -heard me speak of my old comrade and----” - -“I have heard you speak of Mr Desmond a thousand times,” said his wife. -There may have been a shade of emphasis on the prefix, but it was so -slight that no one remarked it save the widow of John Desmond, who had -joined the group. - -“The best pal a man ever had,” said Mr Dawes with conviction. “Wasn't -he, Riggs?” - -“He was,” said Mr Riggs loudly, as if expecting someone to dispute it. - -“Will you go to your room at once, Mrs Brood?” asked Mrs Desmond. - -The new mistress of the house had not offered to shake hands with -her, as James Brood had done. She had moved closer to Frederic and was -smiling in a rather shy, pleading way, in direct contrast to her manner -of the moment before. The smile was for her stepson. She barely glanced -at Mrs Desmond. - -“Thank you, no. I see a nice big fire, and--oh, I have been so cold!” - She shivered very prettily. - -“Come!” cried her husband. “That's just the thing.” No one spoke as they -moved toward the library. “We must try to thaw out,” he added dryly, -with a faint smile on his lips. - -His wife laid her hand on Frederic's arm. “It is cold outside, -Frederic,” she said; “very cold. I am not accustomed to the cold.” - -If anyone had told him beforehand that his convictions, or his -prejudices, could be overthrown in the twinkling of an eye, he would -have laughed him to scorn. He was prepared to dislike her. He was -determined that his hand should be against her in the conflict that was -bound to come. - -And now, in a flash, his incomprehensible heart proved treacherous. She -had touched some secret spring in the bottom of it, and a strange, new -emotion rushed up within him, like the flood which finds a new channel -and will not be denied by mortal ingenuity. A queer, wistful note of -sympathy in her voice had done the trick. Something in the touch of her -fingers on his arm completed the mystery. He was conscious of a mighty -surge of relief. The horizon cleared for him. - -“We shall do our best to keep you warm,” he said quite gaily, and was -somewhat astonished at himself. - -They had preceded the others into the library. James Brood was divesting -himself of his coat in the hall, attended by the leechlike old men. Mrs -Desmond stood in the doorway, a detached figure. - -“You must love me, Frederic. You must be very, very fond of me, not for -your father's sake, but for mine. Then we shall be great friends, not -antagonists.” - -He was helping her with her coat. - -“I confess I looked forward to you with a good deal of animosity,” he -said. - -“It was quite natural,” she said simply. “A stepmother is not of one's -own choosing, as a rule.” - -“She's usually resented,” said he. - -“But I shall not be a stepmother,” she said quickly. Her eyes were -serious for an instant, then filled with a luminous smile. “I shall be -Yvonne to you, and you Frederic to me. Let it be a good beginning.” - -“You are splendid,” he cried. “It's not going to be at all bad.” - -“I am sure you will like me,” she said composedly. - -Brood joined them at the fireside. - -“My dear, Mrs Desmond will show you over the house when you are ready. -You will be interested in seeing the old place. Later on I shall take -you up to my secret hiding-place, as they say in books. Ranjab will -have the rooms in order by this evening. Where is your daughter, Mrs -Desmond?” - -“She is at work on the catalogue, Mr Brood, in the jade room. In your -last letter you instructed her to finish that----” - -“But this is a holiday, Mrs Desmond,” said he, frowning. “Jones, will -you ask Miss Lydia to join us for tea at half-past four?” - -“You will adore Lydia,” said Frederic to Mrs Brood. - -Apparently she did not hear him, for she gave no sign. She was looking -about the room with eyes that seemed to take in everything. For the -moment her interest appeared to be centred on the inanimate, to the -complete exclusion of all other objects. Frederic had the odd notion -that she was appraising her new home with the most calculating of minds. - -Even as he watched her he was struck by the subtle change that came into -her dark eyes. It lingered for the briefest moment, but the impression -he got was lasting. There was something like dread in the far-away look -that settled for a few seconds and then lifted. She caught him looking -at her, and smiled once more, but nervously. Then her glance went -swiftly to the face of James Brood, who was listening to something -that Mrs Desmond was saying. It rested there for a short but intense -scrutiny, and the smile began to die. - -“I am sure I shall be very happy in this dear old house,” she said -quietly. “Your own mother must have loved it, Frederic.” - -James Brood started. Unnoticed by the others, his fingers tightened on -the gloves he carried in his hand. - -“I never knew my mother,” said the young man. “She died when I was a -baby.” - -“But of course this was her home, was it not?” - -“I don't know,” said Frederic uncomfortably. “I suppose so. I--I came -here a few years ago, and----” - -“But even though you never knew her, there must still be something here -that--that--how shall I say it? I mean, you must feel that she and you -were here together years and years ago. One may never have seen his -mother, yet he can always feel her. There is something--shall I say -spiritual, in----” - -Her husband broke in upon these unwelcome reflections. His voice was -curiously harsh. - -“Mrs Desmond is waiting, Yvonne.” - -She drew herself up. - -“Are you in such great haste, Mrs Desmond?” she asked in a voice that -cut like a knife. Instinctively she glanced at Frederic's face. She saw -the muscles of the jaw harden and an angry light leap into his eyes. -Instantly her arrogance fell away. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Desmond. I -have many bad habits. Now will you kindly show me to my room? I prefer -that you and not one of the servants should be my guide. _Au revoir_, -Frederic. Till tea-time, James.” - -Her eyes were sparkling, her husky voice once more full of the appealing -quality that could not be denied. The flush of injured pride faded from -Mrs Desmond's brow and a faint look of surprise crept into her eyes. She -was surprised at her own inclination to overlook the affront, and not -by the change in Mrs Brood's manner. She smiled an unspoken pardon and -stood aside for the new mistress to pass in front of her. To her further -amazement the younger woman laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a -gentle, friendly pressure. - -The men watched them in silence as they left the room side by side. -A moment later they heard the soft laughter of the two women as they -mounted the stairs. - -Frederic drew a long breath. - -“She's splendid, father,” he said impulsively. - -Brood's face was still clouded. He did not respond to the eager tribute. - -Mr Dawes cleared his throat and cast a significant glance toward the -dining-room. - -“What do you say to a drink to the bride, Jim?” he said, somewhat -explosively. He had been silent for a longer period than usual. It -wasn't natural for him to be voiceless, even when quite alone. - -“Good idea,” added Mr Riggs. “I was just thinking of it myself. A health -to the bride, my boy, and good luck to you both.” - -“A glass to prosperity,” said Mr Dawes, with a wave of his hand. - -“And two for posterity,” added Mr Riggs in an ecstasy of triumph. - - -A flush mounted to Brood's cheek. Young Frederic abruptly turned away. - -“Thank you, my friends,” said Brood, after a moment. “I'll leave the -bumpers to you, if you don't mind. It isn't meet that the groom should -drink to himself, and that's what you are suggesting. Go and have your -drinks, gentlemen, but leave me out.” - -They looked disappointed, aggrieved. - -“I said posterity,” expostulated Mr Riggs. “No harm in your drinking to -_that_, is there?” - -“Shut up, Riggs,” hissed Mr Dawes, nudging him with some violence. - -“Oh!” said his friend, with a quick look at Frederic. Then, as -if inspired: “Come on, Freddy. Join us. Come and drink to the--to -your--er--stepmother.” He floundered miserably. “My God!” he gasped under -his breath. - -“Thank you, Mr Riggs. I'm not drinking,” said Frederic. - -Dawes conducted Riggs to the dining-room door. There he turned and -remarked: - -“Stick to that resolution, Freddy. See what old man Riggs has come to! -If it wasn't for me and your father he'd be in the gutter.” - -“That's right, Freddy,” agreed Mr Riggs with rare amiability. He felt -that he owed something to Frederic in the way of apology. - -Father and son faced each other after the old men had disappeared. They -were a striking pair, each in his way an example of fine, clean manhood. -The father was taller by two inches than the son, and yet Frederic -was nearly six feet in his stockings. Both were spare men, erect and -gracefully proportioned. - -Brood gave out the impression of great strength, of steel sinews, of -invincible power; Frederic did not suggest physical strength, and yet he -was a clean-limbed, well-built fellow. He had a fine head, a slim body -whose every movement proclaimed nervous energy, and a face that denoted -temperament of the most pronounced character. His hair was black and -straight, growing thickly above the forehead and ears; his eyes were of -a deep gray, changeable at the dictates of his emotions. A not unhealthy -pallor lay on the surface of his skin, readily submissive to the -sensations which produce colour at the slightest provocation. His -eyebrows were rather thick, but delicately arched, and the lashes -were long. It was not a strong face, nor was it weak; it represented -character without force. - -On the other hand, James Brood's lean, handsome face was full of power. -His gray eyes were keen, steady, compelling, and seldom alight with -warmth. His jaw was firm, square, resolute, and the lines that sank -heavily into the flesh in his cheeks were put there not by age but by -the very vigour of manhood. His hair was quite gray. - -Frederic waited for his father to speak. He had ventured a remark before -the departure of the old men and it had been ignored. But James Brood -had nothing to say. - -“She is very attractive, father,” said the young man at last, almost -wistfully. He did not realise it, but he was groping for sympathy. Brood -had been in the house for a quarter of an hour, after an absence of -nearly a year, and yet he might have been away no longer than a day for -all that he revealed in his attitude toward his son. His greeting had -been cold, casual, matter-of-fact. Frederic expected little more than -that; still he felt in a vague way that now, if never again, the ice of -reserve might be broken between them, if only for a moment. He was ready -and willing to do his part. - -Brood was studying the young man's face with an intensity that for the -moment disconcerted him. He seemed bent on fixing certain features in -his mind's eye, as if his memory had once played him false and should -not do so again. It was a habit of Brood's, after prolonged separations, -to look for something in the boy's face that he wanted to see and yet -dreaded, something that might have escaped him when in daily contact -with him. Now, at the end of the rather offensive scrutiny, he seemed to -shake his head slightly, although one could not have been sure. - -“And as charming as she is attractive, Frederic,” he said, with a faint -flush of the enthusiasm he suppressed. - -“Who is she?” asked his son, without realising the bluntness of his -question. - -“Who _is_ she?” repeated his father, raising his eyebrows slightly. “She -is Mrs James Brood.” - -“I--I beg your pardon,” stammered Frederic. “I didn't mean to put it in -that way. Who was she? Where did you meet her, and--oh, I want to -know all there is to tell, father. I've heard nothing. I am naturally -curious.” - -Brood stopped him with a gesture. - -“She was Yvonne Lestrange before we were married, Mlle Lestrange; we met -some time ago at the house of a mutual friend in Paris. I assure you her -references are all that could be desired.” His tone was sarcastic. - -Frederic flushed. - -“I'm sorry I asked the questions, sir,” he said stiffly. - -Brood suddenly laughed, a quiet laugh that had some trace of humour and -a touch of compunction in it. - -“I beg your pardon, Frederic. Come up to my room and smoke a cigar with -me while I'm changing. I'll tell you about her. She is wonderful.” - -To his own surprise, and to Frederic's astonishment, he linked his arm -in the young man's and started toward the hall. Afterward he was to -wonder even more than he wondered then what it was that created the -sudden desire to atone for the hurt look he had brought into the eyes of -Matilde's son and the odd longing to touch his arm gently. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -Lydia met Brood and Frederic at the top of the stairs. She had received -the message through Jones and was on her way to dress for tea. The -master of the house greeted her most cordially. He was very fond of this -lovely, gentle daughter of John Desmond. - -Into their association had stolen an intimate note that softened the -cold reserve of the man to a marked degree. There was something brave -and joyous in this girl that had always appealed to James Brood. He -seldom failed to experience a sense of complete relaxation when with -her; his hard eyes softened, his stern mouth took on the quiet smile of -contentment. - -His chief joy was to chat with her over the work he was doing, and -to listen to her frank, honest opinions. There was no suggestion of -constraint in her manner. She was not afraid of him. That was the thing -about her, perhaps, that warmed his stone-cold heart, although he hardly -would have admitted it to be the case. - -She regarded herself as his secretary, or his amanuensis, in the strict -way of speaking, but he considered her to be a friend as well, and -treated her with a freedom that was not extended to others. - -A faint gleam of astonishment lurked in the girl's eyes as she stood -before the two men. Never, in her experience, had there been such an -exhibition of friendliness between father and son. A curious throb of -joy rushed up from her heart and lodged in her throat. For the first -time she found it difficult to respond with composure to Brood's lively -comments. Tears were lying close to the surface of her eyes; tears of -relief and gratitude. The buoyant expression in Frederic's told a new -story. Her heart rejoiced. - -“Nonsense!” said Brood, when she announced that she was going in to -change her gown. “You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this -instant. I want Mrs Brood to see you for the first time just as you are. -You are a shirt-waist girl, Lydia. You couldn't be lovelier than you are -now. Isn't that true, Frederic?” - -“You'll spoil her, father,” said Frederic, his face glowing. - -Her prettiest frown opposed them. - -“But you, after all, you are not women,” she said. “Women don't look at -each other through masculine eyes. They look at a girl not to see how -pretty she is, but to see what it is that makes her pretty.” - -“But this is to be a family tea-party,” protested Brood. “It isn't a -function, as the society reporter would say. Come just as you are to -please me.” - -“A tea-party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr Brood,” said she. -“One can learn a lot at either. Still, if you'd like to have Mrs Brood -see me as I really am, I'll appear _sans_ plumage.” - -“I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other, -Lydia.” - -“I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she -quaintly. “You look very happy, Mr Brood,” she went on, her eyes bright. - -“I believe I _am_ happy,” said he. - -“Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder. - -She returned to the jade room on the upper floor, where she had been at -work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of -rare jade. A catalogue, she knew, would have but little significance, in -view of the fact that the collection was not likely to be exhibited -to public view. Still it was his whim, and she had found considerable -pleasure in carrying out his belated orders. - -The jade room, so called, was little more than a large closet off -the remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his -“hiding-place,” or, on occasions, his “retreat.” No one ventured into -either of these rooms except by special permission. - -Ranjab, his Indian servant, slept in an adjoining room, and it was -whispered about the house that not even James Brood had viewed its -interior. This silent, unapproachable man from the mysterious heart of -India locked his door when he entered the room and locked it when he -came out. No one, not even the master, thought of entering. Mr Dawes in -his cups, or out of them, was responsible for the impression that -the man kept deadly serpents there. As a matter of fact, Ranjab was a -peaceable fellow and desperately afraid of snakes. - -Lydia loved the feel of the cold, oily lumps of jade. There were a few -pieces of porcelain of extreme rarity and beauty as well, and several -priceless bits of cloisonné, but it was the jade she loved. There were -two or three hundred objects of various sizes and colours, and all -were what might be called museum pieces. To each was attached a tag -disclosing certain facts concerning its origin, its history, and the -date of its admission to the Brood collection. It appeared to be Lydia's -task to set down these dates and facts in chronological order. Her -imagination built quaint little stories about each of the ancient -figures. She believed in fairies. - -She had been at work for half an hour or longer when a noise in the -outer room attracted her attention. She had the odd feeling that someone -was looking at her through the open door, and swiftly turned. - -Except when occupied by Brood, the room was darkened by means of heavy -window-hangings; the effect was that produced by the gloaming just -before the stars appeared. Objects were shadowy, indistinct, mysterious. -The light from the jade room door threw a diverging ray across the full -length of the room. In the very centre of this bright strip sat a -placid effigy of Buddha that Brood had found in a remote corner of Siam, -serenely stolid on top of its thick base of bronze and lacquer, with a -shining shrine for a background. - -In the dim edge of the shadow, near the door at the far end of the room, -Lydia made out the motionless, indistinct figure of a woman. The faint -outlines of the face were discernible, but not so the features. For a -moment the girl stared at the watcher and then advanced to the door. - -“Who is it?” she inquired, peering. - -A low, husky voice replied, with a suggestion of laughter in the tones. - -“I am exploring the house.” - -Lydia came forward at once. - -“Oh, it is Mrs Brood. I beg your pardon. Shall I switch on the lights?” - -“Are there such awful things as electric lights in this wonderful room?” - cried the other, disappointed. “I can't believe it of my husband. He -couldn't permit anything so bizarre as that.” - -“They are emergency lights,” laughed Lydia. “He never uses them, of -course. They are for the servants.” - -“You are Lydia?” - -“Yes, Mrs Brood.” - -“I have been prowling everywhere. Your good mother deserted me when -my maid arrived with Ranjab a short time ago. Isn't this the dread -_Bluebeard room?_ Shall I lose my head if I am discovered by the ogre?” - -The girl felt the spell stealing over her. The low voice of the woman in -the shadow was like a sensuous caress. She experienced a sudden longing -to be closer to the speaker, to listen for the very intake of her -breath. - -“You have already been discovered by the ogre, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia -gaily, “and your head appears to be quite safe.” - -“Thank you,” rather curtly, as if repelling familiarity. It was like a -dash of cold water to Lydia's spirits. “You may turn on the lights. I -should like to see _you_, Miss Desmond.” - -The girl crossed the room, passing close to the stranger in the house. -The fragrance of a perfume hitherto unknown to her separated itself -from the odour of sandalwood that always filled the place; it was soft, -delicate, refreshing. It was like a breath of cool, sweet air filtering -into a close, stuffy enclosure. One could not help drawing in a long, -full breath, as if the lungs demanded its revivifying qualities. - -A soft, red glow began to fill the room as Lydia pulled the cord near -the door. There was no clicking sound, no sharp contact of currents; the -light came up gradually, steadily, until the whole space was drenched -with its refulgence. There were no shadows. Every nook and corner seemed -to fill with the warm, pleasant hue of the setting sun, and yet no -visible means appeared. - -As the light grew brighter and brighter the eyes of the stranger swept -the room with undisguised wonder in their depths. - -“How extraordinary!” she murmured, and then turned swiftly toward the -girl. “Where does it come from? I can see no lights. And see! There are -no shadows, not even beneath the table yonder. It--it is uncanny--but, oh, -how lovely!” - -Lydia was staring at her with wide-open eyes, frankly astonished. -The eager, excited gleam vanished from Mrs Brood's lovely eyes. They -narrowed slightly. - -“Why do you stare at me?” she demanded. - -“I beg your pardon,” cried the girl, blushing. - -“I--I couldn't help it, Mrs Brood. Why, you are young!” The exclamation -burst from her lips. - -“Young?” queried the other, frowning. - -“I--I expected----” began Lydia, and stopped in pretty confusion. - -“I see. You expected a middle-aged lady? And why, pray, should James -Brood marry a middle-aged person?” - -“I--I don't know. I'm sorry if I have offended you.” - -Mrs Brood smiled, a gay, pleased little smile that revealed her small, -even teeth. - -“You haven't offended me, my dear,” she said. “You offend my husband by -thinking so ill of him, that's all.” She took the girl in from head to -foot with critical eyes. “He said you were very pretty and very lovable. -You are lovely. Isn't it a horrid word? Pretty! No one wants to be -pretty. Yes, you are just what I expected.” - -Lydia was the taller of the two women--a matter of two inches perhaps--and -yet she had the curious feeling that she was looking upward as she gazed -into the other's eyes. It was the way Mrs Brood held herself. - -“He has known me since I was a little girl,” she said, as if to account -for Brood's favourable estimate. - -“And he knew your mother before you were born,” said the other. “She, -too, is--shall I say pretty?” - -“My mother isn't pretty, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia, conscious of a sudden -feeling of resentment. - -“She is handsome,” said Mrs Brood with finality. Sending a swift glance -around the room, she went on: “My husband delights in having beautiful -things about him. He doesn't like the ugly things of this world.” - -Lydia flinched, she knew not why. There was a sting to the words, -despite the languidness with which they were uttered. - -Risking more than she suspected, she said: - -“He never considers the cost of a thing, Mrs Brood, if its beauty -appeals to him.” Mrs Brood gave her a quizzical, half-puzzled look. “You -have only to look about you for the proof. This one room represents a -fortune.” The last was spoken hastily. - -“How old are you, Miss Desmond?” The question came abruptly. - -“I am nineteen.” - -“You were surprised to find me so young. Will it add to your surprise if -I tell you that I am ten years older than you?” - -“I should have said not more than three or four years.” - -“I am twenty-nine--seven years older than my husband's son.” - -“It doesn't seem credible.” - -“Are you wondering why I tell you my age?” - -“Yes,” said Lydia bluntly. - -“In order that you may realise that I am ten years wiser than you, -and that you may not again make the mistake of under-estimating my -intelligence.” - -The colour faded from Lydia's face. She grew cold from head to foot. -Involuntarily she moved back a pace. The next instant, to her unbounded -surprise, Mrs Brood's hands were outstretched in a gesture of appeal, -and a quick, wistful smile took the place of the imperious stare. - -“There! I am a nasty, horrid thing. Forgive me. Come! Don't be stubborn. -Shake hands with me and say that you're sorry I said what I did.” - -It was a quaint way of putting it, and her voice was so genuinely -appealing that Lydia, after a moment's hesitation, extended her hands. -Mrs Brood grasped them in hers and gripped them tightly. - -“I think I should like to know that you are my friend, Lydia. Has it -occurred to you that I am utterly without friends in this great city -of yours? I have my husband, that is all. Among all these millions of -people there is not one who knows that I exist. Isn't it appalling? Can -you imagine such a condition? There is not one to whom I can give an -honest smile. Nor am I likely to have many friends here. Indeed, I shall -not lift my finger to gain them. You will know me better one day, Lydia, -and you will understand. But now--to-day, to-morrow--now--I must have -someone to whom I may offer my friendship and have something to hope for -in return.” - -Lydia could hardly credit her ears. - -“I am sure you will have many friends, Mrs Brood,” she began, vaguely -uncomfortable. - -“I don't want them,” cried the other sharply. “Poof! Are friends to be -made in a day? No! Admirers, yes. Enemies, yes. But friends, no. -I shall have no real friends here. It isn't possible. I am not like your -people. I cannot become like them. I shall know people and like them, no -doubt, but--poof! I shall not have them for friends.” - -“I can't understand why you want me for a friend,” said Lydia stiffly. -“My position here is not what----” - -Mrs Brood had not released the girl's hands. She interrupted her now by -dropping them as if they were of fire. - -“You don't want to be my friend?” - -“Yes, yes--of course----” - -“You are my husband's friend?” - -“Certainly, Mrs Brood. He is _my_ friend.” - -“What is _your_ position here?” - -Lydia's face was flaming. - -“I thought you knew. I am his secretary, if I may be allowed to -dignify my----” - -“And you are Frederic's friend?” - -“Yes.” - -“Despite your position?” - -“I don't understand you, Mrs Brood.” - -Once more the warm, enchanting smile broke over the face of the other. - -“Isn't it perfectly obvious, Lydia?” - -The girl could no more withstand the electric charm of the woman -than she could have fought off the sunshine. She was bewildered and -completely fascinated. - -“It's--it is very good of you,” she murmured, her own eyes softening as -they looked into the deep velvety ones that would not be denied. Even as -she wondered whether she could ever really like this magnetic creature, -she felt herself surrendering to the spell of her. “But perhaps you will -not like me when you know me better.” - -“Perhaps,” said Mrs Brood calmly, almost indifferently, and dismissed -the subject. “What an amazing room! One can almost feel the presence -of the genii that created it at the wish of the man with the enchanted -lamp. As a rule, Oriental rooms are abominations, but this--ah, this is -not an Oriental room after all. It is a part of the East itself--of the -real East. I have sat in emperors' houses out there, my dear, and I have -slept in the palaces of kings. I have seen just such things as these, -and I know that they could not have been transported to this room except -by magic. My husband is a magician.” - -“These came from the palaces of kings, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia -enthusiastically. “Kings in the days when kings were real. This -rug----” - -“I know,” interrupted the other. “It was woven by five generations of -royal weavers. Each of these borders represents the work of a lifetime. -It is the carpet of rubies, and a war was prolonged for years because an -emperor would not give it up to the foe who coveted it above all other -riches. His heart's blood stains it to this day. His empire was wiped -out by the relentless foe, his very name effaced, but the heart's blood -still is there, Lydia. That can never be wiped out. My husband told me -the story. It must have cost him a fortune.” - -“It is worth a fortune,” said Lydia. - -A calculating squint had come into Mrs Brood's eyes while she was -speaking. To Lydia it appeared as if she were trying to fix upon the -value of the wonderful carpet. - -“A collector has offered him--how much? A hundred thousand dollars, is -not that it? Ah, how rich he must be!” - -“The collector you refer to----” - -“I was referring to my husband,” said Mrs Brood, unabashed. “He is very -rich, isn't he?” - - Lydia managed to conceal her annoyance. “I think not, -as American fortunes are rated.” - -“It doesn't matter,” said the other carelessly. -“I have my own fortune. And it is not my face,” she added with her -quick smile. “Now let us look farther. I must see all of these wonderful -things. We will not be missed, and it is still half an hour till -tea-time. My husband is now telling his son all there is to be told -about me--who and what I am, and how he came to marry me. Not, mind you, -how I came to marry him, but--the other way round. It's the way with men -past middle age.” - - Lydia hesitated before speaking. - - “Mr Brood does not -confide in Frederic. I am afraid they have but little in common. Oh, I -shouldn't have said that!” - -Mrs Brood regarded her with narrowing eyes. - -“He doesn't confide in Frederic?” she repeated in the form of a -question. Her voice seemed lower than before. - -“I'm sorry I spoke as I did, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, annoyed with -herself. - -“Is there a reason why he should dislike his son?” asked the other, -regarding her fixedly. - -“Of course not,” cried poor Lydia. - -There was a moment of silence. - -“Some day, Lydia, you will tell me about Mr Brood's other wife.” - -“She died many years ago,” said the girl evasively. - -“I know,” said Mrs Brood. “Still, I should like to hear more of the -woman he could not forget in all those years--until he met me.” - -She grew silent and preoccupied, a slight frown marking her forehead as -she resumed her examination of the room and its contents. - -It is quite impossible adequately to describe the place in which the two -women met for the first time. Suffice to say, it was long, narrow, and, -being next below the roof, low-ceilinged. The walls were hung with rich, -unusual tapestries whose subdued tones seemed to lure one back to the -undimmed glory of Solomon's days, to the even more remote realms of -those gods and goddesses on whom our fancy thrives despite the myths -they were. - -Silks of a weight and lustre that taxed credulity; golden threads -interweaving gems of the purest ray; fringe and galloons with the solemn -waste of ages in their thin, lovely sheen; over all the soft radiance of -an _Arabian Night_ and the gentle touch of a _Scheherazade._ Here hung -transported the fabulous splendours of Ind, the shimmering treasures of -Ming, and the loot of the _Forty Thieves_. - -The ceiling, for want of a better name, was no less than a canopy -constructed out of a single rug of enormous dimensions and incalculable -value, gleaming with the soft colours of the rainbow, shedding a serene -iridescence over the entire room to shame the light of day. - -The furniture, the trappings, the ornaments throughout were of a most -unusual character. A distinctly regal atmosphere prevailed. No article -there but had come from the palace of a ruler in the East, from the -massive gold and lacquered table to the tiniest piece of bronze or the -lowliest hassock. Chairs that had served as thrones, chests that had -contained the treasures of potentates, robes that had covered the bodies -of kings and queens, couches on which had nestled the favourites -of sultans, screens and mirrors that had reflected the jewels of an -empire--_all_ were here to feed the senses with dreams imperial. - -Great lanterns hung suspended beside the shrine at the end of the room, -but were now unlighted. On the table at which Brood professed to work -stood a huge lamp with a lacelike screen of gold. When lighted, a -soft, mellow glow oozed through the shade to create a circle of golden -brilliance over a radius that extended but little beyond the edge of the -table, yet reached to the benign countenance of Buddha close by. - -Over all this fairylike splendour reigned the serene, melting influence -of the god to whom James Brood was wont to confess himself. The spell of -the golden image dominated everything. - -In the midst of this magnificence moved the two women--one absurdly -out of touch with her surroundings, yet a thing of beauty; the other -blending intimately with the warm tones that enveloped her. She was -lithe, sinuous, with the grace of the most seductive of dancers. Her -dark eyes reflected the mysteries of the Orient; her pale, smooth skin -shone with the clearness of alabaster; the crimson in her lips was like -the fresh stain of blood; the very fragrance of her person seemed to -steal out of the unknown. She was a part of the marvellous setting, a -gem among gems. - -She had attired herself in a dull Indian-red afternoon gown of chiffon. -The very fabric seemed to cling to her supple body with a sensuous -joy of contact. Even Lydia, who watched her with appraising eyes, -experienced a swift, unaccountable desire to hold this intoxicating -creature close to her own body. - -There were two windows in the room, broad openings that ran from -near the floor almost to the edge of the canopy. They were so heavily -curtained that the light of day failed to penetrate to the interior of -the apartment. Mrs Brood approached one of these windows. Drawing the -curtains apart, she let in an ugly gray light from the outside world. -The illusion was spoiled at once. - -“How cold and pallid the world really is!” she cried, a shiver passing -over her slim body. - -The sky above the housetops was bleak and drab in the waning light of -late afternoon. Over the summits of loft-buildings to the south and west -hung the smoke from the river beyond, smudgy clouds that neither drifted -nor settled. - -She looked down into a sort of courtyard and garden that might have been -transplanted from distant Araby. Uttering an exclamation of wonder, she -turned to Lydia. - -“Is this New York or am I bewitched?” - -“Mr Brood transformed the old carriage yard into a--I think Mr Dawes -calls it a Persian garden. It is rather bleak in winter-time, Mrs Brood, -but in the summer it is really enchanting. See, across the court on the -second floor, where the windows are lighted, those are your rooms. It -is an enormous house, you'll find. Do you see the little balcony outside -your windows, and the vines creeping up to it? You can't imagine how -sweet it is of a summer night with the moon and stars----” - -“But how desolate it looks to-day, with the dead vines and the -colourless stones! Ugh!” - -She dropped the curtains. The soft, warm glow of the room came back, and -she sighed with relief. - -“I hate things that are dead,” she said. - -At the sound of a soft tread and the gentle rustle of draperies, they -turned. Ranjab, the Hindu, was crossing the room toward the small door -which gave entrance to his closet. He paused for an instant before the -image of Buddha, but did not drop to his knees, as all devout Buddhists -do. Mrs Brood's hand fell lightly upon Lydia's arm. The man turned -toward them a second or two later. - -His dark, handsome face was hard set and emotionless as he bowed low -to the new mistress of the house. The fingers closed tightly on Lydia's -arm. Then he smiled upon the girl, a glad smile of devotion. His swarthy -face was transfigured. A moment later he unlocked his door and passed -into the other room. The key turned in the lock with a slight rasp. - -“I do not like that man,” said Mrs Brood. Her voice was low and her eyes -were fixed steadily on the closed door. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -The ensuing fortnight brought the expected changes in the household. -James Brood, to the surprise of not only himself, but others, lapsed -into a curious state of adolescence. His infatuation was complete. The -once dominant influence of the man seemed to slink away from him as the -passing days brought up the new problems of life. Where he had lived to -command he now was content to serve. - -His friends, his son, his servants viewed the transformation with -wonder, not to say apprehension. It was not difficult to understand his -infatuation for the--shall we say enchantress? He was not the only one -there to fall under the spell. But it was almost unbelievable that he -should submit to thraldom with the complacency of a weakling. - -Love, which had been lying bruised and unconscious within him for twenty -years and more, arose from its stupor and became a thing to play with, -as one would play with a child. The old, ugly vistas melted into -dreamy, adolescent contemplations of a paradise in which he could walk -hand-in-hand with the future and find that the ghosts of the past no -longer attended him along the once weary way. - -It would not be true to say that the remarkable personality of the man -had suffered. He was still the man of steel, but re-tempered. The rigid -broadsword was made over into the fine, flexible blade of Toledo. He -could be bent but not broken. - -It pleased him to submit to Yvonne's commands, - -Not that they were arduous or peremptory; on the contrary, they were -suggestions in which his own comfort and pleasure appeared to be the -inspiration. He found something like delight in being rather amiably -convinced of his own shortcomings; in learning from her that his life up -to this hour had been a sadly mismanaged affair; that there were soft, -fertile spots in his heart where things would grow in spite of him. He -enjoyed the unique spectacle of himself in the process of being made -over to fit ideals that he would have scorned a few months before. - -She was too wise to demand, too clever to resort to cajolery. She was -a Latin. Diplomacy was hers as a birthright. Complaints, appeals, sulks -would have gained nothing from James Brood. It would not have occurred -to her to employ these methods. From the day she entered the house she -was its mistress. She was sure of her ground, sure of herself, fettered -by no sense of doubt as to her position there, bound by no feminine -notion of gratitude to man, as many women are who find themselves -married. It might almost be said of her that she ruled without making a -business of it. - -To begin with, she miraculously transferred the sleeping quarters of -Messrs Dawes and Riggs from the second floor front to the third floor -back without arousing the slightest sign of antagonism on the part of -the crusty old gentlemen who had occupied one of the choice rooms in -the house with uninterrupted security for a matter of nine or ten years. -This was a feat that James Brood himself would never have tried -to accomplish. They had selected this room at the first instant of -occupation, because it provided something of a view up and down the -street from the big bow window, and they wouldn't evacuate. - -Mrs Brood explained the situation to them so graciously, so -convincingly, that they even assisted the servants in moving their -heterogeneous belongings to the small, remote room on the third floor, -and applauded her plan to make a large sitting-room of the chamber they -were deserting. It did not occur to them for at least three days that -they had been imposed upon, cheated, maltreated, insulted, and then it -was too late. The decorators were in the big room on the second floor. - -Perhaps they would not have arrived at a sense of realisation even then -if it had not come out in the course of conversation that it was not to -be a _general_ sitting-room, but one with reservations. The discovery of -what they secretly were pleased to call duplicity brought an abrupt end -to the period of abstemiousness that had lasted since the day of her -arrival, when, out of courtesy to the bride, they had turned their backs -upon the tipple. - -Now, however, the situation was desperate. She had tricked them with -her wily politeness. They had been betrayed by the wife of their bosom -friend. Is it small cause for wonder, then, that the poor gentlemen as -manfully turned back to the tipple and got gloriously, garrulously drunk -in the middle of the afternoon and also in the middle of the library, -where tea was to have been served to a few friends asked in to meet the -bride? - -The next morning a fresh edict was issued. It came from James Brood, and -it was so staggering that the poor gentlemen were loath to believe their -ears. As a result of this new command they began to speak of Mrs Brood -in the privacy of their own room as “that woman.” Of course, it was -entirely due to her mischievous, malevolent influence that a spineless -husband put forth the order that they were to have nothing more to drink -while they remained in his house. - -This command was modified to a slight extent later on. Brood felt sorry -for the victims. He loved them, and he knew that their pride was injured -a great deal more than their appetite. In its modified form the edict -allowed them a small drink in the morning and another at bedtime, but -the doses (as they sarcastically called them) were to be administered by -Jones the butler, who held the key to the situation and--the sideboard. - -“Is this a dispensary?” wailed Mr Dawes in weak horror. “Are we to stand -in line and solicit the common necessities of life? Answer me, Riggs! -Confound you, don't stand there like a wax figure! Say something!” - -Mr Riggs shook his head bleakly. - -“Poor Jim,” was all that he said, and rolled his eyes heavenward. - -Mr Dawes reflected. After many minutes the tears started down his -rubicund cheeks. “Poor old Jim,” he sighed. And after that they looked -upon Mrs Brood as the common enemy of all three. - -The case of Mrs John Desmond was disposed of in a summary but tactful -manner. - -“If Mrs Desmond is willing to remain, James, as housekeeper instead of -friend, all well and good,” said Mrs Brood, discussing the matter in the -seclusion of her boudoir. “I doubt, however, whether she can descend to -that. You have spoiled her, my dear.” - -Brood was manifestly pained and uncomfortable. - -“She was the wife of my best friend, Yvonne. I have never permitted her -to feel----” - -“Ah,” she interrupted, “the wives of best friends! Nearly every man has -the wife of a best friend somewhere in his life's history.” She shook -her head at him with mock mournfulness. - -He flushed. “I trust you do not mean to imply that----” - -“I know what you would say. No, I do not mean anything of the sort. -Still, you now have a wife of your own. Is it advisable to have also the -wife of a best friend?” - -“Really, Yvonne, all this sounds very suspicious and--unpleasant. Mrs -Desmond is the soul of----” - -“My dear man, why should you defend her? I am not accusing her. I am -merely going into the ethics of the situation. If you can forget that -Mrs Desmond is the wife of your friend and come to regard her as a -servant in your establishment, no one will be more happy than I to have -her about the place. She is fine, she is competent, she is a lady. But -she is not my equal here. Can't you understand?” - -He was thoughtful for a moment. - -“I dare say you are right. The conditions are peculiar. I can't go -to her and say that she must consider herself as--oh, no, that would be -impossible.” - -“I should like to have Mrs Desmond as my friend, not as my housekeeper,” - said his wife simply. - -“By Jove, and that's just what I should like,” he cried. - -“There is but one way, you know.” - -“She must be one or the other, eh?” - -“Precisely,” she said with firmness. “In my country, James, the wives of -best friends haven't the same moral standing that they appear to have in -yours. Oh, don't scowl so! Shall I tell you again that I do not mean to -reflect on Mrs Desmond's virtue--or discretion? Far from it. If she is to -be my friend, she cannot be your housekeeper. That's the point. Has she -any means of her own? Can she----” - -“She has a small income, and an annuity which I took out for her soon -after her poor husband's death. We were the closest of friends----” - -“I understand, James. You are very generous and very loyal. I quite -understand. Losing her position here, then, will not be a hardship?” - -“No,” said he soberly. - -“I am quite competent, James,” she said brightly. “You will not miss -her, I am sure.” - -“It isn't that, Yvonne,” he sighed. “Mrs Desmond and Lydia have been -factors in my life for so long that---- But, of course, that is neither -here nor there. I will explain the situation to her to-morrow. She will -understand.” - -“Thank you, James. You are really quite reasonable.” - -“Are you laughing at me, darling?” - -She gave him one of her searching, unfathomable glances, and she smiled -with roguish mirth. - -“Isn't it your mission in life to amuse and entertain me?” - -“I love you, Yvonne. Good God, how I love you!” he cried abruptly. - -His eyes burned with a sudden flame of passion as he bent over her. -His face quivered; his whole being tingled with the fierce spasm of an -uncontrollable desire to crush the warm, adorable body to his breast in -the supreme ecstasy of possession. - -She surrendered herself to his passionate embrace. A little later -she withdrew herself from his arms, her lips still quivering with the -fierceness of his kisses. Her eyes, dark with wonder and perplexity, -regarded his transfigured face for a long, tense moment. - -“Is this love, James?” she whispered. “Is this the real, true love?” - -“What else, in Heaven's name, can it be?” he cried. He was sitting upon -the arm of her chair, looking down at the strangely pallid face. - -“But should love have the power to frighten me?” - -“Frighten, my darling?” - -“Oh, it is not you who are frightened,” she cried. “You are the man. But -I--ah, I am only the woman.” - -He stared. “What an odd way to put it, dear.” - -Then he drew back, struck by the curious gleam of mockery in her eyes. - -“Was it like this twenty-five years ago?” she asked. - -“Yvonne!” - -“Did you love her--like this?” - -He managed to smile. “Are you jealous?” - -“Tell me about her.” - -His face hardened. “Some other time, not now.” - -“But you loved her, didn't you?” - -“Don't be silly, dear.” - -“And she loved you. If you loved her as you love me, she could not have -helped----” - -“Please, please, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, a dull red setting in his cheek. - -“You have never told me her name----” - -He faced her, his eyes as cold as steel. “I may as well tell you now, -Yvonne, that her name is never mentioned in this house.” - -She seemed to shrink down farther in the chair. - -“Why?” she asked, an insistent note in her voice. - -“It isn't necessary to explain.” He walked away from her to the window -and stood looking out over the bleak little courtyard. Neither spoke for -many minutes, and yet he knew that her questioning gaze was upon him and -that when he turned to her again she would ask still another question. -He tried to think of something to say that would turn her away from this -hated subject. - -“Isn't it time for you to dress, dearest? The Gunnings live pretty -far up north and the going will be bad with Fifth Avenue piled up with -snow----” - -“Doesn't Frederic ever mention his mother's name?” came the question -that he feared before it was uttered. - -“I am not certain that he knows her name,” said he levelly. The knuckles -of his hands, clenched tightly behind his back, were white. “He has -never heard me utter it.” - -She looked at him darkly. There was something in her eyes that caused -him to shift his own steady gaze uncomfortably. He could not have -explained what it was, but it gave him a curiously uneasy feeling, as -of impending peril. It was not unlike the queer, inexplicable, though -definite, sensing of danger that more than once he had experienced in -the silent, tranquil depths of great forests. - -“But you loved her just the same, James, up to the time you met me. Is -not that true?” - -“No!” he exclaimed loudly. “It is not true.” - -“I wonder what could have happened to make you so bitter toward her,” - she went on, still watching him through half-closed eyes. “Was she -unfaithful to you? Was----” - -“Good God, Yvonne!” he cried, an angry light jumping into his eyes--the -eyes that so recently had been ablaze with love. - -“Don't be angry, dearest,” she cried plaintively. “We Europeans speak of -such things as if they were mere incidents. I forget that you Americans -take them seriously, as tragedies.” - -He controlled himself with an effort. The pallor in his face would have -alarmed anyone but her. - -“We must never speak of--of that again, Yvonne,” he said, a queer note -of hoarseness in his voice. “Never, do you understand?” He was very much -shaken. - -“Forgive me,” she pleaded, stretching out her hand to him. “I am -foolish, but I did not dream that I was being cruel or unkind. Perhaps, -dear, it is because I am--jealous.” - -“There is no one--nothing to be jealous of,” he said, passing a hand over -his moist brow. Then he drew nearer and took her hand in his. It was as -cold as ice. - -“Your hand is cold, darling,” he cried. - -“And yours, too,” she said, looking down at their clasped hands, a faint -smile on her lips. Suddenly she withdrew her fingers from his strong -grip. A slight shiver ran over her frame. “Ugh! I don't like cold -hands!” - -He laughed rather desolately. “Suppose that I were to say the same to -you?” - -“I am temperamental; you are not,” she replied coolly. “Sit down, dear. -Let us be warm again.” - -“Shall I have the fire replenished----” - -“No,” she said with her slow smile, “you don't understand.” - -He lounged again on the arm of her chair. She leaned back and sighed -contentedly, the smile on her red lips growing sweeter with each breath -that she took. He felt his blood warming once more. - -For a long time they sat thus, looking into each other's eyes without -speaking. He was trying to fathom the mystery that lurked at the bottom -of those smiling wells; she, on the other hand, deluded herself with the -idea that she was reading his innermost thought. - -“I have been considering the advisability of sending Frederic abroad for -a year or two,” said he at last. - -She started. She had been far from right in her reading. - -“Now? This winter?” - -“Yes. He has never been abroad.” - -“Indeed? And he is half European, too. It seems--forgive me, James. -Really, you know, I cannot always keep my thoughts from slipping out. -You shouldn't expect it, dear.” - -“How did you know that his--his mother was a European?” he inquired -abruptly. - -“Dear me! What manner of woman do you think I am? Without curiosity? I -should be a freak. I have inquired of Mrs Desmond. There was no harm in -that.” - -“What did she tell you? But no! It doesn't matter. We shan't discuss it. -We----” - -“She told me little or nothing,” she broke in quickly. “You may rest -quite easy, James.” - -“Upon my word, Yvonne, I don't understand----” - -“Let us speak of Frederic.” - -“I suppose it is only natural that you should inquire,” he said -resignedly. - -“Of my servants,” she added pointedly. - -He flushed slightly. “I dare say I deserve the rebuke. It will not be -necessary to pursue that line of inquiry, however. I shall tell you the -story myself some day, Yvonne. Will you not bear with me?” - -She met the earnest appeal in his eyes with a slight frown of annoyance. - -“Who is to tell me the wife's side of the story?” - -The question was like a blow to him. He stared at her as if he had not -heard aright. Before he could speak she went on coolly. - -“I dare say there are two sides to it, James. It's usually the case.” - -He winced. “There is but one side to this one,” he said, a harsh note in -his voice. - -“That is why I began my inquiries with Mrs Desmond,” she said -enigmatically. “But I shan't pursue them any farther. You love _me_; -that is all I care to know--or that I require.” - -“I _do_ love you,” he said, almost imploringly. She stroked his gaunt -cheek. “Then we may let the other woman--go hang, eh?” - -He felt the cold sweat start on his brow. Her callous remark slashed his -finer sensibilities like the thrust of a dagger. He tried to laugh, but -only succeeded in producing a painful grimace. - -“And now,” she went on, as if the matter were fully disposed of, “we -will discuss something tangible, eh? Frederic.” - -“Yes,” said he, rather dazedly. “Frederic.” - -“I am very, very fond of your son, James,” she said. “How proud you must -be to have such a son.” - -He eyed her narrowly. How much of the horrid story did she know? How -much of it had John Desmond told to his wife? - -“I am surprised at your liking him, Yvonne. He is what I'd call a -difficult young man.” - -“I haven't found him difficult.” - -“Morbid and unresponsive.” - -“Not by nature, however. There is a joyousness, a light-heartedness in -his character that has never got beyond the surface until now, James.” - -“Until now?” - -“Yes. And you talk of sending him away. Why?” - -“He has wanted to go abroad for years. This is a convenient time for him -to go.” - -“But I am quite sure he will not care to go at present--not for a while, -at least.” - -“And why not, may I ask?” - -“Because he is in love.” - -“In love!” he exclaimed, his jaw setting hard. - - “He is in love with -Lydia.” - -“I'll put a stop to that!” - -“And why, may I ask?” she mimicked. - -“Because--why----” he burst out, but instantly collected himself. “He is -not in a position to marry, that's all.” - -“Financially?” - -He swallowed hard. “Yes.” - -“Poof!” she exclaimed, dismissing the obstacle with a wave of her slim -hand. “A cigarette, please. There is another reason why he shouldn't -go--an excellent one.” - -“The reason you've already given is sufficient to convince me that he -ought to go at once. What is the other one, pray?” - -She lighted a cigarette from the match he held. “What would you say if I -were to tell you that I object to his going away--at present?” - -“I should ask the very obvious question.” - -“Because I like him, I want him to like me, and I shall be very lonely -without him,” she answered calmly. - -“You are frank, to say the least,” said he, laughing. - -“And serious. I don't want him to go away at present. Later on, yes; but -not now. I shall need him, James.” - -“You will be lonely, you say.” - -“Certainly. You forget that I am young.” - -“I see,” said he, a sudden pain in his heart. “Perhaps it would be more -to the point if you were to say that I forget that I am old.” - -She laughed. It was a soft, musical laugh that strangely stilled the -tumult in his breast. - -“You are younger than Frederic,” she said. “Unless we do something to -prevent it, your son will be an old man before he is thirty. Don't send -him away now, James. Let me have him for a while. I mean it, dear. He is -a lonely boy, and I know what it is to be lonely.” - -“You?” he cried. “Why, you've never known anything but----” - -“One can be lonely even in the heart of a throng,” she said cryptically. -“No, James, I will not have him sent away.” - -He resented the imputation. “Why do you say that I am sending him away?” - -“Because you are,” she replied boldly. - -He was silent for a moment. “We will leave it to Frederic,” he said. - -Her face brightened. “That is all I ask. He will stay.” - -There was another pause. “You two have become very good friends, -Yvonne.” - -“He is devoted to me.” - -“Don't spoil him in making him over,” he said dryly. - -She blew cigarette--smoke in his face and laughed. There was a knock at -the door. - -“Come in!” she called. - -Frederic entered. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A certain element of gaiety invaded the staid old house in these -days. The new mistress was full of life and the joy of living. She was -accustomed to adulation, she was used to the tumult of society. Her -life, since she left the convent school, evidently had been one in which -rest, except physical, was unknown. - -Yvonne Lestrange, in a way, had been born to purple and fine linen. She -had never known deprivation of any description. Neither money, position, -nor love had been denied her during the few years in which her charm and -beauty had flashed across the great European capitals, penetrating even -to the recesses of royal courts. - -It is doubtful if James Brood knew very much concerning her family when -he proposed marriage to her, but it is certain that he did not care. He -first saw her at the home of a British nobleman, but did not meet her. -Something in the vivid, brilliant face of the woman made a deep and -lasting impression on him. There was an instant when their eyes met -through an opening in the throng which separated them. He was not only -conscious of the fact that he was staring at her, but that she was -looking at him in a curiously penetrating way. - -There was a mocking smile on her lips at the time. He saw it fade away, -even as the crowd came between. He knew that the smile had not been -intended for him, but for someone of the eager cavaliers who surrounded -her, and yet there was something singularly direct in the look she gave -him. - -Later on he made inquiries of his host, with whom he had hunted big game -in Africa, and learned that she was a guest in the home of the Russian -ambassador. He did not see her again until they met in the south of -France a few months later. On this occasion they were guests at the same -house, and he took her into dinner. He had not forgotten her, and it -gratified him immensely to discover that she remembered him. - -That single glance in the duke's house proved to be a fatal one for -both. They were married inside of a month. The virile, confident -American had conquered where countless suppliants of a more or less -noble character had gone down to defeat. - -He asked but one question of her; she asked none of him. The fact that -she was the intimate friend and associate of the woman in whose home he -met her was sufficient proof of her standing in society, although that -would have counted for little so far as Brood was concerned. - -She was the daughter of a baron; she had spent much of her life in -Paris, coming from St Petersburg when a young girl; and she was an -orphan with an independent fortune of her own. - -Her home in Paris, where she had lived with some degree of permanence -for the past four or five years, was shared with an estimable, though -impoverished, lady of rank, the Countess de Rochambert, of middle age -and undeniable qualifications as a chaperon, even among those who are -prone to laugh at locksmiths. Such common details as these came to Brood -in the natural way and were not derived from any effort on his part to -secure information concerning Mlle Lestrange. Like the burned child, he -asked a question which harked back to an unforgotten pain. - -“Have you ever loved a man deeply, devotedly, Yvonne--so deeply that -there is pain in the thought of him?” - -She replied without hesitation. - -“There is no such man, James. You may be sure of that.” - -“I am confident that I can hold your love against the future, but no man -is vital enough to compete with the past. Love doesn't really die, you -know. If a man cannot hold a woman's love against all new-comers, he -deserves to lose it. It doesn't follow, however, that he can protect -himself against the man who appears out of the past and claims his own.” - -“You speak as though the past had played you an evil trick,” she said. - -He did not mince words. - -“Years ago a man came out of the past and took from me the woman I loved -and cherished.” - -“Your--your wife?” she asked in a voice suddenly lowered. - -“Yes,” he said quietly. - -She was silent for a long time. - -“I wonder at your courage in taking the risk again,” she said. - -“I think I wonder at it myself,” said he. “No, I am not afraid,” he went -on, as if convincing himself that there was no risk. “I shall make you -love me to the end, Yvonne. I am not afraid. But why do you not ask me -for all the wretched story?” - -“It is not unlike all stories of its kind, my dear,” she said with an -indifference that amazed him. “They are all alike. Why should I ask? -The wife takes up with an old lover; she deceives her husband; the world -either does or does not find out about it; the home is wrecked; the -husband takes to drink; the wife pretends she is happy; the lover -takes to women; and the world goes on just the same in spite of them. -Sometimes the husband kills. It is of no moment. Sometimes the wife -destroys herself. It is a trifle. The whole business is like the -magazine story that is for ever being continued in our next. No, I do -not ask you for your story, James. Some time you may tell me, but not -to-day. I shouldn't mind hearing it if it were an original tale, but God -knows it isn't. It's as old as the Nile. But you may tell me more about -your son. Is he like you, or like his mother?” - -Brood's lips were compressed. - -“I can't say that he is like either of us,” he said shortly. - -She raised her eyebrows slightly. - -“Ah,” she said. “That makes quite a difference. Perhaps, after all, -I shall be interested in the story.” Her manner was so casual, so -serenely, matter-of-fact, that he could hardly restrain the sharp -exclamation of annoyance that rose to his lips. - -He bit his lip and allowed the frank insinuation to go unanswered. He -consoled himself with the thought that she must have spoken in jest -without intention. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she would make -light of his story, too, when the time came for revelations. A curious -doubt took root in his mind: Would he ever be able to understand the -nature of this woman whom he loved and who appeared to love him so -unreservedly? As time went on the doubt became a conviction. She proved -to be utterly beyond Brood's comprehension. - -The charm and beauty of the new mistress of James Brood's heart and home -was to become the talk of the town. Already, in the first month of her -reign, she had drawn to the old house the attention not only of the -parasites who feed on novelty, but of families that had long since given -up Brood as a representative figure in the circle into which he had been -born. - -He had dropped out of their lives so completely in the passing years -that no one took the trouble to interest himself in the man's affairs. -His self-effacement had been complete. The story of his ill-fated -marriage was an almost forgotten page in the history of the town. - -Old friends now cudgelled their brains to recall the details of the -break between him and the first Mrs Brood, who, they were bound to -remember, was also beautiful, fascinating, and an adornment to the -rather exclusive circle in which they moved. No one could point to the -real cause of the separation, however, for the excellent reason that the -true conditions were never revealed to anyone outside the four walls of -the house from which she was banished. - -Memory merely brought to mind the fact that the young husband became a -wanderer on the face of the earth, and that his once joyous face was an -almost forgotten object. - -Brood, in the full pride of possession, awoke to the astounding -realisation that he wanted people to envy him this wonderful creature. -He wanted men to covet her! He longed to have the world see her at -his side, and to feel that the world was saying: “She belongs to James -Brood.” - -It was not the cheap, ordinary New York society, the insufferably rich -and vulgar of the metropolis that he sought to conquer, but the fine old -families with whom rests the real verdict. He knew that those families -were not many in these days of haste and waste, but he also knew that -the rush of frivolity had not weakened their position. Their word was -still the law. Serenely confident, he revealed his wife to the few, and -waited. - -It cannot be said that she conquered, for that would be to imply design -on her part. Possibly she considered the game unworthy of the effort. -For, in truth, Yvonne Brood despised Americans. She made small pretence -of liking them. The rather closely knit circle of Parisian aristocracy -which she affected is known to tolerate, but not to invite, the society -of even the best of Americans. - -She was no larger than her environment. Her views upon and her attitude -toward the Americans were not created by her but for her. The fact that -James Brood had reached the inner shrine of French self-worship no doubt -put him in a class apart from all other Americans, so far as she was -concerned. At least it may account for an apparent inconsistency, in -that she married him without much hesitation. - -She welcomed the admiration and attention of the friends he brought to -the house by one means or another during the first few weeks. If she was -surprised to find them cultured, clever, agreeable specimens, she failed -to mention the discovery to him. They amused her and therefore served a -purpose. She charmed them in exchange for the tribute they paid to her. - -Those whom she liked the least she took no pains to please; in fact, she -endured them so politely that while they may have secretly resented her -indifference, they could do no less than openly profess admiration for -her. She offended no one, yet she managed with amazing adroitness to -rid herself of the bores. It happened, however, that the so-called bores -were the very people that Brood particularly wanted her to cultivate. -She found them stupid, but respectable. - -They were for ever telling her that she would like New York when she got -used to it. - -Her warmest friend and admirer--one might almost say slave--was Frederic -Brood. She had transformed him. He was no longer the silent, moody youth -of other days, but an eager, impetuous playmate, whose principal object -in life was to amuse her. If anyone had tried to convince him that -he could have regarded Mrs Desmond's dethronement and departure with -equanimity he would have protested with all the force at his command. -But that would have been a month ago! - -When the time came for his old friend to leave the house over which she -had presided for ten of the gentlest years of his life, his heart was -sore and his throat was tight with pain, but he accepted the inevitable -with a resignation that once would have been impossible. - -From the outset he realised that Mrs Desmond would have to go. At first -he rebelled within himself against the unspoken edict. Afterward he was -surprised to find that he regarded himself as selfish in even wishing -that she might stay, when it was so palpably evident that the situation -could not long remain pleasant for either Mrs Desmond or Mrs Brood. He -saw Lydia and her mother leave without the slightest doubt in his mind -that it was all for the best. - -The Desmonds took a small apartment just around the corner from Brood's -home, in a side street, and in the same block. Their windows looked down -into the courtyard in the rear of Brood's home. Frederic assisted them -in putting their new home in order. It was great fun for Lydia and him, -this building of what they were pleased to call “a nest.” - -Lydia may have seen the cloud in their sky, but he did not. To him the -world was bright and gladsome, without a shadow to mar its new beauty. -He was enthusiastic, eager, excited. She fell in with his spirit, but -her pleasure was shorn of some of its keenness by the odd notion that it -was not to endure. - -He even dragged Yvonne around to the little flat to expatiate upon its -cosiness with visual proof to support his somewhat exaggerated claims. -Her lazy eyes took in the apartment at a glance and she was done with -it. - -“It is very charming,” she said with her soft drawl. “Have you no -cigarettes, Lydia?” - -The girl flushed and looked to Frederic for relief. He promptly produced -his own cigarettes. Yvonne lighted one and then stretched herself in the -Morris chair. - -“You should learn to smoke,” she went on. - -“Mother wouldn't like me to smoke,” said Lydia rather bluntly. - -A faint frown appeared on Frederic's brow, only to disappear with -Yvonne's low, infectious laugh. - -“And Freddy doesn't like you to smoke either, _aïe?_” she said. - -“He may have changed his mind recently, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, -smiling so frankly that the edge was taken off of a rather direct -implication. - -“I don't mind women smoking,” put in Frederic hastily. “In fact, -I rather like it, the way Yvonne does it. It's a very graceful -accomplishment.” - -“But I am too clumsy to----” began Lydia. - -“My dear,” interrupted the Parisienne, carelessly flicking the ash into -a _jardinière_ at her elbow, “it is very naughty to smoke, and clumsy -women never should be naughty. If you really feel clumsy, don't, for my -sake, ever try to do anything wicked. There is nothing so distressing as -an awkward woman trying to be devilish.” - -“Oh, Lydia couldn't be devilish if she tried!” cried Frederic, with a -quick glance at the girl's half-averted face. - -“Don't say that, Frederic,” she cried. “That's as much as to say that I -_am_ clumsy and awkward.” - -“And you are not,” said Yvonne decisively. “You are very pretty and -graceful and adorable, and I am sure you could be very wicked if you set -about to do it.” - -“Thank you,” said Lydia dryly. - -“By the way, this window looks almost directly down into our courtyard,” - said Yvonne abruptly. She was leaning on her elbow, looking out upon the -housetops below. “There is my balcony, Freddy. And one can almost look -into your father's lair from where I sit.” - -She drew back from the window suddenly, a passing look of fear in her -eyes. It was gone in a second, and would have passed unnoticed but -for the fact that Frederic was, as usual, watching her face with rapt -interest. He caught the curious transition and involuntarily glanced -below. - -The heavy curtains in the window of his father's retreat were -drawn apart, and the dark face of Ranjab, the Hindu, was plainly -distinguishable. - -He was looking up at the window in which Mrs Brood was sitting. Although -Frederic was far above, he could see the gleaming white of the man's -eyes. The curtains fell quickly together and the gaunt, brown face was -gone. - -An odd feeling of uneasiness came over the young man. It was the feeling -of one who suddenly realises that he is being spied upon. He could -not account for the faint chill that ran through his body, leaving him -strangely cold and drear. - -What was the meaning of that intense scrutiny from his father's window? -Was Ranjab alone in the room? How did he happen to expose himself at -the very instant Yvonne appeared in the window above? These and other -questions raced through Frederic's puzzled brain. Out of them grew a -queer, almost uncanny feeling that the Hindu had called to her in the -still, mysterious voice of the East, and, although no sound had been -uttered, she had heard as plainly as if he actually had shouted to her -across the intervening space. - -He recalled the tales of the old men, in which they spoke of the -unaccountable swiftness with which news leaped across the unpopulated -deserts, far in advance of any material means of transmission. Along the -reaches of the Nile and in the jungles of India, weird instances of the -astonishing projection of thought across vast spaces were constantly -being reported. There was magic in the air. News travelled faster than -the swiftest steed, even faster than the engines of man, into the most -remote places, and yet there was no visible, tangible force behind the -remarkable achievement. - -His father had said more than once that the Hindu and the Egyptian -possessed the power to be in two distinct places at the same time. He -was wont to establish his theory by reciting the single instance of a -sick dragoman who had been left behind in a village on the edge of the -desert, with no means of crossing the vast stretch. And yet, when the -caravan reached its destination after a long but record-breaking -march, the man himself met them on the outskirts of the town with the -astonishing report that he was quite well and strong after a two weeks' -rest in his own house just inside of the city gates. - -How he had passed them on the desert, and how he had reached his home a -fortnight ahead of them, was one of the greatest mysteries James Brood -had ever sought to unravel. The man's presence there created no surprise -among the native members of the caravan. To them it was a most ordinary -thing. - -Again, in the depths of an Indian jungle Brood expressed the wish that -he had brought with him a certain rifle he had left at home. Not a man -left the camp, and yet at the end of the week a strange Hindu appeared -with the rifle, having traversed several hundred miles of practically -unexplored country in the time that would have been required to get the -message to Lahore by horse alone. - -James Brood, a sensible man, was a firm believer in magic. - -This much Frederic knew of Ranjab: if James Brood needed him, no matter -what the hour or the conditions, the man appeared before him as if out -of nowhere and in response to no audible summons. - -Was there, then, between these two, the beautiful Yvonne and the silent -Hindu, a voiceless pact that defied the will or understanding of either? - -He had not failed to note a tendency on her part to avoid the Hindu as -much as possible. She even confessed to an uncanny dread of the man, but -could not explain the feeling. Once she requested her husband to dismiss -the faithful fellow. When he demanded the reason, however, she could -only reply that she did not like the man and would feel happier if he -were sent away. Brood refused, and from that hour her fear of the Hindu -increased. - -Now she was speaking in a nervous hurried manner to Lydia, her back -toward the window. In the middle of a sentence she suddenly got up from -the chair and moved swiftly to the opposite side of the room, where she -sat down again as far as possible from the window. - -Frederic found himself watching her face with curious interest. All the -time she was speaking her eyes were fixed on the window. It was as -if she expected something to appear there. There was no mistaking -the expression. After studying her face in silence for a few minutes, -Frederic himself experienced an irresistible impulse to turn toward the -window. He half expected to see the Hindu's face there, looking in upon -them, a perfectly absurd notion when he remembered that they were at -least one hundred feet above the ground. - -Presently she arose to go. No, she could not wait for Mrs Desmond's -return. - -“It is charming here, Lydia,” she said, surveying the little -sitting-room with eyes that sought the window again and again in furtive -darts. “Frederic must bring me here often. We shall have cosy times -here, we three. It is so convenient, too, for you, my dear. You have -only to walk around the corner, and there you are--at your place of -business, as the men would say.” - -Lydia was to continue as Brood's amanuensis. He would not listen to any -other arrangement. - -“Oh, I do hope you will come, Mrs Brood!” cried the girl earnestly. “My -piano will be here to-morrow, and you shall hear Frederic play. He is -really wonderful.” - -“I'm the rankest duffer going, Yvonne,” broke in Frederic, but his eyes -were alight with pleasure. - -“You play?” asked Mrs Brood, regarding him rather fixedly. - -“He disappears for hours at a time,” said Lydia, speaking for him, “and -comes home humming fragments from--oh, but I am not supposed to tell! -Forgive me, Frederic. Dear me! What have I done?” She was plainly -distressed. - -“No harm in telling Yvonne,” said he, but uneasily. “You see, it's this -way: father doesn't like the idea of my going in for music. He is -really very much opposed to it. So I've been sort of stealing a march -on him--going up to a chum's apartment and banging away to my heart's -content. It's rather fun, too, doing it on the sly. Of course, if father -heard of it he'd--he'd--well, he'd be nasty about it, that's all.” - -“Nasty?” - -“He got rid of our own piano a long time ago, just because he doesn't -like music.” - -“But he does like music,” said Yvonne, her voice a little huskier than -usual. “In Paris we attended the opera, the concerts. I am sure he likes -music.” - -“I fancy it must have been my fault, then,” said Frederic wryly. “I was -pretty bad at it in those days.” - -“He will not let you have a piano in the house?” - -“I should say not!” - -She gave them a queer little smile. “We shall see,” she said, and that -was all. - -“I say, it would be great if you could get him to----” - -“I am sure he would like Frederic's music now, Mrs Brood,” Lydia broke -in eagerly. - -“What do you play--what do you like best, Frederic?” inquired Yvonne. - -“Oh, those wonderful little Hungarian things most of all; the plaintive -little melodies----” - -He stopped as she began to hum lightly the strains of one of Ziehrer's -jaunty waltzes. - -“By Jove, how did you guess? Why, it's my favourite. I love it, Yvonne!” - -“You shall play it for me--to-morrow, Lydia?” - -“Yes. The piano will be here in the morning.” - -“But how did you guess----” - -“Never mind! I am a witch, _aïe?_ Come! I must be off now, Frederic. -There are people coming to have tea with me.” - -As they descended in the elevator Frederic, unable to contain himself, -burst out rapturously: - -“By Jove, Yvonne, it will be fun, coming over here every day or so for a -little music, won't it? I can't tell you how happy I shall be.” - -“It is time you were happy,” said she, looking straight ahead, and many -days passed before he had an inkling of all that lay behind her remark. - -As they entered the house Jones met them in the hall. - -“Mr Brood telephoned that he would be late, madam. He is at the customs -office about the boxes.” - -She paused at the foot of the stairs. - -“How long has he been out, Jones?” - -“Since two o'clock, madam. It is now half-past four.” - -“There will be five or six in for tea, Jones. You may serve it in Mr -Brood's study.” - -“Yes, madam.” - -A look of surprise flitted across the butler's impassive face. For a -moment he had doubted his hearing. - -“And ask Ranjab to put away Mr Brood's writing materials and -reference-books.” - -“I shall attend to it myself, madam. Ranjab went out with Mr Brood.” - -“Went out!” exclaimed Yvonne. - -Frederic turned upon the butler. - -“You must be mistaken, Jones,” he said sharply. - -“I think not, sir. They went away together in the automobile. He has not -returned.” - -A long look of wonder and perplexity passed between young Brood and his -stepmother. - -She laughed suddenly and unnaturally. Without a word she started up the -stairs. He followed more slowly, his puzzled eyes fixed on the graceful -figure ahead. At the upper landing she stopped. Her hand grasped the -railing with rigid intensity. - -Ranjab emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He bowed very -deeply. - -“The master's books and papers 'ave been removed, madam. The study is in -order.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -The two old men, long since relegated to a somewhat self-imposed -oblivion, on a certain night discussed, as usual, the affairs of the -household in the privacy of their room on the third floor. Not, however, -without first convincing themselves that the shadowy Ranjab was nowhere -within range of their croaking undertones. From the proscribed regions -downstairs came the faint sounds of a piano and the intermittent chatter -of many voices. Someone was playing “La Paloma.” - -These new days were not like the old ones. Once they had enjoyed, even -commanded, the full freedom of the house. It had been their privilege, -their prerogative, to enter into every social undertaking that was -planned. They had come to regard themselves as hosts, or, at the very -least, guests of honour on such occasions. - -Not that the occasions were many where guests came to be entertained by -James Brood of old, but it seemed to be an accepted and quite agreeable -duty of theirs to convince the infrequent visitors that Brood's house -was really quite a jolly place, and that it would pay them to drop -in oftener. They had a joyous way of lifting the responsibility of -conversation from everyone else; and, be it said to their credit, there -was no subject on which they couldn't talk with decision and fluency, -whether they knew anything about it or not. - -And nowadays it was different. They were not permitted to appear when -guests were in the house. The sumptuous dinners, of which they heard -something from the servants, were no longer graced by their presence. -They were amazed, and not a little irritated, to learn, by listening at -the head of the stairs, that the unfortunate guests, whoever they were, -always seemed to be enjoying themselves. They couldn't understand how -such a condition was possible. - -They dined, to dignify the function somewhat, at least an hour before -the guests arrived, and then shuffled off to their little back room, -where they affected cribbage but indulged in something a great deal more -acrimonious. They said many harsh things about the new mistress of the -house. They could not understand what had come over James Brood. There -was a time, said they, when no one could have led him around by the -nose, and now he was as spineless as an angleworm. - -On nights when guests were expected they were not permitted to have a -drop of anything to drink, Mrs Brood declaring that she could not afford -to run the risk of having them appear in the drawing-room despite -the edict. They also had a habit of singing rather boisterously when -intoxicated, something about a girl in Bombay; or, when especially -happy, about a couple of ladies in Hottentot land who didn't mind the -heat. - -It was a matter of discretion, therefore, to lock up the spirits, and, -after a fashion, to lock up the old gentlemen as well. - -As a concession they were at liberty to invade the “retreat,” and to -make themselves at home among the relics. Guests were seldom, if -ever, taken up to Brood's room. Only the most intimate of friends were -admitted. Even the jade room, with all of its priceless treasures, was -closed to “outsiders,” for Brood had the idea that people as a rule did -not possess a great amount of intelligence. So it was usually quite -safe to allow Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs to run loose in the study, with the -understanding, of course, that they were not to venture beyond the top -of the stairs, and were not to smoke pipes. - -Brood had been working rather steadily at his journal during the past -two or three weeks. He had reached a point in the history where his own -memory was somewhat vague, and had been obliged to call upon his old -comrades to supply the facts. For several nights they had sat with him, -going over the scenes connected with their earliest acquaintance; those -black days in Calcutta. - -Lydia had brought over her father's notes and certain transcripts of -letters he had written to her mother before their marriage. The four of -them were putting these notes and narratives into chronological order. -Brood, after three months of married life and frivolity, suddenly had -decided to devote himself almost entirely to the completion of the -journal. - -He denied himself the theatre, the opera, and kindred features of -the passing show, and, as he preferred to entertain rather than to be -entertained, seldom found it necessary to go into the homes of other -people. Yvonne made no protest. She merely pressed Frederic into service -as an escort when she desired to go about, and thought nothing of it. -Whatever James Brood's views of this arrangement were, he appeared to -accept it good-naturedly. - -But the lines had returned to the corners of his mouth and the old, hard -look to his eyes. And there were times when he spoke harshly to his son; -times when he purposely humbled him in the presence of others without -apparent reason. - -On this particular night Yvonne had asked a few people in for dinner. -They were people whom Brood liked especially well, but who did not -appeal to her at all. As a matter of fact, they bored her. Yet she -was happy in pleasing him. When she told him that they were coming -he favoured her with a dry, rather impersonal smile and asked, with -whimsical good humour, why she chose to punish herself for the sins of -_his_ youth. - -She laid her cheek against his and purred. For a moment he held his -breath. Then the fire in his blood leaped into flame. He clasped the -slim, adorable body in his strong arms and crushed her against his -breast. She kissed him, and he was again the fierce, eager, unsated -lover. It was one of their wonderful, imperishable moments, moments that -brought oblivion. - -Then, as he frequently did of late, he held her off at arm's length -and searched her velvety eyes with a gaze that seemed to drag the very -secrets out of her soul. She went deathly white and shivered. He took -his hands from her shoulders and smiled. She came back into his arms -like a dumb thing seeking protection, and continued to tremble as if -frightened. - -When company was being entertained downstairs Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs, -with a fidelity to convention that was almost pitiful, invariably donned -their evening clothes. They considered themselves remotely connected -with the festivities, and, that being the case, the least they could do -was to “dress up.” - -Moreover, they dressed with great care and deliberation. There was -always the chance that they might be asked to come down; or, what was -even more important, Mrs Brood might happen to encounter them in the -upper hall, and in that event it was imperative that she should be made -to realise how stupid she had been. - -Usually at nine o'clock they strolled into the study and smoked one -of Brood's cigars with the gusto of real guests. It was their habit -to saunter about the room, inspecting the treasures with critical, -appraising eyes, very much as if they had never seen them before. They -even handled some of the familiar objects with an air of bewilderment -that would have done credit to a Cook's tourist. - -It was also a habit of theirs to try the doors of a large teakwood -cabinet in one corner of the room. The doors were always locked, and -they sighed with patient doggedness. Some time, they told themselves, -Ranjab would forget to lock those doors, and then---- - -“Joe,” said Mr Dawes, after he had tried the doors on this particular -occasion, “I made a terrible mistake in letting poor Jim get married -again. I'll never forgive myself.” He had said this at least a hundred -times during the past three months. Sometimes he cried over it. - -“Danbury, old pal, you must not take all the blame for that. I am as -much at fault as you, blast you!” Mr Riggs always ended his confession -with an explosion that fairly withered his friend and gave the lie to -his attempt at humility. - -“That's right,” snapped Mr Dawes; “curse me for it!” - -“Don't make so much noise.” - -“If you were ten years younger I'd--I'd----” blustered Dawes. - -“I wish Jack Desmond had lived,” mused the other, paying no attention to -the belligerent. “He would have put a stop to this fool marriage.” - -They sat down and pondered. - -“If Jim had to marry someone, why didn't he marry right here at home?” - demanded Dawes, turning fiercely on his friend. - -“Because,” said Riggs, with significant solemnity, “he is in the habit -of marrying away from home. Look at the first one. He married her, -didn't he? And see what came of it. He ought to have had more sense the -second time. But marrying men never do get any sense. They just marry, -that's all.” - -“Jim's getting mighty cranky of late,” ruminated Dawes, puffing away at -his unlighted cigar. “It's a caution the way he snaps Freddy off these -days. He--he hates that boy, Joe.” - -“_Sh--h!_ Not so loud!” - -“Confound you, don't you know a whisper when you hear it?” demanded -Dawes, who, in truth, had whispered. - -Another potential silence. - -“Freddy goes about with her a good deal more than he ought to,” said -Riggs at last. “They're together two-thirds of the time. Why--why, he -heels her like a trained dog. Playing the pianner morning, noon, and -night, and out driving, and going to the theatre, and----” - -“I've a notion to tell Jim he ought to put a stop to it,” said the -other. “It makes me sick.” - -“Jim'll do it without being told one o' these days, so you keep out of -it. Say, have you noticed how piqued Lydia's looking these times? She's -not the same girl, Dan; not the same girl. Something's wrong.” He shook -his head gloomily. - -“It's that dog-goned woman,” announced Dawes explosively, and then -looked over his shoulder with apprehension. A sigh of relief escaped -him. - -“She's got no business coming in between Lydia and Freddy,” said Riggs. -“Looks as though she's just set on busting it up. What can she possibly -have against poor little Lydia? She's good enough for Freddy. Too good, -by hokey! 'Specially when you stop to think.” - -“Now don't begin gossiping,” warned Dawes, glaring at him. “You're as -bad as an old woman.” - -“Thinking ain't gossiping, confound you! If I wanted to gossip I'd up -and say flatly that Jim Brood knows down in his soul that Freddy is no -son of his. He----” - -“You've never heard him say so, Joe.” - -“No; but I can put two and two together. I'm no fool.” - -“I'd advise you to shut up.” - -“Oh, you would, would you?” with vast scorn. “I'd like to know who it -was that talked to Mrs Desmond about it. Who put it into her head that -Jim doubts----” - -“Well, didn't she say I was a lying old busybody?” snapped Danbury -triumphantly. “Didn't she call me down, eh? I'd like to know what more -you could expect than that. Didn't she make me take back everything I -said?” - -“She did,” said Riggs with conviction. “And I believe she would have -thrashed you if she'd been a man, just as she said she would. And didn't -I advise her to do it, anyway, on the ground that you're an old woman -and----” - -“That's got nothing to do with the present case,” interrupted Dawes -hastily. “What we ought to be thinking about now is how to get rid of -this woman that's come in here to wreck our home. She's an interloper. -She's a foreigner. She----” - -“You must admit she treats us very politely,” said Riggs weakly. - -“Certainly she does. She has to. If she tried to come any of her -high-and-mighty--ahem! Yes, Joseph, I consider Mrs Brood the loveliest, -most charming----” - -“It was the wind blowing the curtain, Danbury,” said Riggs, -reassuringly. - -“As I was saying,” resumed his friend, “I'd tell her what I thought of -her almighty quick if she got uppish with me. The trouble is, she's -so darned careful what she says to my face. I've never seen anybody as -sweet as she is when she's with a feller. That all goes to prove that -she's sly and unnatural. No woman ever lived who could be sweet all the -time and still be as God made her. Why, she even comes up here and tries -to be sweet on that 'Great Gawd Budd' thing over there. I heard her ask -Ranjab one day why he never prostrated himself before the image.” - -“Well?” demanded Riggs, as the other paused. - -“She didn't have sense enough to know that Ranjab is a Brahmin, a -worshipper of Vishnu and Shiva. I also heard her say that you had been -so drunk up here one night that a lady fainted when she saw you sprawled -out on the couch. She thought you were dead.” - -“I haven't been drunk in ten years! What's more, I don't remember ever -having seen a strange woman in this room since I came here to visit Jim -Brood, twelve years ago. She must be crazy.” - -“She didn't say you saw the woman. She said the woman saw you,” said -Dawes witheringly. - -“No one ever thought of locking that cupboard until she came,” said -Riggs, abruptly altering the trend of speech but not of thought. His -gaze shifted to the cabinet. “Jim is like wax in her hands.” - -“He has no right to forget those days in Calcutta, when we shared our -grog with him. No, Joe, we're not good enough for him in these days. -She has bewitched him, poor devil. I've stuck to him like a brother for -twenty years--both of us have for that matter----” - -“Like twin brothers,” amended Joseph. - -“Exactly. We don't forget those old days in Tibet, Turkestan, the Congo, -the Sahara----” - -“I should say we don't! Who is really writing this book of his? Who -supplies all the most important facts? Who--who--well, that's all. Who?” - -“We do, old chap. But you'll find that we shan't have our names on the -title-page. She'll see to that. She'll have us shunted off like a -couple of deck-hands. Lydia can tell you how much of the material I have -supplied. She knows, bless her heart. You furnished a lot, too, Joe, and -John Desmond the rest.” - -“Oh, Jim has done his share.” - -“I'll admit he has done all of the writing. I don't pose as a literary -man.” - -“Seems to me he's sticking closer to the work than ever before,” mused -Riggs. “We ought to finish it by spring, the way we're going now.” - -“I still say, however, that he ought to put a stop to it.” - -“Stop to what?” - -“Her running around with Freddy. What else?” - -“No harm in it, is there?” - -“No; I suppose not,” the other reflected. “Still they're pretty young, -you know. Besides, she's French.” - -“So was Joan of Arc,” said his friend in rebuttal. - -Mr Dawes leaned a little closer. - -“I wonder how Mrs Desmond likes having her over there playing the piano -every afternoon with Freddy, while Lydia's over here copying things -for Jim and working her poor little head off. Ever stop to think about -that?” - -“I think about it all the time. And, by thunder, I'm not the only one -who does, either. Jim thinks a good deal, and so does Lydia. It's a -darned----” - -Mr Riggs happened to look up at that instant. Ranjab was standing in -front of him, his arms folded across his breast, in the habitual pose of -the Hindu who waits. The man was dressed in the costume of a high-caste -Brahmin; the commonplace garments of the Occident had been laid aside, -and in their place were the vivid, dazzling colours of Ind, from the -bejewelled sandals to the turban which crowned his swarthy brow and -gleamed with rubies and sapphires uncounted. - -Mr Riggs's mouth remained open as he stared blankly at this ghost of -another day. Not since the old days in India had he seen Ranjab in -native garb, and even then he was far from being the resplendent -creature of to-night, for Ranjab in his home land was a poor man and -without distinction. - -“Am I awake?” exclaimed Mr Riggs in such an awful voice that Mr Dawes -gave over staring at the cabinet and favoured him with an impatient kick -on the ankle. - -“I guess that'll wake you up if----” and then he saw the Hindu. “The -Ranjab!” - -Ranjab was smiling, and when he smiled his dark face was a joy to -behold. His white teeth gleamed and his sometime unfeeling eyes sparkled -with delight. He liked the two old men. They had stood, with Brood, -between him and grave peril far back in the old days when even the -faintest gleam of hope apparently had been blotted out. - -“Behold!” he cried, magnificently spreading his arms. “I am made -glorious! See before you the prince of magic! See!” - -With a swift, deft movement he snatched the half-smoked cigar from the -limp fingers of Mr Riggs and, first holding it before their blinking -eyes, tossed it into the air. It disappeared! - -“Well, of all the----” began Mr Riggs, sitting up very straight. His -eyes were following the rapid actions of the Hindu. Unlocking a drawer -in the big table, the latter peered into it and then beckoned the old -men to his side. There lay the cigar and beside it a much-needed match. - -“I don't want to smoke it,” said Mr Riggs, vigorously declining his -property. “The darned thing's bewitched.” Whereupon Ranjab took it out -of the drawer and again threw it into the air. Then he calmly reached -above his head and plucked a fresh cigar out of space, obsequiously -tendering it to the amazed old man, who accepted it with a sheepish -grin. - -“You haven't lost any of your old skill,” said Mr Dawes, involuntarily -glancing at his own cigar to make sure that he had it firmly gripped in -his stubby fingers. “You ought to be in a sideshow, Ranjab.” - -Ranjab paused, before responding, to extract a couple of billiard balls -and a small paper-knife from the lapel of Dawes's coat. - -“I am to perform to-night, _sahib_, for the mistress's guests. It is to -be--what you call him? A side-show? Ranjab is to do his tricks for her, -as the dog performs for his master.” - -The smile had disappeared. His face was an impenetrable mask once more. -Had their eyes been young and keen, however, they might have caught the -flash of anger in his. - -“Going to do all the old tricks?” cried Mr Riggs eagerly. “By George, -I'd like to see 'em again; wouldn't you, Dan? I'm glad we've got -our good clothes on. Now you see what comes of always being prepared -for----” - -“Sorry, _sahib_, but the master has request me to entertain you before -the guests come up. Coffee is to be served here.” - -“That means we'll have to clear out?” said Riggs slowly. - -“But see!” cried Ranjab, genuinely sorry for them. He became -enthusiastic once more. “See! I shall do them all--and better, too, for -you.” - -For ten minutes he astonished the old men with the mysterious feats of -the Indian fakir. They waxed enthusiastic. He grinned over the pleasure -he was giving them. Suddenly he whipped out a short, thin sword from its -scabbard in his sash. The amazing, incomprehensible sword-swallowing act -followed. - -“You see, Ranjab has not forgot,” he cried in triumph. “He have not lost -the touch of the wizard, _aih_.” - -“You'll lose your gizzard some day, doing that,” said Dawes grimly. “It -gives me the shivers.” - -Then, before their startled, horror-struck eyes, the Hindu coolly -plunged the glittering blade into his breast, driving it in to the hilt! - -“Good Lord!” shouted the two old men. - -Ranjab serenely replaced the sword in its scabbard. - -“It is not always the knife that finds the heart,” said he, so slowly, -so full of meaning, that even the old men grasped the significance of -the cryptic remark. - -“A feller can be fooled, no matter how closely he watches,” said Mr -Dawes, and he was not referring to the amazing sword trick. - -“No, sir,” said Mr Riggs, with gloomy irrelevance, “I don't like that -woman.” - -The old spell of the Orient had fallen upon the ancients. They were -hearing the vague whisperings of voices that came from nowhere, as they -had heard them years ago in the mystic silences of the East. - -“_Sh--h!_ One comes,” said Ranjab softly. “It will be the master's son.” - -An instant later his closet door closed noiselessly behind him and the -old men were alone, blinking at each other. There was no sound from -the hall. They waited, watching the curtained door. At last they heard -footsteps on the stairs, quick footsteps of the young. - -Frederic strode rapidly into the room. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -His face was livid with rage. For a moment he glowered upon the two -old men, his fingers working spasmodically, his chest heaving with the -volcanic emotions he was trying so hard to subdue. Then he whirled about -to glare into the hall. - -“In God's name, Freddy, what's happened?” cried Mr Riggs, all a-tremble. - -They had never seen him in a rage before. There had been occasions when -they had secretly criticised James Brood's treatment of the unhappy boy, -but from the youth himself there had come no complaint, only the hurt, -puzzled look of one who endures because an alternative does not suggest -itself. Intuitively the old men knew that his present condition was due -to something his father had said or done, and that it must have been -unusually severe to have provoked the wrath that he made no effort to -conceal. - -It was not in their honest old hearts to hold grievance against the -lad, notwithstanding his frequent periods of impatience where they were -concerned, periods when they were admittedly as much at fault as he, by -the way. Usually he made up for these lapses by a protracted season of -sweetness and consideration that won back not only their sympathy, but -the affection they had felt for him since his lonely boyhood days. - -Some minutes passed before he could trust himself to speak. Ugly veins -stood out on his pale temples as he paced the floor in front of them. -Eventually Mr Dawes ventured the vital question in a somewhat hushed -voice: - -“Have you--quarrelled with your father, Freddy?” - -The young man threw up his arms in a gesture of despair. There was a -wail of misery in his voice as he answered: - -“In the name of God, why should he hate me as he does? What have I done? -Am I not a good son to him?” - -“Hush!” implored Mr Dawes nervously. “He'll hear you.” - -“Hear me!” cried Frederic, and laughed aloud in his recklessness. “Why -shouldn't he hear me? I'll not stand it a day longer. He wouldn't think -of treating a dog as he treats me. I--I--why, he is actually forcing me -to hate him. I _do_ hate him! I swear to Heaven it was in my heart to -kill him down there just now. I------” He could not go on. He choked -up and the tears rushed to his eyes. Abruptly turning away, he threw -himself upon the couch and buried his face on his arms, sobbing like a -little child. - -The old men, distressed beyond the power of speech, mumbled incoherent -words of comfort as they slowly edged toward the door. They tiptoed into -the hall, and neither spoke until their bedroom door was closed behind -them. Mr Dawes even tried it to see that it was safely latched. - -“It's got to come,” said Mr Riggs, wiping his eyes but neglecting to -blow his nose--recollecting in good time the vociferous noise that -always attended the performance. “Yes, sir; it's bound to come. There's -going to be a smash, mark my words. It can't go on.” He sat down heavily -and stared rather pathetically at his friend, who was the picture of -lugubrious concern. - -“Yes, sir,” said Mr Dawes bleakly, “as sure as you're alive, Joey. That -boy's spunk is going to assert itself some day, and then--good Lord, -what then? He'll curse Jim to his teeth and--and Jim'll up and tell him -the truth. I--I don't know what will happen then.” - -Riggs swallowed hard--a gulping sound. - -“Freddy's the kind of a feller who'll kill himself, Danny. He's as high -strung as a harp. Something will snap. I hate to think of it. Poor lad! -It--it ain't his fault that things are not as they ought to be.” - -“If Jim Brood ever tells him he's no son of his, he'll break the boy's -heart.” - -“I'm not so sure of that,” said Riggs sagely. “Sometimes I think Freddy -would be darned glad to know it.” - -The curtains parted and Yvonne looked in upon the wretched Frederic. -There was a look of mingled pain and commiseration in her wide-open -eyes. For a moment she stood there regarding him in silence. Then -she swiftly crossed the room to the couch in the corner, where he sat -huddled up, his shoulders still shaking with the misery that racked him. - -Her eyes darkened into the hungry, yearning look of one who would gladly -share or assume all of the suffering of another whose happiness was dear -to her--the look of a gentle mother. The mocking, seductive gleam was -gone, and in its place was the glow of infinite pity. Her hand went out -to touch the tousled hair, but stopped before contact. Slowly she drew -back, with a glance of apprehension toward the door of the Hindu's -closet. An odd expression of alarm crept into her eyes. - -“Frederic,” she said softly, almost timorously. - -He lifted his head quickly and then sprang to his feet. His eyes were -wet and his lips were drawn. Shame possessed him. He tried to smile, but -it was a pitiful failure. - -“Oh, I'm so ashamed of--of----” he began in a choked voice. - -“Ashamed because you have cried?” she said quickly. “But no! It is good -to cry; it is good for men to cry. But when a strong man breaks down and -sheds tears, I am--oh, I am heartbroken. A woman's tears mean nothing, -but a man's? Oh, they are terrible! But come! You must compose yourself. -The others will be here in a few minutes. I ran away from them on the -pretext that I--but it is of no consequence. It is enough that I am -here. You must go to your room and bathe your face. Go at once. Your -father must not know that you have cried. He------” - -“Curse him!” came from between Frederic's clenched teeth. - -“Hush!” she cried, with another glance at Ranjab's door. She would have -given much to know whether the Hindu was there or still below-stairs. -“You must not say such----” - -“I will say it, Yvonne--I'll say it to his face! I don't care if the -others do see that I have been crying. I want them to know how he hurts -me, and I want them to hate him for it.” - -“For my sake, Frederic, calm yourself. I implore you to go to your room. -Come back later, but go now.” - -He was struck by the seriousness in her voice and manner. An ugly, -crooked smile writhed about the corners of his mouth. - -“I suppose you're trying to smooth it over so that they won't consider -him a brute. Is that it?” - -“Hush! Please, please! You know that my heart aches for you, _mon ami_. -It was cruel of him, it was cowardly--yes, cowardly! Now I have said -it!” She drew herself up and turned deliberately toward the little door -across the room. - -His eyes brightened. The crooked sneer turned into an imploring smile. - -“Forgive me, Yvonne! You must see that I'm beside myself. I--I------” - -“But you must be sensible. Remember he is your father. He is a strange -man. There has been a great deal of bitterness in his life. He------” - -“Have I been the cause of a moment's bitterness to him?” cried Frederic. -“Why should he hate me? Why------” - -“You are losing control of yourself again, Frederic.” - -“But I can't go on the way things are now. He's getting to be worse -than ever. I never have a kind word from him, seldom a word of any -description. Never a kind look. Can't you understand how it goads me -to------” - -“Yes, yes! You've said all this before, and I have listened to you when -I should have reminded you that he is my husband,” she said impatiently. - -“By Heaven, I don't see how you can love him!” he cried boldly. -“Sometimes I wonder if you do love him. He is as selfish, as unfeeling -as oh, there's no word for it. Why, in the name of God, did you ever -marry such a man? You couldn't have loved him.” Something in her -expression brought him up sharply. Her eyes had narrowed; they had the -look of a wary, hunted thing that has been driven into a corner. He -stared. “Forgive me, Yvonne. I--I------” - -“You don't know what you are saying,” she panted. “Are you accusing me?” - -“No, no! What a coward, what a dog I am!” he cried abjectly. - -A queer little smile stole into her face. It was even more baffling than -the expression it displaced. - -“I am your friend,” she said slowly. “Is this the way to reward me?” - -He dropped to his knees and covered her hands with kisses, mumbling his -plea for forgiveness. - -“I am so terribly unhappy,” he said over and over again. “I'd leave this -house to-night if it were not that I can't bear the thought of leaving -you, Yvonne. I adore you. You are everything in the world to me. -I------” - -“Get up!” she cried out sharply. He lifted his eyes in dumb wonder -and adoration, but not in time to catch the look of triumph that swept -across her face. - -“You will forgive me?” he cried, coming to his feet. “I--I couldn't help -saying it. It was wrong--wrong! But you _will_ forgive me, Yvonne?” - -She turned away, walking slowly toward the door. He remained rooted to -the spot, blushing with shame and dismay. - -“Where are you going? To tell _him?_” he gasped. - -She did not reply at once, but drew the _portières_ apart and peered -down the stairs beyond, her attitude one of tense anxiety. As she faced -him a smile of security was on her lips. She leaned gracefully against -the jamb of the door, her arms dropping to her sides. - -“Yes, I will forgive you,” she said calmly, and he realised in a -flash that the verdict would have been different if there had been -the remotest chance that his declaration was overheard. She would have -denied him. - -“I adore you, Yvonne,” he cried in low tones, striding swiftly toward -her, only to halt as he caught the smile of derision in her eyes. “I -don't mean it in the way you think. You are so good to me. You have -given me so much joy and happiness, and--and you understand me so well. -I could die for you, Yvonne. I _would_ die for you. It's not the kind of -love you are in the habit of commanding, you who are so glorious and so -beautiful. It's the love of a dog for his master.” - -She waited an instant, and then came toward him. He never could have -explained the unaccountable impulse that forced him to fall back a few -steps as she approached. Her eyes were gazing steadily into his, and her -red lips were parted. - -“That is as it should be,” she was saying, but he was never sure that he -heard the words. His knees grew weak. He was in the toils! “Now you must -pull yourself together,” she went on, in such a matter-of-fact tone that -he straightened up involuntarily. “Come! Wipe the tear-stains from your -cheeks.” - -He obeyed, but his lip still quivered with the rage that had been -checked by the ascendancy of another and even more devastating emotion. -She was standing quite close to him now, her slender figure swaying -slightly as if moved by some strange, rhythmic melody to which the heart -beat time. - -Her eyes were soft and velvety again, her smile tender and appealing. -The vivid white of her arms and shoulders seemed to shed a soft light -about her, so radiant was the sheen of the satin skin. Her gown was of -black velvet, cut very low, and with scarcely any ornamentation save -the great cluster of rubies at the top of her corsage. They gleamed like -coals of fire against the skin, which appeared to absorb and reflect -their warmth. - -There was a full red rose in her dark hair. She wore no ear-rings, -no finger-rings except the narrow gold band on her left hand. A wide, -exquisitely designed gold bracelet fitted tightly about her right -forearm, as if it had been welded to the soft white flesh. Yvonne's -ears were lovely; she knew better than to disfigure them. Her hands were -incomparably beautiful; she knew their full value unadorned. - -She moved closer to him and with deft fingers applied her tiny lace -handkerchief to his flushed cheeks and eyes, laughing audibly as she did -so; a low gurgle of infinite sweetness and concern. - -He stood like a statue, scarcely breathing, the veins in his throat -throbbing violently. - -“There!” she said, and deliberately touched the _mouchoir_ to her own -smiling lips before replacing it in her bodice next to the warm, soft -skin. “Lydia must not see that her big baby sweetheart has been crying,” - she went on, and if there was mockery in her voice it was lost on him. -He could only stare as if bereft of all his senses. - -“I have been thinking, Frederic,” she said, suddenly serious, “perhaps -it would be better if we were not alone when the others come up. Go at -once and fetch the two old men. Tell them I expect them here to witness -the magic. It appears to be a family party, so why exclude them? Be -quick!” - -He dashed off to obey her command. She lighted a cigarette at the table, -her unsmiling eyes fixed on the door to the Hindu's closet. Then, with -a little sigh, she sank down on the broad couch and stretched her supple -body in the ecstasy of complete relaxation. - -The scene at the dinner-table had been most distressing. Up to the -instant of the outburst her husband had been in singularly gay spirits, -a circumstance so unusual that the whole party wondered not a little. If -the others were vaguely puzzled by his high humour, not so Yvonne. She -understood him better than anyone else in the world; she read his mind -as she would have read an open book. - -There was riot, not joy, in the heart of the brilliant talker at the -head of the table. He was talking against the savagery that strained so -hard at its leash. - -At her right sat Frederic, at her left the renowned Dr Hodder, whose -feats at the operating table were vastly more successful than his -efforts at the dinner-table. He was a very wonderful surgeon, but -equally famous as a bore of the first rank. Yvonne could not endure him. -His jokes were antediluvian, and his laughter over them an abomination. - -He had an impression, as many famous men have, that the sole duty of a -dinner guest is to be funny in the loudest voice possible, drowning out -all competition, and to talk glowingly about the soup, as if nothing -else was required to convince the hostess that he considered her dinner -irreproachable and her cook a jewel. Still, it was agreed Dr Hodder was -a wonderful surgeon. - -Mrs Desmond and Lydia were there. (This was an excellent opportunity -to entertain them on an occasion of more or less magnitude.) There were -also present Bertie Gunning and his pretty wife, Maisie, both of whom -Yvonne liked; and the Followed sisters, with two middle-aged gentlemen -from one of the clubs. - -Miss Followed was forty, and proved it by cheerfully discussing events -that happened at least that far back in her life. Her sister Janey -was much younger, quite pretty, and acutely ingenuous. The middle-aged -gentlemen ate very little. They were going to a supper at the -Knickerbocker later on for someone whose name was Lilly. Occasionally it -was Lil. It rather gratified them to be chided about the lady. - -Frederic, deceived by his father's sprightly mood, entered rather -recklessly into the lively discussion. He seldom took his eyes from the -face of his beautiful stepmother, and many of his remarks were uttered -_sotto voce_ for her ear alone. - -Suddenly James Brood called out his name in a sharp, commanding tone. -Frederic, at the moment engaged in a low exchange of words with Yvonne, -did not hear him. Brood spoke again, loudly, harshly. There was dead -silence at the table. - -“We will excuse you, Frederic,” said he, a deadly calm in his voice. The -puzzled expression in the young man's face slowly gave way to a -steady glare of fury. He could not trust himself to speak. “I regret -exceedingly that you cannot take wine in moderation. A breath of fresh -air will be of benefit to you. You may join us upstairs later on.” - -“I haven't drunk a full glass of champagne,” began the young man in -amazed protest. - -Brood smiled indulgently, but there was a sinister gleam in his gray -eyes. “I think you had better take my advice,” he said. - -“Very well, sir,” said Frederic in a low, suppressed voice, his face -paling. Without another word he got up from the table and walked out of -the room. - -He spoke the truth later on when he told Yvonne that he could not -understand. But she understood. She knew that James Brood had endured -the situation as long as it was in his power to endure, and she knew -that it was her fault entirely that poor Frederic had been exposed to -this crowning bit of humiliation. - -As she sat in the dim study awaiting her stepson's reappearance with the -two old men, her active, far-seeing mind was striving to estimate the -cost of that tragic clash. Not the cost to herself or to Frederic, but -to James Brood! - -The Messrs Dawes and Riggs, inordinately pleased over the rehabitation, -were barely through delivering themselves of their protestations of -undying fealty when the sound of voices came up from the lower hall. -Frederic started to leave the room, not caring to face those who had -witnessed his unwarranted degradation. Yvonne hurried to his side. - -“Where are you going?” she cried sharply. - -“You cannot expect me to stay here----” - -“But certainly!” she exclaimed. “Listen! I will tell you what to do.” - -Her voice sank to an imperative whisper. He listened in sheer amazement, -his face growing dark with rebellion as she proceeded to unfold her plan -for a present victory over his father. - -“No, no! I can't do that! Never, Yvonne,” he protested. - -“For my sake, Freddy. Don't forget that you owe something to me. I -command you to do as I tell you. It is the only way. Make haste! Open -the window, get the breath of air he prescribed, and when they are all -here, _apologise for your condition!_” - -When Dr Hodder and Mrs Gunning entered the room a few minutes later -young Brood was standing in the open window, drinking in the cold night -air, and she was blithely regaling the blinking old men with an account -of her stepson's unhappy efforts to drink all the wine in sight! As she -told it, it was a most amusing experiment. - -James Brood was the last to enter, with Miss Followed. He took in the -situation at a glance. Was it relief that sprang into his eyes as he -saw the two old men? - -Frederic came down from the window, somewhat too swiftly for one who is -moved by shame and contrition, and faced the group with a well-assumed -look of mortification in his pale, twitching face. He spoke in low, -repressed tones, but not once did he permit his gaze to encounter that -of his father. - -“I'm awfully sorry to have made a nuisance of myself. It does go to my -head, and I--I dare say the heat of the room helped to do the work. I'm -all right now, however. The fresh air did me a lot of good. Hope you'll -all overlook my foolish attempt to be a devil of a fellow.” He hesitated -a moment and then went on, more clearly. “I'm all right now, father. It -shall not happen again, I can promise you that.” - -A close observer might have seen the muscles of his jaw harden as he -uttered the final sentence. He intended that his father should take it -as a threat, not as an apology. - -Brood was watching him closely, a puzzled expression in his eyes; -gradually it developed into something like admiration. In the clamour of -voices that ensued the older man detected the presence of an underlying -note of censure for his own behaviour. For the first time in many years -he experienced a feeling of shame. - -Someone was speaking at his elbow. Janey, in her young, -enthusiastic voice, shrilled something into his ear that caused him to -look at her in utter amazement. It was so astounding that he could not -believe he heard aright. He mumbled in a questioning tone, “I beg your -pardon,” and she repeated her remark. - -“How wonderfully like you Frederic is, Mr Brood.” Then she added: “Do -you know, I've never noticed it until to-night? It's really remarkable.” - -“Indeed,” Brood responded somewhat icily. - -“Don't you think so, Mr Brood?” - -“No, I do not, Miss Janey,” said he distinctly. - -“Maisie Gunning was speaking of it just a few minutes ago,” went on -the girl, unimpressed. “She says you are very much alike when you -are--are------” here she foundered in sudden confusion. - -“Intoxicated?” he inquired, without a smile. - -She blushed painfully. “No, no! When you are angry. There, I suppose I -shouldn't have said it, but------” - -“It is a most gratifying discovery,” said he, and turned to speak to -Mrs Desmond. He did not take his gaze from Frederic's white, set face, -however; and, despite the fact that he knew the girl had uttered an idle -commonplace, he was annoyed to find himself studying the features of -Matilde's boy with an interest that seemed almost laughable when he -considered it later on. - -His guests found much to talk about in the room. He was soon being -dragged from one object to another and ordered to reveal the history, -the use, and the nature of countless things that obviously were intended -to be just what they seemed; such as rugs, shields, lamps, and so forth. -He was ably assisted by Messrs Riggs and Dawes, who lied prodigiously in -a frenzy of rivalry. - -“What a perfectly delightful Buddha!” cried Miss Janey, stopping in -front of the idol. “How perfectly lovely he is--or is it a she, Mr -Brood?” - -He did not reply at once. His eyes were on Frederic and Yvonne, who had -come together at last and were conversing earnestly apart from the rest -of the group. He observed that Lydia was standing quite alone near the -table, idly handling a magazine. To the best of his recollection, -Frederic had scarcely spoken to the girl during the evening. - -“This is where I work and play and dream, Miss Janey, and practise the -ogre's art. It is a forbidden chamber, my sanctuary,”--with a glance at -the idol--“and here is where I sometimes chop off pretty young women's -heads and hang them from the window-ledge as a warning to all other -birds of prey.” - -Miss Janey laughed gleefully, attracting Yvonne's attention. Then she -sang out across the room: - -“Your husband says he is an ogre. Is he?” - -Yvonne came languidly toward them. - -“My husband manages to keep me in his enchanted castle without chains -and padlocks, and that is saying a great deal in this day and age, my -dear. Would you call him an ogre after that?” - -“Perhaps it is the old story of the fairy queen and the ogre.” - -“You may be sure I'd be an ogre if there was no other way of keeping -you, my dear,” said Brood. There was something in his voice that caused -her to look up into his face quickly. - -Dr Hodder, being a wonderful surgeon, managed to cut his finger with -a razor-edged kris at that instant, drawing a little shriek from Miss -Followed, to whom he was jocularly explaining that scientific Malays -used the thing in removing one another's appendices, the surgeon being -the one who survived the operation. - -During the excitement incident to the bloodletting the middle-aged -gentlemen glanced furtively at their watches and indulged in a mental -calculation from which they emerged somewhat easier in their minds. It -still wanted an hour before the theatres were out. - -“Dreadful bore,” yawned one of them behind his hand. - -“Stupidest woman I ever sat next to,” said the other, - -Then both looked at their watches again. - -Frederic joined Lydia at the table. - -“A delicious scene, wasn't it?” he asked bitterly in lowered tones. - -Her fingers touched his. - -“What did he mean, Freddy? Oh, I felt so sorry for you. It was -dreadful.” - -“Don't take it so seriously, Lyddy,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. -Both of them realised that it was the nearest thing to a caress that -had passed between them in a fortnight or longer. A wave of shame swept -through him. “Dear old girl--my dear old girl,” he whispered brokenly. - -Her eyes radiated joy, her lips parted in a wan, tremulous smile of -surprise, and a soft sigh escaped them. - -“My dear, dear boy,” she murmured, and was happier than she had been in -weeks. - -“See here, old chap,” said one of the middle-aged gentlemen, again -consulting his watch as he loudly addressed his host, “can't you hurry -this performance of yours along a bit? It is after ten, you know.” - -“A quarter after,” said the other middle-aged gentleman. - -“I will summon the magician,” said Brood. “Be prepared, ladies and -gentlemen, to meet the devil. Ranjab is the prince of darkness.” - -He lifted his hand to strike the gong that stood near the edge of the -table. - -Involuntarily four pairs of eyes fastened their gaze upon the door to -the Hindu's closet. Three mellow, softly reverberating “booms” filled -the room. Almost instantly the voice of the Hindu was heard. - -“_Aih, sahib!_” - -He came swiftly into the room from the hall, and not from his closet. -The look of relief in Yvonne's eyes was short-lived. She saw amazement -in the faces of the two old men--and knew! - -“After we have had the feats of magic,” Brood was saying, “Miss Desmond -will read to you, ladies and gentlemen, that chapter of our journal----” - -“My word!” groaned both of the middle-aged gentlemen, looking at their -watches. - -“Relating to----” - -“You'll have to excuse me, Brood, really, you know. Important engagement -up-town----” - -“Sit down, Cruger,” exclaimed Hodder. “The lady won't miss you.” - -“Relating to our first encounter with the great and only Ranjab,” - pursued Brood oracularly. “We found him in a little village far up in -the mountains. He was under the sentence of death for murder. By the -way, Yvonne, the kris you have in your hand is the very weapon the good -fellow used in the commission of his crime. He was in prison and was -to die within a fortnight after our arrival in the town. I heard of his -unhappy plight and all that had led up to it. His case interested -me tremendously. One night, a week before the proposed execution, my -friends and I stormed the little prison and rescued him. We were just -getting over the cholera and needed excitement. That was fifteen years -ago. He has been my trusted body-servant ever since. I am sure you will -be interested in what I have written about that thrilling adventure.” - -Yvonne had dropped the ugly knife upon the table as if it were a thing -that scorched her fingers. - -“Did he--really kill a man?” whispered Miss Janey with horror in her -eyes. - -“He killed a woman. His wife, Miss Janey. She had been faithless, you -see. He cut her heart out. And now, Ranjab, are you ready?” - -The Hindu salaamed. - -“Ranjab is always ready, _sahib_,” said he. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -The next day, after a sleepless night, Frederic announced to his -stepmother that he could no longer remain under his father's roof. -He would find something to do in order to support himself. It was -impossible to go on pretending that he loved or respected his father, -and the sooner the farce was ended the better it would be for both of -them. - -She, too, had passed a restless night. She slept but little. It was a -night filled with waking dreams as well as those which came in sleep. -There was always an ugly, wriggly kris in those dreams of hers, and a -brown hand that was for ever fascinating her with its uncanny deftness. - -Twice in the night she had clutched her husband's shoulder in the terror -of a dream, and he had soothed her with the comfort of his strong arms. -She crept close to him and slept again, secure for the moment against -the sorcery that haunted her. He had been surprised, even gratified, -when she came into his room long after midnight, to creep shivering into -his bed. She was like a little child “afraid of the dark.” - -Her influence alone prevented the young man from carrying out his -threat. At first he was as firm as a rock in his determination. He was -getting his few possessions together in his room when she tapped on -his door. After a while he abandoned the task and followed her rather -dazedly to the boudoir, promising to listen to reason. For an hour she -argued and pleaded with him, and in the end he agreed to give up what -she was pleased to call his preposterous plan. - -“Now, that being settled,” she said with a sigh of relief, “let us go -and talk it all over with Lydia.” - -“I'd--I'd rather not, Yvonne,” he said, starting guiltily. “There's no -use worrying her with the thing now. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer -that she--well, somehow I don't like the idea of explaining matters to -her.” - -“There's nothing to explain.” - -He looked away. He realised that he could not explain the thing even to -himself. - -“Well, then, I don't want her to know that I thought of leaving,” he -supplemented. “She wouldn't understand.” - -“No?” - -“She's so open and above-board about everything,” he explained -nervously. - -“It has seemed to me of late, Frederic, that you and Lydia are not quite -so--what shall I say?--so enamoured of each other. What has happened?” - she inquired so innocently, so naïvely, that he looked at her in -astonishment. She was watching him narrowly. “I am sure you fairly live -at her house. You are there nearly every day, and yet--well, I can feel -rather than see the change in both of you. I hope------” - -“I've been behaving like an infernal sneak, Yvonne!” cried he, -conscience-stricken. “She's the finest, noblest girl in all this world, -and I've been treating her shamefully.” - -“Dear me! In what way, may I inquire?” - -“Why, we used to--oh, but why go into all that? It would only amuse you. -You'd laugh at us for silly fools. But I can't help saying this much: -she doesn't deserve to be treated as I'm treating her now, Yvonne. It's -hurting her dreadfully, and----” - -“What have you been doing that she should be so dreadfully afflicted?” -she cried ironically. - -“I've been neglecting her, ignoring her, -humiliating her, if you will force me to say it,” he said firmly. “Good -Lord, if anyone had told me three months ago that I'd ever be guilty of -giving Lydia an instant's pain, I'd--I'd------” - -“You would do what?” - -“Don't laugh at me, Yvonne,” he cried miserably. - -She became serious at once. “Do you still love her?” - -“Yes! Yes!” he shouted, as if there was some necessity for convincing -himself as well as his listener. - -“And she loves you?” - -“I--I--certainly! At least I think she does,” he floundered. His -forehead was moist and cold. - -“Then why this sudden misgiving, this feeling of doubt, this -self-abasement?” - -“I don't understand it myself,” he said rather bleakly. “I--I give you -my word, I don't know what has come over me. I'm not as I used to be. -I'm------” - -She laughed softly. “I'm afraid you are seeing too much of your poor -stepmother,” she said. - -His eyes narrowed. - -“You've made me over, that's true. You've made all of us over--the house -as well. I am not happy unless I am with you. It used to make me happy -to be with Lydia--and we were always together. But I--I don't care -now--at least, I am not unhappy when we are apart. You've done it, -Yvonne. You've made life worth living. You've made me see everything -differently. You------” - -She stood up, facing him. She appeared to be frightened. - -“Are you trying to tell me that you are in love with me?” she demanded, -and there was no longer mockery or raillery in her voice. - -His eyes swept her from head to foot. He was deathly white. - -“If you were not my father's wife I would say yes,” said he hoarsely. - -“Do you know what it is that you have said?” she asked, suddenly putting -her hands to her temples. Her eyes were glowing like coals. - -He was silent. - -“You are a dear boy, Frederic, but you are a foolish one,” she went on, -the smile struggling back to her eyes. - -“I suppose you'll send me away after--what I've said,” he muttered -dully. - -“Not at all!” she laughed. “I shall pay no attention to such nonsense. -You are an honest fool, and I don't blame you. Wiser men than you have -fallen in love with me, so why not you? I like you, Freddy; I like you -very, very much. I------” - -“You like me because I am his son!” he cried hotly. - -“If you were not his son I should despise you,” she said deliberately, -cruelly. He winced. “There, now; we've said enough. You must be -sensible. You will discover that I am _very, very_ sensible. I have been -sorry for you. It may hurt you to have me say that I pity you; but I do. -You do not love me, Freddy. You are fooling yourself. You are like all -boys when they lose their heads and not their hearts. It is Lydia whom -you love, not I. You have just told me so.” - -“Before Heaven, Yvonne, I _do_ love her. That's what I cannot understand -about myself.” He was pacing the floor. - -“But _I_ understand,” she said quietly. “Now go away, please. And don't -let me hear another word about your leaving your father's house. You are -not to take that step until I command you to go. Do you understand?” - -He stared at her in utter bewilderment for a moment, and slowly nodded -his head. Then he turned abruptly toward the door, shamed and humiliated -beyond words. - -As he went swiftly down the stairs his father came out upon the landing -above and leaned over the railing to watch his descent. A moment later -Brood was knocking at Yvonne's door. He did not wait for an invitation -to enter, but strode into the room without ceremony. - -She was standing at the window that opened out upon the little stone -balcony, and had turned swiftly at the sound of the rapping. Surprise -gave way to an expression of displeasure. - -“What has Frederic been saying to you?” demanded her husband curtly, -after he had closed the door. - -A faint sneer came to her lips. - -“Nothing, my dear James, that you would care to know,” she said, -smouldering anger in her eyes. - -“You mean something that I _shouldn't_ know,” he said sternly. - -“Are you not forgetting yourself, James?” - -“I beg your pardon. I suppose the implication was offensive.” - -“It was. You have no right to pry into my affairs, James, and I shall be -grateful to you if you will refrain from doing so again.” - -He stared at her incredulously. - -“Good Lord! Are you trying to tell me what I shall do or say------” - -“I am merely reminding you that I am your wife, not your------” She did -not deem it necessary to complete the sentence. - -“You are content to leave a good deal to my imagination, I see.” He -flushed angrily. - -She came up to him slowly. - -“James, we must both be careful. We must not quarrel.” Her hands grasped -the lapels of his long lounging robe. There was an appealing look in -her eyes that checked the harsh words even as they rose to his lips. He -found himself looking into those dark eyes with the same curious wonder -in his own that had become so common of late. Time and again he had been -puzzled by something he saw in their liquid depths, something that he -could not fathom, no matter how deeply he probed. - -“What is there about you, Yvonne, that hurts me--yes actually hurts -me--when you look at me as you're looking now?” he cried almost roughly. - -“We have been married a scant four months,” she said gently. “Would you -expect a woman to shed her mystery in so short a time as that?” - -“There is something in your eyes------” he began, and shook his head in -utter perplexity. “You startle me once in a while. There are times -when you seem to be looking at me through eyes that are not your own. -It's--it's--quite uncanny. If you------” - -“I assure you my eyes are all my own,” she cried flippantly, and yet -there was a slight trace of nervousness in her manner. “Do you intend to -be nice and good and reasonable, James? I mean about poor Frederic.” - -His face clouded again. - -“Do you know what you are doing to that boy?” he asked bluntly. - -“Quite as well as I know what you are doing to him,” she replied -quickly. - -He stiffened. “Can't you see what it is coming to?” - -“Yes. He was on the point of leaving your house, never to come back to -it again. That's what it is coming to,” she said. - -“Do you mean to say------” - -“He was packing his things to go away to-day------” - -“Why--why, he'd starve!” cried the man, shaken in spite of himself. “He -has never done a day's labour; he doesn't know how to earn a living. -He------” - -“And who is to blame? You, James; you! You have tied his hands, you have -penned him up in------” - -“We will not go into that,” he interrupted coldly. - -“Very well. As you please. I said that he was going away, perhaps to -starve, but he has changed his mind. He has taken my advice.” - -“Your advice?” - -“I have advised him to bide his time.” - -“It sounds rather ominous.” - -“If he waits long enough you may discover that you love him and his -going would give you infinite pain. Then is the time for him to go.” - -“Good Heaven!” he cried in astonishment. “What a remarkable notion of -the fitness------” - -“That will be his chance to repay you for all that you have done for -him, James,” said she, as calm as a May morning. - -“Have I ever said that I do not love him?” he demanded shortly. - -“For that matter, have you ever said that you do not hate him?” - -“By Jove, you are a puzzle to me!” he exclaimed, and a fine moisture -came out on his forehead. - -“Let the boy alone, James,” she went on earnestly. “He is------” - -“See here, Yvonne,” he broke in sternly, “that is a matter we can't -discuss. You do not understand, and I cannot explain certain things to -you. I came here just now to ask you to be fair to him, even though I -may not appear to be. You are------” - -“That is also a matter we cannot discuss,” said she calmly. - -“But it is a thing we are going to discuss, just the same,” said he. -“Sit down, my dear, and listen to what I have to say. Sit down!” - -For a moment she faced him defiantly. He was no longer angry, and -therein lay the strength that opposed her. She could have held her -own with him if he had maintained the angry attitude that marked the -beginning of their interview. As it was, her eyes fell after a brief -struggle against the dominant power in his, and she obeyed, but not -without a significant tribute to his superiority in the shape of an -indignant shrug. - -“No one has ever lectured me before, James,” she said, affecting a yawn. -“It will be a new and interesting experience.” - -“And I trust a profitable one,” said he rather grimly. “I shouldn't call -it a lecture, however. A warning is better.” - -“That should be more thrilling, in any event.” - -He took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently, even patiently. - -“I will come straight to the point. Frederic is falling in love with -you. Wait! I do not blame him. He cannot help himself. No more could I, -for that matter, and he has youth, which is a spur that I have lost. I -have watched him, Yvonne. He is--to put it cold-bloodedly--losing his -head. Leaving me out of the question altogether, if you choose, do you -think you are quite fair to him? I am not disturbed on your account or -my own, but--well, can't you see what a cruel position we are likely to -find ourselves------” - -“Just a moment, James,” she interrupted, sitting up very straight in -the chair and meeting his gaze steadfastly. “Will you spare me the -conjectures and come straight to the point as you have said? The -warning, if you please.” - -He turned a shade paler. - -“Well,” he began deliberately, “it comes to this, my dear: one or the -other of you will have to leave my house if this thing goes on.” - -She shot a glance of incredulity at his set face. Her body became rigid. - -“Do you know what you are saying?” - -“Yes.” - -“You would serve me as you served his real mother more than twenty years -ago?” - -“The cases are not parallel,” said he, wincing. - -“You drove her out of your house, James.” - -“I have said that we cannot discuss------” - -“But I choose to discuss it,” she said firmly. “The truth, please. You -drove her out?” - -“She made her bed, Yvonne,” said he huskily. - - “Did you warn her -beforehand?” - -“It--it wasn't necessary.” - -“What was her crime?” - -“Good God, Yvonne! I can't allow------” - -“Was it as great as mine?” she persisted. - -“Oh, this is ridiculous. I------” - -“Did she leave you cheerfully, gladly, as I would go if I loved another, -or did she plead with you--oh, I know it hurts! Did she plead with you -to give her a chance to explain? Did she?” - -“She was on her knees to me,” he said, the veins standing out on his -temples. - -“On her knees to you? Begging? For what? Forgiveness?” - -“No! She was like all of her kind. She was innocent! Ha, ha!” - -Yvonne arose. She stood over him like an accusing angel. - -“And to this day, James Brood, to this very hour, you are not certain -that you did right in casting her off!” - -“Oh, I say!” He sprang to his feet. - -“You have never really convinced yourself that she was untrue to you, in -spite of all that you said and did at the time.” - -“You are going too far! I------” - -“All these years you have been trying to close your ears to the voice -of that wretched woman, and all these years you have been -wondering--wondering--wondering! You have been mortally afraid, my -husband.” - -“I tell you, I was certain--I was sure of------” - -“Then why do you still love her?” - -He stared at her open-mouthed, speechless. - -“Why do you still love her?” - -“Are you mad?” he gasped. “Good God, woman, how can you ask that -question of me, knowing that I love you with all my heart and soul? -How------” - -“With all your heart, yes! But with your soul? No! That other woman has -your soul. I have heard your soul speak, and it speaks of her--yes, to -her!” - -“In God's name, what------” - -“Night after night, in your sleep, James Brood, you have cried out to -'Matilde.' You have sobbed out your love for her, as you have been doing -for twenty years or more. In your sleep your soul has been with her. -With me at your side, you have cried on 'Matilde'! You have passed your -hand over my face and murmured 'Matilde'! Not once have you uttered the -word 'Yvonne'! And now you come to me and say: 'We will come straight -to the point'! Well, now you may come straight to the point. But do not -forget, in blaming me, that you love another woman!” - -He was petrified. Not a drop of blood remained in his face. - -“Is this true, this that you are telling me?” he cried, dazed and -shaken. - -“You need not ask. Call upon your dreams for the answer, if you must -have one.” - -“It is some horrible, ghastly delusion. It cannot be true. Her name has -not passed my lips in twenty years. It is not mentioned in my presence. -I have not uttered that woman's name------” - -“Then how should I know her name? Her own son does not know it, I firmly -believe. No one appears to know it except the man who says he despises -it.” - -“Dreams! Dreams!” he cried scornfully. “Shall I be held responsible for -the unthinkable things that happen in dreams?” - -“No,” she replied significantly; “you should not be held accountable. -She must be held accountable. You drove out her body, James, but not her -spirit. It stands beside you every instant of the day and night. By day -you do not see her; by night--ah, you tremble! Well, she is dead, they -say. If she were still alive I myself might tremble, and with cause.” - -“Before God, I love you, Yvonne. I implore you to think nothing of my -maunderings in sleep. They--they may come from a disordered brain. God -knows there was a time when I felt that I was mad, raving mad. These -dreams are----” - -To his surprise she laid her hand gently on his arm. - -“I pity you sometimes, James. My heart aches for you. You are a man--a -strong, brave man, and yet you shrink and cringe when a voice whispers -to you in the night. You sleep with your doubts awake. Yes, yes, I -believe you when you say that you love me. I am sure that you do; but -let me tell you what it is that I have divined. It is Matilde that you -are loving through me. When you kiss me there is in the back of your -mind somewhere the thought of kisses that were given long ago. When you -hold me close to you it is the body of Matilde that you feel, it is her -breath that warms your cheeks. I am Matilde, not Yvonne, to you. I am -the flesh on which that starved love of yours feeds; I represent the -memory of all that you have lost; I am the bodily instrument.” - -“This is--madness!” he exclaimed, and it was not only wonder that filled -his eyes. There was a strange fear in them, too. - -“I do not expect you to admit that all this is true, James,” she went -on patiently. “You will confess one day that I am right, however; to -yourself, if not to me. If the time should ever come when I give to you -a child------” She shivered and turned her eyes away from his. - -He laid an unsteady hand upon the dark head. “There, there,” he murmured -brokenly. - -“It would be Matilde's child to you,” she concluded, facing him again -without so much as a quaver in her voice, she spoke calmly, as if the -statement were the most commonplace remark in the world. - -“Good Heaven, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, drawing back in utter dismay. “You -must compose yourself. This is------” - -“I am quite myself, James,” she said coolly. “Can you deny that you -think of her when you hold me in your arms? Can you------” - -“Yes!” he almost shouted. “I can and do deny!” - -“Then you are lying to yourself, my husband,” she said quietly. - -He fairly gasped. - -“Good God! What manner of woman are you?” he cried hoarsely. “A -sorceress? A--but no, it is not true!” - -She smiled. “All women are sorceresses. They feel. Men only think. Poor -Frederic! You try to hate him, James, but I have watched you when you -were not aware. You search his face intently, almost in agony--for -what? For the look that was his mother's--for the expression you loved -in------” - -He burst out violently. - -“No! By Heaven, you are wrong there! I am not looking for Matilde in -Frederic's face.” - -“For his father, then?” she inquired slowly. - -The perspiration stood out on his brow. He made no response. His lips -were compressed. - -“You have uttered her name at last,” she said wonderingly, after a long -wait for him to speak. - -Brood started. “I--I--oh, this is torture!” - -“We must mend our ways, James. It may please you to know that I shall -overlook your mental faithlessness to me. You may go on loving Matilde. -She is dead. I am alive. I have the better of her there, _aïe?_ The -day will come when she will be dead in every sense of the word. In the -meantime, I am content to enjoy life. Frederic is quite safe with me, -James; very much safer than he is with you. And now let us have peace. -Will you ring for tea?” - -He sat down abruptly, staring at her with heavy eyes. She waited for a -moment and then crossed over to pull the old-fashioned bell-cord. - -“We will ask Lydia and Frederic to join us, too,” she said. “It shall be -a family party, the five of us.” - -“Five?” he muttered. - -“Yes,” she said, without a smile. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A fortnight passed. Yvonne held the destiny of three persons in her -hand. They were like figures on a chess-board, and she moved them with -the sureness, the unerring instinct of any skilled disciple of the -philosopher's game. They were puppets; she ranged them about her stage -in swift-changing pictures, and applauded her own effectiveness. There -were no rehearsals. The play was going on all the time, whether tragedy, -comedy, or chess. - -Brood's uneasiness increased. His moody eyes were seldom lifted to meet -the question that he knew lurked in hers. She had given him a tremendous -shock. There was seldom a moment in which he was not making strange -inquiries of himself. - -Was it possible that she had spoken the truth about him? Could such -a condition of mind exist without his knowledge? Was this love he -professed to feel for her but the flame springing into life from those -despised embers of long ago? Was it true that his inner self, his -subconscious being, recognised no other claim to his love than the one -held so insecurely by its original possessor? Was it true that his soul -went back to her the instant slumber came to close up the gap of years? - -This strange, new wife of his had uttered amazing words; she had spoken -without rancour; she had called his dreams to life; she had told him how -he lived while asleep! - -He arose in the mornings, haggard from lack of reposeful sleep. In a -way, he slept with one ear open, constantly striving to catch himself -with the dream-name on his lips. He would awake with a start many times -in the night, and always there seemed to be the vague, ghostlike -whisper of a name dying away in the stillness that greeted his return to -wakefulness. - -Now he confessed to himself that his dreams were of Matilde, as they -had been during all the years. Heretofore they had been mere impressions -upon his intelligence, and seldom remembered. They did not represent -pictures or incidents in which she appeared as a potent factor, but -brief monodies, with her name as the single note, her face a passing, -yet impressive, vision. He had not realised how frequent, how real these -dreams were until now. - -He sometimes lay perfectly still after these awakenings, wondering if -Yvonne was listening at his closed door, straining his ears for the -sound of a creaking board that would betray her presence as she stole -back to her own bed. - -What surprised and puzzled him most was her serenity in the face of -these involuntary revelations. She did not appear to be disturbed by the -fact that his dreams, his most secret thoughts, were of another woman. -There was nothing in her manner to indicate that she suffered any of the -pangs of jealousy, humiliation, dismay, or doubt that might reasonably -have been expected under the circumstances. She seemed to put the matter -entirely out of her mind as trivial, unimportant, unvexing. He found -himself wondering what his own state of mind would be if the conditions -were reversed and it was she who cried out in her sleep. - -Frederic was alert, shifty, secretive. He knew himself to be the link in -the chain that would offer the least resistance of any if it came to the -question of endurance. He realised that the slightest tug at the chain -would cause it to snap, and that the break would never be repaired. His -stepmother for the present fortified the weak spot in the chain; but -would her strength be sufficient to support the strain that was to be -imposed upon both links in the end? - -He watched her like a hawk, ever on the lookout for the slightest -signs of commendation, reproof, warning, encouragement. She alone stood -between him and what appeared to be the inevitable. The truce was a mask -that hid none of the real features of the situation. When would it be -discarded? - -After that illuminating hour in her boudoir he saw himself in a far from -noble position. The situation was no longer indefinite. He had taken a -step that could not be recalled. His loyalty to Lydia had been tested, -and the sickening truth came out--he was a traitor! He knew in his soul -that he loved the girl. His conscience told him so. But his conscience -suddenly had become an elastic thing that stretched over a pretty wide -scope of emotions. These he tried to analyse and, failing to do so with -credit to himself, settled back into a state of apathy better described -as sullen self-pity. He even went so far as to blame his father for the -new blight that had been put upon him. - -Of the three, Lydia alone faced the situation with courage. She was -young, she was good, she was inexperienced, but she saw what was -going on beneath the surface with a clarity of vision that would have -surprised an older and more practised person; and, seeing, was favoured -with the strength to endure pain that otherwise would have been -insupportable. - -She knew that Frederic was infatuated. She did not try to hide the truth -from herself. The boy she loved was slipping away from her, and only -chance could set his feet back in the old path from which he blindly -strayed. Her woman's heart told her that it was not love he felt for -Yvonne. The strange mentor that guides her sex out of the ignorance of -youth into an understanding of hitherto unpresented questions revealed -to her the nature of his feeling for this woman. - -He would come back to her in time, she knew, chastened; the same instinct -that revealed his frailties to her also defended his sense of honour. -The unthinkable could never happen! - -She judged Yvonne, too, in a spirit of fairness that was amazing, -considering the lack of perspective that must have been hers to contend -with. Despite a natural feeling of antagonism, present even before she -saw the new wife of James Brood, and long before her influence affected -Brood's son, Lydia found herself confronted by a curious faith in -Yvonne's goodness of heart. It never entered the girl's mind to question -the honour of this woman--no more than she would have questioned her -own. - -Vanity, love of admiration, the inherent fear of retrogression, greed -for attention--any one of these might have been responsible for her -conduct covering the past three months. There was certainly a reckless -disregard for consequences on her part so far as others--notably -Frederic--were concerned. She could not be blind to his plight, and -yet it was her pleasure to drag him out beyond his depth where he might -struggle or drown while she, sirenlike, looked on for the moment and -then turned calmly to the more serious business of combing her hair. - -Her mother saw the suffering in the girl's eyes, but saw also the proud -spirit that would have resented sympathy from one even so close as she. -Down in the heart of that quiet, reserved mother smouldered a hatred for -Yvonne Brood that would have stopped at nothing had it been in her power -to inflict punishment for the wrong that was being done. She, too, saw -tragedy ahead, but her vision was broader than Lydia's. It included the -figure of James Brood. - -Lydia worked steadily, almost doggedly, at the task she had undertaken -to complete for the elder Brood. Every afternoon found her seated at -the desk in the study opposite the stern-faced man who laboured with her -over the seemingly endless story of his life. Something told her that -there were secret chapters which she was not to write. She wrote those -that were to endure; the others were to die with him. - -He watched her as she wrote, and his eyes were often hard. He saw the -growing haggardness in her gentle, girlish face; the wistful, puzzled -expression in her dark eyes. A note of tenderness crept into his voice -and remained there through all the hours they spent together. -The old-time brusqueness disappeared from his speech; the sharp, -authoritative tone was gone. He watched her with pity in his heart, for -he knew it was ordained that one day he, too, was to hurt this loyal, -pure-hearted creature even as the others were wounding her now. - -He frequently went out of his way to perform quaint little acts of -courtesy and kindness that would have surprised him only a short time -before. He sent theatre and opera tickets to Lydia and her mother. He -placed bouquets of flowers at the girl's end of the desk, obviously for -her alone. He sent her home--just around the corner--in the automobile -on rainy or blizzardy days. - -But he never allowed her an instant's rest when it came to the work in -hand, and therein lay the gentle shrewdness of the man. She was better -off busy. There were times when he studied the face of Lydia's mother -for signs that might show how her thoughts ran in relation to the -conditions that were confronting all of them. But more often he searched -the features of the boy who called him father. - -Not one of them knew that there were solemn hours in all the days when -Yvonne sat shivering in her room and stared, dry-eyed and bleak, at the -walls which surrounded her, seeing not them, but something far beyond. -Often she sat before her long cheval-glass, either with lowering eyes -or in a sort of wistful wonder, never removing her steady gaze from the -face reflected there. There were other times when she stood before the -striking photograph of her husband on the dressing-table, studying -the face through narrowed lids, as if she searched for something that -baffled, yet impressed her. - -Always, always there was music in the house. Behind the closed doors -of his distant study James Brood listened in spite of himself to the -persistent thrumming of the piano downstairs. Always were the airs light -and seductive; the dreamy, plaintive compositions of Strauss, Ziehrer, -and others of their kind and place. - -Frederic, with uncanny fidelity to the preferences of the mother he had -never seen, but whose influence directed him, affected the same general -class of music that had appealed to her moods and temperament. Times -there were, and often, when he played the very airs that she had loved, -and then, despite his profound antipathy, James Brood's thoughts leaped -back a quarter of a century and fixed themselves on love-scenes and -love-times that would not be denied. - -And again there were the wild, riotous airs that she had played with -Feverelli, her soft-eyed music-master! Accursed airs--accursed and -accusing! - -He gave orders that these airs were not to be played, but failed to make -his command convincing for the reason that he could not bring himself to -the point of explaining why they were distasteful to him. When Frederic -thoughtlessly whistled or hummed fragments of those proscribed airs he -considered himself justified in commanding him to stop on the pretext -that they were disturbing, but he could not use the same excuse for -checking the song on the lips of his gay and impulsive wife. Sometimes -he wondered why she persisted when she knew that he was annoyed. Her -airy little apologies for her forgetfulness were of no consequence, for -within the hour her memory was almost sure to be at fault again. - -Mr Dawes fell ill. He ventured out one day when the winds of March were -fierce and sharp, and, being an adventurer, caught the most dangerous -sort of a cold. He came in shivering and considerably annoyed because -Jones or Ranjab or some other incompetent servant had failed to advise -him to wear an overcoat and galoshes. To his surprise Mrs Brood ordered -a huge, hot drink of whisky and commanded him to drink it--“like a good -boy.” Then she had him stowed away in bed with loads of blankets about -him. - -Just before dinner she came up to see him. He was still shivering. -So was Mr Riggs, for that matter, but Mr Riggs failed to shiver -convincingly and did not receive the treatment he desired. Their -unexpected visitor felt the pulse and forehead of the sick man, uttered -a husky little cry of dismay, and announced that he had a fever. -Whereupon Mr Dawes said, rather shamefacedly, that he would be all right -in the morning and that it was nothing at all. - -“We will have the doctor at once, Mr Dawes,” said she, and instructed Mr -Riggs to call Jones. - -“I don't want a doctor,” said Mr Dawes stoutly. - -“I know you don't,” said she, with her rarest smile; “but I _do_, you -see.” - -“They're no good,” said Mr Dawes. - -“Better have one,” advised Mr Riggs with sudden solemnity. - -“Never had one in my life,” said Mr Dawes. “Don't believe in 'em. I'll -take a couple of stiff drinks before I go to bed and------” - -“But you've gone to bed, you old dear,” cried she, stroking his burning -hand gently. - -He was too astonished to say a word. - -“Jumping Jees----” began Mr Riggs, completely staggered. “I mean, what -doctor, Mrs Brood?” - -“Jones will know. Now, Mr Dawes, you must do just as I tell you to do. -You are nothing but a child, you know. If------” - -“Hey, Joe!” called out the sick man desperately, but his comrade was -gone. “Don't let him call a--doctor, Mrs Brood; please don't!” he -implored. - -She sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his hand between her soft, -cool palms, and smiled at him so tenderly that he stared for a moment in -utter bewilderment and then gulped mightily. “Hush!” she said. - -“I--I don't want to be sick here, bothering you and upsetting -everything------” he blubbered. - -“We will have you up and about in a day or two,” she said. - -“But it's such an infernal nuisance. You oughtn't to be sitting here, -either. It may be catching.” - -“Nonsense! I'm not afraid.” - -“It's--it's mighty good of you,” he muttered, his eyes blinking. - -“What are friends for, Mr Dawes, if they can't be depended upon in times -of sickness?” - -“Friends?” he gasped. - -“Certainly. Am I not your friend?” - -“I--I--well, by gosh!” he exploded. “I--I must tell this to Joe. -He'll--I beg your pardon, I guess I'm a little flighty. Maybe I'm worse -than I think. Delirious or something like that. Say, you don't think -it's--it's serious, do you?” - -“Of course not. A heavy cold, that's all. The doctor will break it up -immediately.” - -“Maybe it's the grippe, eh?” - -“Possibly.” - -“What's my temperature?” - -“You mustn't worry, Mr Dawes. It's all right.” - -He was silent for a moment, steadfastly regarding the hand that stroked -his wrinkled old paw so gently. - -“If--if it should turn out to be pneumonia or lung fever, I wish you -wouldn't let on to Joe,” said he anxiously. “It would worry him almost -to death. He's not very strong, you see. Nothing like me. I'm as strong -as a bull. Never been sick in my------” - -“I know,” she said quietly. “He isn't half so strong as you, Mr Dawes. -You are so strong you will be able to throw off this cold in a jiffy, as -Jones would say. It won't amount to anything.” - -“If I get much worse you'd better send me to a hospital. Awful nuisance -having a sick man about the place. Spoils everything. Don't hesitate -about sending me off, Mrs Brood. I wouldn't be a trouble to you or Jim -for------” - -“You poor old dear! You shall stay right where you are, no matter what -comes to pass, and I shall take charge of you myself.” - -“You?” She nodded her head briskly. “Well, by jiggers, I--I don't know -what Joe'll say when I tell him this. Blast him; I'll bet my head he -calls me a liar. If he does, blast him, I'll--oh, I beg your pardon! I -don't seem to be able to get over the habit of------” - -“Here is Mr Riggs--and my husband,” she interrupted, as the door opened -and the two men strode into the room. “Is Jones telephoning?” - -“Yes,” said Brood. “Why, what's gone wrong, old man?” - -“It's all my fault,” groaned Mr Riggs, sitting down heavily on the -opposite side of the bed. “I let him go out without his overcoat. He's -not a strong man, Jim. Least breath of air goes right through----” - -“See here, Riggs, you know better than that,” roared the sick man -wrathfully. “I can stand more------” - -“There, there!” cried Mrs Brood reprovingly. “It isn't fair to quarrel -with Mr Riggs. He can't very well abuse you in return, Mr Dawes, can -he?” - -“You may be on your death-bed,” said Mr Riggs mournfully, as if that -were reason enough for not abusing him. - -“Nonsense,” said Brood; but it was an anxious look that he shot at -Yvonne. Mr Dawes's face was fiery hot. - -“I shall come back to see you immediately after dinner, Mr Dawes,” said -she, and again stroked his hand. - -The two old men stared after her rather blankly as she left the room. -They couldn't believe their ears. - -“She says she'll look after me herself,” murmured Mr Dawes hazily. -Mr Riggs tucked the covers about his chin. “Don't do that, Joe! Leave -things alone, darn you. She fixed 'em as they ought to be.” Mr Riggs -obediently undid his work. “That's right. Now don't you do anything -without askin' her, d'ye hear?” - -“I was only trying to make you------” - -“Well, don't do it. Leave everything to her.” The upshot of it all was -that Mr Dawes came near to dying. Pneumonia set in at once, and for -many days he fought what appeared to be a losing fight. Then came the -splendid days of convalescence, the happiest days of his life. The -amazing Mrs Brood did “look after him.” Nurses there were, of course, -and doctors in consultation, but it was the much-berated mistress of the -house who “pulled him through,” as he afterward and always declared in -acrimonious disputes with Mr Riggs who, while secretly blessing the wife -of Brood, could not be driven into an open admission that she had -done “anything more than anybody else would have done under the -circumstances,”--and not “half as much, for that matter, as he could have -done had he been given a chance.” - -It may be well to observe here that Mr Riggs was of no earthly use -whatever during the trying days. Indeed, he gave up hope the instant -the doctor said “pneumonia,” and went about the house saying “My God” to -himself and everybody else in sepulchral whispers, all the while urging -Heaven to “please do something.” He was too pathetic for words. - -A new and totally unsuspected element in Yvonne's make-up came to light -at this troublous period. She forsook many pleasures, many comforts in -her eagerness to help the suffering old man who, she must have known, in -his heart had long despised her. She did not interfere with the nurses, -yet made herself so indispensable to old Mr Dawes in the capacity of -“visiting angel” that his heart overflowed with gratitude and love. -Even when death hung directly above his almost sightless eyes he saw -her smile of encouragement in the shadows, and his spirit responded with -what might justly have been called the battle-cry of life. - -To Brood this new side to Yvonne's far from understandable character -was most gratifying. Seeing her in the rôle of good Samaritan was not -so surprising to him as the real, unaffected sincerity with which she -ministered to the wants of the querulous old man. - -Even the nurses, habitually opposed to the good offices of “the family,” - were won over by this woman whose unparalleled sweetness levelled them -into a condition of respect and love that surprised not only themselves -but the doctors. They were quite docile from the start, and seldom, if -ever, spoke of Mr Dawes as “the patient” or of his state as “the case.” - They got into the habit of alluding to him as the “dear old man,” and -somehow envied each other the hours “on duty.” They were never sour. - -And so, when it came time for Mr Dawes to thank the Lord for his escape, -he refused to commit himself to anything so ridiculous! He even went so -far as to declare that the doctor had nothing to do with it, a statement -which rather staggered the nurses. - -For hours Yvonne read to the blissful old chap. Sometimes she read to -him in French, again in Russian, and occasionally in German. It was all -one to him. He did not understand a word of it, but he was happy. He -felt surprisingly young. - -She gave up a month to him and he was prepared to give up his life to -her. To his utter amazement, however, she did not exact anything so -valuable as that. Indeed, when his recovery was quite complete, she -calmly forgot his existence and he sank back into the oblivion from -which calamity had dragged him; sank back to the unhappy level of -Mr Riggs and all the others who failed to interest her; and there he -dreamed of exalted days when she wanted him to live, contrasting them -with these days in which he might just as well be dead for all she -seemed to care! He was one of the “old men” again. - -Mr Riggs, writhing with jealousy, repeatedly remarked, “I told you -so,” and somehow felt revenged for the insolent orders she had given to -Jones, depriving him of the right to even approach the door of the room -in which his lifelong friend was dying. It had been a hard week for Mr -Riggs. He hated her as he had never hated anyone in his life before. -And yet he thanked God for her, and would have died for her! Nothing, -nothing in the world would have given him more pleasure than to be -critically ill for her! - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -“Is there anything wrong with my hair, Mr Brood?” asked Lydia, with a -nervous little laugh. - -They were in the study, and it was ten o'clock of a wet night in -April. Of late he had required her to spend the evenings with him in -a strenuous effort to complete the final chapters of the journal. The -illness of Mr Dawes had interrupted the work, and he was now in a -fever of impatience to make up for the lost time. He had declared his -intention to go abroad with his wife as soon as the manuscript was -completed. The editor of a magazine, a personal friend, had signified -his willingness to edit the journal and to put it into shape for -publication during the summer months, against Brood's return in the fall -of the year. - -The master of the house spared neither himself nor Lydia in these last -few weeks. He wanted to clear up everything before he went away. Lydia's -willingness to devote the extra hours to his enterprise would have -pleased him vastly if he had not been afflicted by the same sense of -unrest and uneasiness that made incessant labour a boon to her as well -as to him. - -Her query followed a long period of silence on his part. He had been -suggesting alterations in her notes as she read them to him, and there -were frequent lulls when she made the changes as directed. Without -looking at him she felt, rather than knew, that he was regarding her -fixedly from his position opposite. The scrutiny was disturbing to her. -She hazarded the question for want of a better means of breaking the -spell. Of late he had taken to watching her with moody interest. She -knew that he was mentally commenting on the changes he could not help -observing in her appearance and her manners. This intense, though -perhaps unconscious, scrutiny annoyed her. Her face was flushed with -embarrassment, her heart was beating with undue rapidity. - -Brood started guiltily. - -“Your hair?” he exclaimed. “Oh, I see. You women always feel that -something is wrong with it. I was thinking of something else, however. -Forgive my stupidity. We can't afford to waste time in thinking, you -know, and I am a pretty bad offender. It's nearly half-past ten. We've -been hard at it since eight o'clock. Time to knock off. I will walk -around to your apartment with you, my dear. It looks like an all-night -rain.” - -He went up to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes -followed him. - -“It's such a short distance, Mr Brood,” she said. “I am not afraid to go -alone.” - -He was staring down into the court, his fingers grasping the curtains in -a rigid grip. He did not reply. - -There was a light in the windows opening out upon Yvonne's balcony. - -“I fancy Frederic has come in from the concert,” he said slowly. “He -will take you home, Lydia. You'd like that better, eh?” - -He turned toward her, and she paused in the nervous collecting of her -papers. His eyes were as hard as steel, his lips were set. - -“Please don't ask Frederic to------” she began hurriedly. - -“They must have left early,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. -Returning to the table he struck the big, melodious gong a couple -of sharp blows. For the first time in her recollection it sounded a -jangling, discordant note, as of impatience. - -She felt her heart sink; an oppressing sense of alarm came over her. - -“Good night, Mr Brood. Don't think of coming home with------” - -“Wait, Frederic will go with you.” It was a command. Ranjab appeared in -the doorway. “Have Mrs Brood and Mr Frederic returned, Ranjab?” - -“Yes, _sahib_. At ten o'clock.” - -“If Mr Frederic is in his room, send him to me.” - -“He is not in his room, _sahib_.” - -The two, master and man, looked at each other steadily for a moment. -Something passed between them. - -“Tell him that Miss Desmond is ready to go home.” - -“Yes, _sahib_.” The curtains fell. - -“I prefer to go home alone, Mr Brood,” said Lydia, her eyes flashing. -“Why did you send------” - -“And why not?” he demanded harshly. She winced, and he was at once -sorry. “Forgive me. I am tired and--a bit nervous. And you, too, are -tired. You've been working too steadily at this miserable job, my dear -child. Thank Heaven, it will soon be over. Pray sit down. Frederic will -soon be here.” - -“I am not tired,” she protested stubbornly. “I love the work. You don't -know how proud I shall be when it comes out, and--and I realise that -I helped in its making. No one has ever been in a position to tell the -story of Tibet as you have told it, Mr Brood. Those chapters will make -history. I------” - -“Your poor father's share in those explorations is what really makes the -work valuable, my dear. Without his notes and letters I should have been -feeble indeed.” He looked at his watch. “They were at the concert, you -know--the Hungarian orchestra. A recent importation, 'Tzigane's' music. -Gipsies.” His sentences as well as his thoughts were staccato, -disconnected. - -Lydia turned very cold. She dreaded the scene that now seemed -unavoidable. Frederic would come in response to his father's command, -and then------ - -Someone began to play upon the piano downstairs. She knew, and he knew, -that it was Frederic who played. For a long time they listened. The -air, no doubt, was one he had heard during the evening, a soft, sensuous -waltz that she had never heard before. The girl's eyes were upon Brood's -face. It was like a graven image. - -“God!” fell from his stiff lips. Suddenly he turned upon the girl. “Do -you know what he is playing?” - -“No,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. - -“It was played in this house by its composer before Frederic was born. -It was played here on the night of his birth, as it had been played many -times before. It was written by a man named Feverelli. Have you heard of -him?” - -“Never,” she murmured, and shrank, frightened by the deathlike pallor in -the man's face, by the strange calm in his voice. The gates were being -opened at last! She saw the thing that was to stalk forth. She would -have closed her ears against the revelations it carried. “Mother will be -worried if I am not at home------” - -“Guido Feverelli. An Italian born in Hungary. Budapest, that was his -home, but he professed to be a gipsy. Yes, he wrote the devilish thing. -He played it a thousand times in that room down------ And now Frederic -plays it, after all these years. It is his heritage. God, how I hate the -thing! Ranjab! Where is the fellow? He must stop the accursed thing. -He------” - -“Mr Brood! Mr Brood!” cried Lydia, appalled. She began to edge toward -the door. - -By a mighty effort Brood regained control of himself. He sank into a -chair, motioning for her to remain. The music had ceased abruptly. - -“He will be here in a moment,” said Brood. “Don't go.” - -They waited, listening. Ranjab entered the room; so noiseless was his -approach that neither heard his footsteps. - -“Well?” demanded Brood, looking beyond. - -“Master Frederic begs a few minutes' time, _sahib_. He is putting down -on paper the music, so that he may not forget. He writes the notes, -_sahib. Madame_ assists.” - -Brood's shoulders sagged. His head was bent, but his gaze never left the -face of the Hindu. - -“You may go, Ranjab,” he said slowly. - -“Ten minutes he asks for, _sahib_, that is all.” The curtains fell -behind him once more. - -“So that he may not forget!” fell from Brood's lips. He was looking -at the girl, but did not address his words to her. “So that he may not -forget! So that I, too, may not forget!” - -Suddenly he arose and confronted the serene image of the Buddha. For a -full minute he stood there with his hands clasped, his lips moving as if -in prayer. No sound came from them. - -The girl remained transfixed, powerless to move. Not until he turned -toward her and spoke was the spell broken. Then she came quickly to his -side. He had pronounced her name. - -“You are about to tell me something, Mr Brood,” she cried in great -agitation. “I do not care to listen. I feel that it is something I -should not know. Please let me go now. I------” - -He laid his hands upon her shoulders, holding her off at arm's length. - -“I am very fond of you, Lydia. I do not want to hurt you. Sooner would I -have my tongue cut out than it should wound you by a single word. Yet I -must speak. You love Frederic. Is not that true?” - -She returned his gaze unwaveringly. Her face was very white. - -“Yes, Mr Brood.” - -“I have known it for some time, although I was the last to see. You -love him, and you are just beginning to realise that he is not worthy.” - -“Mr Brood!” - -“Your eyes have been opened.” She stared, speechless. “My poor girl, -he was born to prove that honest love is the rarest thing in all this -world.” - -“Oh, I beg of you, Mr Brood, don't------” - -“It is better that we should talk it over. We have ten minutes. No doubt -he has told you that he loves you. He is a lovable boy, he is the kind -one _must_ love. But it is not in his power to love nobly. He loves -lightly as”--he hesitated, and then went on harshly--“as his father -before him loved.” - -Anger dulled her understanding; she did not grasp the full meaning of -his declaration. Her honest heart rose to the defence of Frederic. - -“Mr Brood, I do care for Frederic,” she flamed, standing very erect -before him. “He is not himself, he has not been himself since she came -here. Oh, I am fully aware of what I am saying. He is not to be blamed -for this thing that has happened to him. No one is to blame. It had to -be. I can wait, Mr Brood. Frederic loves me. I know he does. He will -come back to me. You have no right to say that he loves lightly, -ignobly. You do not know him as I know him. You have never tried to know -him, never wanted to know him. You--oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Brood. -I--I am forgetting myself.” - -“I am afraid you do not understand yourself, Lydia,” said he levelly. -“You are young, you are trusting. Your lesson will cost you a great -deal, my dear.” - -“You are mistaken. I do understand myself,” she said gravely. “May I -speak plainly, Mr Brood?” - -“Certainly. I intend to speak plainly to you.” - -“Frederic loves me. He does not love Yvonne. He is fascinated, as I also -am fascinated by her, and you, too, Mr Brood. The spell has fallen over -all of us. Let me go on, please. You say that Frederic loves like his -father before him. That is true. He loves but one woman. You love but -one woman, and she is dead. You will always love her. Frederic is like -you. He loves Yvonne as you do--oh, I know it hurts! She cast her spell -over you, why not over him? Is he stronger than you? Is it strange that -she should attract him as she attracted you? You glory in her beauty, -her charm, her perfect loveliness, and yet you love--yes, _love_, Mr -Brood--the woman who was Frederic's mother. Do I make my meaning plain? -Well, so it is that Frederic loves me. I am content to wait. I know he -loves me.” - -Through all this Brood stared at her in sheer astonishment. He had no -feeling of anger, no resentment, no thought of protest. - -“You--you astound me, Lydia. Is this your own impression, or has it been -suggested to you by--by another?” - -“I am only agreeing with you when you say that he loves as his father -loved before him--but not lightly. Ah, not lightly, Mr Brood.” - -“You don't know what you are saying,” he muttered. - -“Oh, yes, I do,” she cried earnestly. “You invite my opinion; I trust -you will accept it for what it is worth. Before you utter another word -against Frederic, let me remind you that I have known both of you for a -long, long time. In all the years I have been in this house I have never -known you to grant him a tender, loving word. My heart has ached for -him. There have been times when I almost hated you. He feels your -neglect, your harshness, your--your cruelty. He------” - -“Cruelty!” - -“It is nothing less. You do not like him. I cannot understand why you -should treat him as you do. He shrinks from you. Is it right, Mr Brood, -that a son should shrink from his father as a dog cringes at the voice -of an unkind master? I might be able to understand your attitude toward -him if your unkindness was of recent origin, but------” - -“Recent origin?” he demanded quickly. - -“If it had begun with the advent of Mrs Brood,” she explained frankly, -undismayed by his scowl. “I do not understand all that has gone before. -Is it surprising, Mr Brood, that your son finds it difficult to love -you? Do you deserve------” - -Brood stopped her with a gesture of his hand. - -“The time has come for frankness on my part. You set me an example, -Lydia. You have the courage of your father. For months I have had it in -my mind to tell you the truth about Frederic, but my courage has always -failed me. Perhaps I use the wrong word. It may be something very unlike -cowardice that has held me back. I am going to put a direct question to -you first of all, and I ask you to answer truthfully. Would you say -that Frederic is like--that is, resembles his father?” He was leaning -forward, his manner intense. - -Lydia was surprised. - -“What an odd thing to say! Of course he resembles his father. I have -never seen a portrait of his mother, but------” - -“You mean that he looks like me?” demanded Brood. - -“Certainly. What do you mean?” - -Brood laughed, a short, ugly laugh--and then fingered his chin -nervously. - -“He resembles his mother,” he said. - -“When he is angry he is very much like you, Mr Brood. I have often -wondered why he is unlike you at other times. Now I know. He is like his -mother. She must have been lovely, gentle, patient------” - -“Wait! Suppose I were to tell you that Frederic is not my son?” - -“I should not believe you, Mr Brood,” she replied flatly. “What is it -that you are trying to say to me?” - -He turned away abruptly. - -“I will not go on with it. The subject is closed. There is nothing to -tell--at present.” - -She placed herself in front of him, resolute and determined. - -“I insist, Mr Brood. The time _has_ come for you to be frank. You must -tell me what you meant by that remark.” - -“Has your mother never told you anything concerning my past life?” he -demanded. - -“What has my mother to do with your past life?” she inquired, suddenly -afraid. - -“I refer only to what she may have heard from your father. He knew more -than any of them. I confided in him to a great extent. I had to unburden -myself to someone. He was my best friend. It is not improbable that he -repeated certain parts of my story to your mother.” - -“She has told me that you--you were not happy, Mr Brood.” - -“Is that all?” - -“I--I think so.” - -“Is that all?” he insisted. - -“When I was a little girl I heard my father say to her that your life -had been ruined by--well, that your marriage had turned out badly,” she -confessed haltingly. - -“What more did he say?” - -“He said--I remember feeling terribly about it--he said you had driven -your wife out of this very house.” - -“Did he speak of another man?” - -“Yes. Her music-master.” - -“You were too young to know what that meant, eh?” - -“I knew that you never saw her after--after she left this house.” - -“Will you understand how horrible it all was if I say to you now -that--Frederic is not my son?” - -Her eyes filled with horror. - -“How can you say such a thing, Mr Brood? He is your son. How can you -say------” - -“His father is the man who wrote the accursed waltz he has just been -playing! Could there be anything more devilish than the conviction it -carries? After all these years, he------” - -“Stop, Mr Brood!” - -“I am sorry if I hurt you, Lydia. You have asked me why I hate him. Need -I say anything more?” - -“You have only made me love him more than ever before. You cannot hurt -me through Frederic.” - -“I am sorry that it has come to such a pass as this. It is not right -that you should be made to suffer, too.” - -“I do not believe all that you have told me. He _is_ your son. He _is_, -Mr Brood.” - -“I would to God I could believe that!” he cried in a voice of agony. “I -would to God it were true!” - -“You could believe it if you chose to believe your own eyes, your own -heart.” She lowered her voice to a half whisper. “Does--does Frederic -know? Does he know that his mother--oh, I can't believe it!” - -“He does not know.” - -“And you did drive her out of this house?” Brood did not answer. “You -sent her away and and kept her boy, the boy who was nothing to you? -Nothing!” - -“I kept him,” he said, with a queer smile on his lips. - -“All these years? He never knew his mother?” - -“He has never heard her name spoken.” - -“And she?” - -“I only know that she is dead. She never saw him after--after that day.” - -“And now, Mr Brood, may I ask why you have always intended to tell me -this dreadful thing?” she demanded, her eyes gleaming with a fierce, -accusing light. - -He stared. “Doesn't--doesn't it put a different light on your estimate -of him? Doesn't it convince you that he is not worthy of------” - -“No! A thousand times no!” she cried. “I love him. If he were to ask me -to be his wife tonight I would rejoice--oh, I would rejoice! Someone is -coming. Let me say this to you, Mr Brood: you have brought Frederic up -as a butcher fattens the calves and swine he prepares for slaughter. You -are waiting for the hour to come when you can kill his very soul -with the weapon you have held over him for so long, waiting, waiting, -waiting! In God's name, what has _he_ done that you should want to -strike him down after all these years? It is in my heart to curse you, -but somehow I feel that you are a curse to yourself. I will not say that -I cannot understand how you feel about everything. You have suffered. -I know you have, and I--I am sorry for you. And knowing how bitter life -has been for you, I implore you to be merciful to him who is innocent.” - -The man listened without the slightest change of expression. The lines -seemed deeper about his eyes, that was all. But the eyes were bright and -as hard as the steel they resembled. - -“You would marry him?” - -“Yes, yes!” - -“Knowing that he is a scoundrel?” - -“How dare you say that, Mr Brood?” - -“Because,” said he levelly, “he _thinks_ he is my son.” Voices were -heard on the stairs, Frederic's and Yvonne's. “He is coming now, my -dear,” he went on, and then, after a pause fraught with significance, -“and my wife is with him.” - -Lydia closed her eyes, as if in dire pain. A dry sob was in her throat. - -A strange thing happened to Brood, the man of iron. Tears suddenly -rushed to his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -Yvonne stopped in the doorway. Ranjab was holding the curtains aside -for her to enter. The tall figure of Frederic loomed up behind her, his -dark face glowing in the warm light that came from the room. She had -changed her dress for an exquisite orchid-coloured tea-gown of chiffon -under the rarest and most delicate of lace. For an instant her gaze -rested on Lydia, and then went questioningly to Brood's face. The girl's -confusion had not escaped her notice. Her husband's manner was but -little less convicting. Her eyes narrowed. - -“Ranjab said you were expecting us,” she said slowly, with marked -emphasis on the participle. She came forward haltingly, as if in doubt -as to her welcome. “Are we interrupting?” - -“Of course not,” said Brood, a flush of annoyance on his cheek. “Lydia -is tired. I sent Ranjab down to ask Frederic to----” - -Frederic interrupted, a trifle too eagerly. “I'll walk around with you, -Lydia. It's raining, however. Shall I get the car out, father?” - -“No, no!” cried Lydia, painfully conscious of the rather awkward -situation. “And please don't bother, Freddy. I can go home alone. It's -only a step.” She moved toward the door, eager to be away. - -“I'll go with you,” said Frederic decisively. He stood between her and -the door, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “I've got something to say -to you, Lydia,” he went on, lowering his voice. - -“James dear,” said Mrs Brood, shaking her finger at her husband, and -with an exasperating smile on her lips, “you are working the poor girl -too hard. See how late it is! And how nervous she is. Why, you are -trembling, Lydia! For shame, James.” - -“I am a little tired,” stammered Lydia. “We are working so hard, you -know, in order to finish the------” - -Brood interrupted, his tone sharp and incisive. - -“The end is in sight. We're a bit feverish over it, I suppose. You -see, my dear, we have just escaped captivity in Thassa. It was a bit -thrilling, I fancy. But we've stopped for the night.” - -“So I perceive,” said Yvonne, a touch of insolence in her voice. “You -stopped, I dare say, when you heard the tread of the vulgar world -approaching the inner temple. That is what you broke into and -desecrated, wasn't it?” - -“The inner temple at Thassa,” he said coldly. - -“Certainly. The place you were escaping from when we came in.” - -It was clear to all of them that Yvonne was piqued, even angry. She -deliberately crossed the room and threw herself upon the couch, an act -so childish, so disdainful, that for a full minute no one spoke, but -stared at her, each with a different emotion. - -Lydia's eyes were flashing. Her lips parted, but she withheld the angry -words that rose to them. - -Brood's expression changed slowly from dull anger to one of incredulity, -which swiftly gave way to positive joy. His wife was jealous! - -Frederic was biting his lips nervously. He allowed Lydia to pass him on -her way out, scarcely noticing her, so intently was his gaze fixed upon -Yvonne. When Brood followed Lydia into the hall to remonstrate, the -young man sprang eagerly to his stepmother's side. - -“Good Lord, Yvonne!” he whispered, “that was a nasty thing to say. -What will Lydia think? By gad, is it possible that you are jealous? Of -Lydia?” - -“Jealous?” cried she, struggling with her fury. “Jealous of that girl? -Poof! Why should I be jealous of her? She hasn't the blood of a potato!” - -“I can't understand you,” he said in great perplexity. “You--you told me -to-night that you are not sure that you really love him. You------” - -She stopped him with a quick gesture. Her eyes were smouldering. “Where -is he? Gone away with her? Go and look; do.” - -“They're in the hall. I shall take her home, never fear. I fancy he's -trying to explain your insinuating------” - -She turned on him furiously. “Are you lecturing me? What a tempest in a -teapot!” - -“Lydia's as good as gold. She------” - -“Then take her home at once,” sneered Yvonne. “This is no place for -her.” - -Frederic paled. “You're not trying to say my father would--good -Lord, Yvonne, you must be crazy! Why, that is impossible! If--if I -thought------” He clenched his fists and glared over his shoulder, -missing the queer little smile that flitted across her face. - -“You do love her then,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and caressing. - -He stared at her in complete bewilderment. - -“I--I--Lord, you gave me a shock!” He passed his hand across his moist -forehead. “It can't be so. Why, the very thought of it------” - -“I suppose I shall have to apologise to Lydia,” said she calmly. “Your -father will exact it of me, and I shall obey. How does it sound, coming -from me? 'I am sorry, Lydia.' Do I say it prettily?” - -“I don't understand you at all, Yvonne. I adore you, and yet, by Heaven, -I--I actually believe I hated you just now. Listen to me. I've been -treating Lydia vilely for a long, long time, but--she's the finest, -best, dearest girl in the world. You--even you, Yvonne--shall not utter -a word against------” - -“_Aïe!_ What heroics!” she cried ironically. -“You are splendid when you are angry, my son. Yes, you are almost as -splendid as your father. He, too, has been angry with me. He, too, -has made me shudder. But he, too, has forgiven me, as you shall this -instant. Say it, Freddy. You do forgive me? I was mean, nasty, ugly, -vile--oh, everything that's horrid. I take it all back. Now be nice to -me!” - -She laid her hand on his arm, an appealing little caress that conquered -him in a flash. He clasped her fingers fiercely in his and mumbled -incoherently as he leaned forward, drawn resistlessly nearer by the -strange magic that was hers. - -“You--you are wonderful,” he murmured. “I knew you'd regret what you -said. You couldn't have meant it.” - -She smiled, patted his hand gently, and allowed her swimming eyes to -rest on his for an instant to complete the conquest. Then she motioned -him away. Brood's voice was heard in the doorway. She had, however, -planted an insidious thing in Frederic's mind, and it would grow. - -Her husband re-entered the room, his arm linked in Lydia's. Frederic was -at the table lighting a cigarette. - -“You did not mean all that you said a moment ago, Yvonne,” said Brood -levelly. “Lydia misinterpreted your jest. You meant nothing unkind, -I am sure.” - -He was looking straight into her rebellious eyes. The last gleam of -defiance died out of them as he spoke. - -“I am sorry, Lydia darling,” she said, and reached out her hand to the -girl who approached reluctantly, uncertainly. “I confess that I was -jealous. Why shouldn't I be jealous? You are so beautiful, so splendid.” - She drew the girl down beside her. “Forgive me, dear.” - -Lydia, whose honest heart had been so full of resentment the moment -before, could not withstand the humble appeal in the voice of the -penitent. - -She smiled, first at Yvonne, then at Brood, and never quite understood -the impulse that ordered her to kiss the warm, red lips that so recently -had offended. - -“James dear,” fell softly, alluringly, from Yvonne's now tremulous lips. -He sprang to her side. She kissed him passionately. “Now we are all -ourselves once more,” she gasped a moment later, her eyes still fixed -inquiringly on those of the man beside her. “Let us be gay! Let us -forget! Come, Frederic! Sit here at my feet. Lydia is not going home -yet. Ranjab, the cigarettes!” - -Frederic, white-faced and scowling, remained at the window, glaring out -into the rain-swept night. A steady sheet of raindrops thrashed against -the window-panes. - -“Hear the wind!” cried Yvonne, after a single sharp glance at his -tall, motionless figure. “One can almost imagine that ghosts from every -graveyard in the world are whistling past our windows. Should we not -rejoice? We have them safely locked outside. There are no ghosts in -here to make us shiver--and--shake.” - -The sentence that began so glibly trailed off in a slow crescendo, -ending abruptly. Ranjab was holding the lighted taper for her cigarette. -As she spoke her eyes were lifted to his dark, saturnine face. She was -saying there were no ghosts when his eyes suddenly fastened on hers. In -spite of herself her voice rose in response to the curious dread that -chilled her heart as she looked into the shining mirrors above her. -She shivered as if in the presence of death! For an incalculably brief -period their gaze remained fixed and steady, each reading a mystery. -Then the Hindu lowered his heavy lashes and moved away. The little -by-scene did not go unnoticed by the others, although its meaning was -lost. - -“There's nothing to be afraid of, Yvonne,” said Brood, pressing the hand -which trembled in his. -“Your imagination carries you a long way. Are you really afraid of -ghosts?” - -She answered in a deep, solemn voice that carried conviction. - -“I believe in ghosts. I believe the dead come back to us, not to -flit about as we are told by superstition, but to lodge--actually to -dwell--inside these warm, living bodies of ours. They come and go at -will. Sometimes we feel that they are there, but--oh, who knows? Their -souls may conquer ours and go on inhabiting------” - -“Nonsense!” cried her husband. “Once dead, always dead, my dear.” - -“Do you really believe that, James?” she demanded seriously. “Have -you never felt that something that was not you was living, breathing, -speaking in this earthly shell of yours? Something that was not you, I -say. Something that------” - -“Never!” he exclaimed quickly, but his eyes were full of the wonder that -he felt. - -“Frederic,” she called imperatively, “come away from that window!” - -The young man joined the group. The sullen look in his face had given -way to one of acute inquiry. The new note in her voice produced a -strange effect upon him. It seemed like a call for help, a cry out of -the darkness. - -“It is raining pitchforks,” he said, as if to explain his failure to -respond at the first call. - -“Oh, dear,” sighed Lydia uncomfortably. - -“You can't go out in the storm, my dear,” cried Yvonne, tightening her -grip on the girl's arm. “Draw up a chair, Freddy. Let's be cosy. - -“Really, Mrs Brood, I should go at once. Mother------” - -“Your mother is in bed and asleep,” protested Yvonne. - -“We should all be in bed,” said Frederic. - -“A bed is a sepulchre. We bury half our lives in it, Frederic. We spend -too much time in bed. Why live in our dreams when we should be enjoying -to-day and not our yesterdays? Do you want to hear about the concert, -James? It was wonderful. The------” - -“If it was so wonderful, why did you leave before it was over?” demanded -her husband, his lips straightening. - -She looked at him curiously. - -“How do you know that we left before it was over?” - -“You have been at home since ten.” - -They were all playing for time. They all realised that something -sinister was attending their little conclave, unseen but vital. Each -one knew that united they were safe, each against the other! Lydia was -afraid because of Brood's revelations. Yvonne had sensed peril with -the message delivered by Ranjab to Frederic. Frederic had come upstairs -prepared for rebellion against the caustic remarks that were almost -certain to come from his father. Brood was afraid of--himself! He was -holding himself in check with the greatest difficulty. He knew that the -smallest spark would create the explosion he dreaded and yet courted. -Restraint lay heavily, yet shiftingly, upon all of them. - -“Oh,” said Yvonne easily, “there were still two numbers to be played, -and I loathe both of them. Frederic was ready to come away, too.” - -“And Dr Hodder? Did he come away with you?” inquired Brood. - -“No. He insisted on staying to the bitter end. We left him there.” - -Brood laughed shortly. “I see.” - -“He said he would come down with the Gunnings,” explained Yvonne, her -eyes flickering. “Besides, I always feel as though I were riding in an -ambulance when he is in the car. He dissected every bit of music they -played to-night. Now, James dear, you know he is quite dreadful.” She -said it pleadingly, poutingly. - -“I offered to send the car back for him,” said Frederic, speaking for -the first time. - -Brood drew a long breath. His glance met Lydia's and recognised the mute -appeal that lay in her eyes. He smiled faintly, and hope rose in her -troubled breast. - -“The Gunnings were there,” put in Yvonne, puffing more rapidly than -usual at her cigarette. “They came to the box with Mr and Mrs Harbison -during the intermission.” - -“What spiteful things did Mrs Harbison say about me?” demanded Brood, -affecting a certain lightness of manner. “A cigarette, Ranjab. She -despises me, I'm sure. Didn't she ask why I was not there to look after -my beautiful and much-coveted wife?” - -“She said that you interested her more than any man she knew, and, of -course, I considered that particularly spiteful. Her husband declared -he would rather shoot with you than with any man in the world. He's very -tiresome.” - -“We've hunted a good bit together,” said Brood. - -“Harbison says you are the most deadly shot he's ever seen,” said -Frederic, relaxing slightly. - -“What was it he said about your wonderful accuracy with a revolver? What -was it, Frederic? Hitting a shilling at some dreadful distance--thirty -yards, eh?” - -“Thirty paces,” said Frederic. - -“My father often spoke of your shooting with a revolver, Mr Brood,” said -Lydia. “He said it was really marvellous.” - -Yvonne laughed. “How interesting to have a husband who can even see as -far as thirty paces. But revolver shooting is a doubtful accomplishment -in these days of peace, isn't it? What is there to shoot at?” - -“Mad dogs and--men,” said Brood. Lydia's look required an answer. “No, -I've never shot a mad dog, Lydia.” - -“Who was the young woman with the lisp, Freddy?” asked Yvonne abruptly. - -“Miss Dangerfield. Isn't she amusing? I love that soft Virginia drawl of -hers. She's pretty, too. Old Hodder was quite taken with her.” - -A long, reverberating roll of thunder, ending in an ear-splitting -crash that seemed no farther away than the window casement behind them, -brought sharp exclamations of terror from the lips of the two women. The -men, appalled, started to their feet. - -“Good Lord, that _was_ close!” cried Frederic. “There was no sign of a -storm when we came in--just a steady, gentle spring rain.” - -“I am frightened,” shuddered Yvonne, wide-eyed with fear. “Do you -think------” - -“It struck near by, that's all,” said Brood. “Lightning bolts are -deceptive. One may think they strike at one's very elbow, and yet the -spot is really miles away. I hope your mother is not distressed, my -dear,” turning to Lydia. “She is afraid of the lightning, I know.” - -Lydia sprang to her feet. “I must go home at once, Mr Brood. She will be -dreadfully frightened. I----” - -There came another deafening crash. The glare filled the room with a -brilliant, greenish hue. Ranjab was standing at the window, holding the -curtains apart while he peered upward across the space that separated -them from the apartment building beyond the court. - -“Take me home, Frederic!” cried Lydia frantically. She ran toward the -door. - -“Let me telephone to your mother, Lyddy,” he cried, hurrying after her -into the hall. - -“No! no! no!” she gasped as she ran. “Don't come with me if you----” - -“I will come!” he exclaimed, as they raced down the stairs. “Don't be -frightened, darling. It's all right. Listen to me! Mrs Desmond is as -safe as------” - -“Oh, Freddy, Freddy!” she wailed, breaking under a strain that he was -not by way of comprehending. “Oh, Freddy dear!” Her nerves gave way. She -was sobbing convulsively when they came to the lower hall. - -In great distress he clasped her in his arms, mumbling incoherent words -of love, encouragement--even ridicule for the fear she betrayed. Far -from his mind was the real cause of her unhappy plight. - -He held her close to his breast, and there she sobbed and trembled as -with a mighty, racking chill. Her fingers clutched his arm with the grip -of one who clings to the edge of a precipice with death below. Her face -was buried against his shoulder. - -“There! There!” he murmured, appalled by this wild display of fear. -“Don't worry, darling. Everything is all right. Oh, you dear, dear -girlie! Please, please! My little Lyddy!” - -“Take me home, Freddy--take me home,” she whispered brokenly. “I cannot -stay here another second. Come, dearest--come home with me.” - -Still they stood there in the dark hall, clasped in each other's -arms--stood there for many minutes without realising the lapse of time, -thinking not of Mrs Desmond nor the storm that raged outside, but of the -storm they were weathering together with the lightning racing through -their veins, thunder in their heart-beats. - -A footstep in the hall. Frederic looked up, dazed, bewildered. Jones, -the butler, was retreating through a door near by, having come upon them -unexpectedly. - -“I--I beg pardon, sir. I------” - -“Oh, Jones! Listen! My raincoat--and father's, quick. And Miss Lydia's -things. Yes, yes, it's all right, Jones. It's quite all right.” Frederic -was calling out the sentences jerkily. - -“Quite all right,” repeated Jones, his throat swelling, his eyes -suddenly dim. “Quite, sir. Yes, yes!” He rushed into the closet at the -end of the hall, more grievously upset than he ever had been in all his -life before. - -“You will come with me, Freddy?” she was whispering, clinging to him as -one in panic. - -“Yes, yes. Don't be frightened, Lyddy. I--I know everything is all right -now. I'm sure of it.” - -“Oh, I am sure, too, dear. I have always been sure,” she cried, and he -understood, as she had understood. - -Despite the protests of Jones they dashed out into the blighting -thunderstorm. The rain beat down in torrents, the din was infernal. -As the door closed behind them Lydia, in the ecstasy of freedom from -restraint bitterly imposed, gave vent to a shrill cry of relief. Words, -the meaning of which he could not grasp, babbled from her lips as they -descended the steps. One sentence fell vaguely clear from the others, -and it puzzled him. He was sure that she said: - -“Oh, I am so glad, so happy we are out of that house--you and I -together.” - -Close together, holding tightly to each other, they breasted the -swirling sheets of rain. The big umbrella was of little protection to -them, although held manfully to break the force of the cold flood of -waters. They bent their strong young bodies against the wind, and a sort -of wild, impish hilarity took possession of them. It was freedom, after -all! They were fighting a force in nature that they understood, and the -sharp, staccato cries that came from their lips were born of an exultant -glee which neither of them could have suppressed or controlled. Their -hearts were as wild as the tempest about them. - -They turned the corner and were flanked by the wind and rain. The long -raincoats flattened their sleek, dripping folds tightly against their -bodies. It was almost impossible to push forward into this mad deluge. -The umbrella, caught by a gust, was turned inside out, and the full -force of the storm struck upon their faces, almost taking the breath -away. And they laughed as their arms tightened about each other. As one -person they breasted the gale. - -They were fairly blown through the doors of the apartment-house. Mrs -Desmond threw open the door as their wet, soggy feet came sloshing down -the hall. Frederic's arm was about Lydia as they approached, and both of -their drenched faces were wreathed in smiles--gay, exalted smiles. The -mother, white-faced and fearful, stared for a second at the amazing -pair, and then held out her arms to them. - -She was drenched in their embrace, but no one thought of the havoc that -was being created in that swift, impulsive contact. - -“It's a fine mess we've made of your rug, Mrs Desmond,” said Frederic -ruefully a few minutes later. - -“Goodness!” cried Lydia, aghast. Then they all realised. - -“Take those horrid things off at once, both of you,” commanded Mrs -Desmond. Her voice trembled. “And your shoes--and stockings. Dear, -dear!” - -“I must run back home!” exclaimed Frederic. - -Lydia placed herself between him and the door. - -“No! I want you to stay!” she cried. - -“Stay?” - -“You shall not go out in that dreadful storm again. I will not let you -go, Frederic. Stay--stay here with me.” - -He stared. “What a funny idea!” - -“Wait until the rain is over,” added Mrs Desmond. - -“No, no!” cried Lydia. “I mean for him to stay here the rest of the -night. We can put you up, Freddy. I--I don't want you to go back there -until--until to-morrow.” - -A glad light broke in his face. “By Jove, I--do you know, I'd like to -stay? I--I really would, Mrs Desmond. Can you find a place for me?” His -voice was eager, his eyes sparkling. - -“Yes,” said the mother quietly, almost serenely. “You shall have Lydia's -bed, Frederic. She can come in with me. Yes, you must stay. Are you not -our Frederic?” - -“Thank you,” he stammered, and his eyes fell. - -“I will telephone to Jones when the storm abates,” said Mrs Desmond. -“Now get out of those coats, and--oh, dear, how wet you are! A hot drink -for both.” - -“Would you mind asking Jones to send over something for me to wear in -the morning?” said Frederic, grinning as he stood forth in his evening -clothes. - -Ten minutes later, in a dressing-gown and bare feet, he sat with them -before an open fire and sipped the toddy she had brewed. - -“I say, this is great!” - -Lydia was suddenly shy and embarrassed. - -“Good night,” she whispered. Her fingers brushed his cheek lightly. - -He drew her down to him and kissed her passionately. - -“Good night, my Lyddy!” he said softly, his cheek flushing. - -She went quickly from the room. - -Later he stood in her sweet, dainty little bedroom and looked about him -with a feeling of mingled awe and wonder. All of her intimate, exquisite -belongings, the sanctified treasures of her most secret domain, were all -about him. - -He fingered the articles on her dressing-table; smelled of the perfume -bottles and smiled as he recognised the sweet odours as being a part -of her, and not a thing unto themselves; grinned delightedly at his own -photograph in its silver frame that stood where she could see it -the last thing at night and the first in the morning; caressed--aye, -caressed--the little hand-mirror that had reflected her gay or troubled -face so many times since the dear Christmas Day when he had given it to -her with his love. - -He stood beside her bed where she had stood, and the soft rug seemed to -respond to the delightful tingling that ran through his bare feet. Her -room! Her bed! Her domain! - -Suddenly he dropped to his knees and buried his hot face in the cool -white sheets and kissed them over and over again. Here was sanctuary! -His eyes were wet with tears when he arose to his feet, and his arms -went out to the closed door. - -“My Lyddy!” he whispered chokingly. - -Back there in the rose-hued light of James Brood's study Yvonne cringed -and shook in the strong arms of her husband all through that savage -storm. She was no longer the defiant, self-possessed creature he had come -to know so well, but a shrinking, trembling child, stripped of all her -bravado, all her arrogance, all her seeming guile. A pathetic whimper -crooned from her lips in response to his gentle words of reassurance. -She was afraid--desperately afraid--and she crept close to him in her -fear. - -And he? He was looking backward to another who had nestled close to him -and whimpered as she was doing now--another who lived in terror when it -stormed. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -Frederic opened his eyes at the sound of a gentle, persistent -tapping on the bedroom door. Resting on his elbow, he looked blankly, -wonderingly, about the room, and--remembered. The sun streamed into the -chamber, filling it with a radiance that almost dazzled him. He rubbed -his eyes, and again, as in the night just gone, his thought absorbed the -contents of the room. - -He had not dreamed it, after all. He was there in Lydia's bed, attended -by all the mute, inanimate sentinels that stood guard over her while she -slept. The knocking continued. He dreamed on, his blinking eyes still -seeking out the dainty, Lydia-like treasures in the enchanted room. - -“Frederic!” called a voice outside the door. - -He started guiltily. - -“All right,” was his cheery response. - -“Get up! It's nine o'clock. Or will you have your breakfast in bed, -sir?” It was Lydia who spoke, assuming a fine Irish brogue in imitation -of their little maid of all work. - -“I'll have to, unless my clothes have come over!” - -“They are here. Now do hurry.” - -He sprang out of bed and bounded across the room. She passed the -garments through the partly opened door. - -“Morning!” he greeted, sticking his tousled head around the edge. - -“Morning!” she responded as briefly. - -“Don't wait breakfast for me. I'll skip over home------” - -“It will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said arbitrarily. “Don't -dawdle.” - -“How pretty, how sweet you are this morning,” he cried, his dark eyes -dancing. - -“Silly!” she scoffed, but with a radiant smile. Then, with a perfectly -childish giggle, she slammed the door and scurried away as if in fear of -pursuit. - -He was artistic, temperamental. Such as he have not the capacity for -haste when there is the slightest opportunity to dream and dawdle. He -was a full quarter of an hour taking his tub, and another was consumed -in getting into his clothes. At home he was always much longer than -this, for he was delayed by the additional task of selecting shirts, -ties, socks, and scarf-pins, and changing his mind and all of them three -or four times before being satisfied with the effect. He sallied forth -in great haste at nine thirty-five, and was extremely proud of himself, -although unshaved. - -His first act, after warmly greeting Mrs Desmond, was to sit down at the -piano. Hurriedly he played a few jerky, broken snatches of the haunting -air he had heard the night before. - -“I've been wondering if I could remember it,” he apologised, as he -followed them into the dining-room. “What's the matter, Lyddy? Didn't you -sleep well? Poor old girl, I was a beast to deprive you of your bed.” - -“I have a mean headache, that's all,” said the girl quickly. He noticed -the dark circles under her eyes and the queer expression, as of trouble, -in their depths. “It will go as soon as I've had my coffee.” - -Night, with its wonderful sensations, was behind them. Day revealed the -shadow that had fallen. They unconsciously shrank from it and drew back -into the shelter of their own misgivings. The joyous abandon of the -night before was dead. Over its grave stood the leering spectre of -unrest. - -When he took her in his arms later on, and kissed her, there was not the -shadow of a doubt in the mind of either that the restraining influence -of a condition over which they had no control was there to mock their -endeavour to be natural. They were not to be deceived by the apparent -earnestness of the embrace. Each knew that the other was asking a -question, even as their lips met and clung in the rather pathetic -attempt to confirm the fond dream of the night before. They kissed -as through a veil. They were awake once more, and they were wary, -unconvinced. The answer to their questions came in the kiss itself, and -constraint fell upon them. - -Drawn by an impulse that had been struggling within him, Frederic found -himself standing at the sitting-room window. It was a sly, covert, -though intensely eager look that he directed at another window far -below. If he hoped for some sign of life in his father's study he was -to be disappointed. The curtains hung straight and motionless. He would -have denied the charge that he longed to see Yvonne sitting in the -casement, waiting to waft a sign of greeting up to him; he would have -denied that the thought was in his mind when he went to the window; and -yet he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment, even annoyance. - -With considerable adroitness Lydia engaged his attention at the piano. -Keyed up as she was, his every emotion was plain to her perceptions. She -had anticipated the motive that led him to the window. She knew that -it would assert itself in spite of all that he could do to prevent. She -waited humbly for the thing to happen, pain in her heart, and when her -reading proved true she was prepared to combat its effect. Music was her -only ally. - -“How does it go, Freddy--the thing you were playing before breakfast?” - She was trying to pick up the elusive air. “It is such a fascinating, -adorable thing. Is this right?” - -He looked at his watch. The few bars she had mastered in her eagerness -fell upon inattentive ears at first. But she persisted. He came over and -stood beside her. His long, slim fingers joined hers on the keyboard, -and the sensuous strains of the waltz responded to his touch. He smiled -patiently as she struggled to repeat what he had played. The fever of -the thing took hold of him at last, as she had known it would. Leaning -over her shoulder, his cheek quite close to hers, he played. Her hands -dropped into her lap. - -She retained her seat on the bench. Her cunning brain told her that it -would be a mistake to relinquish her place at the keyboard. He would -play it through a time or two, mechanically perhaps, and then his -interest would be gone. He would have gratified her simple request, and -that would have been the end. She led him on by interrupting time and -again in her eagerness to grasp the lesson he was giving. Finally she -moved over on the bench, and he sat down beside her. He was absorbed in -the undertaking. His brow cleared. His smile was a happy, eager one. - -“It's a tricky thing, Lyddy,” he said enthusiastically, “but you'll get -it. Now listen.” - -For an hour they sat there, master and pupil, sweetheart and lover. -The fear was less in the heart of one when, tiring at last, the other -contentedly abandoned the rôle of taskmaster and threw himself upon the -couch, remarking, as he stretched himself in luxurious ease: - -“I like this, Lyddy. I wish you didn't have to go over there and dig -away at that confounded journal. I like this so well that, 'pon my soul, -I'd enjoy loafing here with you the whole day long.” - -Her heart leaped. “You shall have your wish, Freddy,” she said, barely -able to conceal the note of eagerness in her voice. “I am not going to -work to-day. I--my head, you know. Mother telephoned to Mr Brood this -morning before you were up.” - -“You're going to loaf?” he cried gladly. “Bully! And I may stay? But, -gee, I forgot your headache. It will------” He was staring up from the -couch when she hastily broke in, shaking her head vigorously. - -“Lie still. My head is much better. I want you to stay, dear. I--I want -to have you all to myself again. Oh, it will be so good--so good to -while away an idle day with you!” - -She was standing beside the couch. He reached forth and took her hand in -his, laying it against his lips. - -“It won't be an idle day,” said he seriously. “We shall be very busy.” - -“Busy?” she inquired apprehensively. - - “Talking things over,” he said -briefly. “Of course, I ought to go home and face the music.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“It's something I can't talk about, Lyddy. Let's forget our troubles for -to-day.” - -“Better still, let us share them. Stay here with me. Don't go home -to-day, Freddy. I------” - -“Oh, I've got to have it out with father some time,” he said -bitterly. “It may as well be now as later on. We've got to come to an -understanding.” - -Her heart was cold. She was afraid of what would come out of that -“understanding.” All night long she had lain with wide-staring eyes, -thinking of the horrid thing James Brood had said to her. Far in the -night she aroused her mother from a sound sleep to put the question that -had been torturing her for hours. Mrs Desmond confessed that her husband -had told her that Brood had never considered Frederic to be his son, -and then the two lay side by side for the remainder of the night without -uttering a word, and yet keenly awake. They were thinking of the hour -when Brood would serve notice on the intruder! - -Lydia now realised that the hour was near. Frederic himself would -challenge the wrath of all these bitter years, and it would fall upon -his unsuspecting head with cruel, obliterating force. - -The girl shivered as with a racking chill. “Have it out with father,” - he had said in his ignorance. He was preparing to rush headlong to his -doom. To prevent that catastrophe was the single, all-absorbing thought -in Lydia's mind. Her only hope lay in keeping the men apart until she -could extract from Brood a promise to be merciful, and this she intended -to accomplish if she had to go down on her knees and grovel before the -man. - -“Oh, Freddy,” she cried earnestly, “why take the chance of making a bad -matter worse?” Even as she uttered the words she realised how stupid, -how ineffectual they were. - -“It can't be much worse,” he said gloomily. “I am inclined to think he'd -relish a straight-out, fair, and square talk, anyhow. Moreover, I mean -to take Yvonne to task for the thing she said--or implied last night. -About you, I mean. She------” - -“Oh, I beg of you, don't!” - -“It was--unspeakable. I don't see what could have come over her.” - -“She was jealous. She admitted it, dear. If I don't mind, why should you -incur------” - -“Do you really believe she--she loves the governor enough to be as -jealous as all that?” he exclaimed, a curious gleam in his eyes--an -expression she did not like. - -“Of course I think so!” she cried emphatically. “What a question! Have -you any reason to suspect that she does not love your father?” - -“No--certainly not,” he said in some confusion. Then, after a moment: -“Are you quite sure this headache of yours is real, Lyddy?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Isn't it an excuse to stay away from--from Yvonne, after what happened -last night? Be honest, dear.” - -She was silent for a long time, weighing her answer. Was it best to be -honest with him? - -“I confess that it has something to do with it,” she admitted. Lydia -could not be anything but truthful. - -“I thought so. It's--it's a rotten shame, Lyddy. That's why I want to -talk to her. I want to reason with her. It's all so perfectly silly, -this misunderstanding. You've just got to go on as you were before, -Lyddy--just as if it hadn't happened. It------” - -“I shall complete the work for your father, Freddy,” she said quietly. -“Two or three days more will see the end. After that neither my services -nor my presence will be required over there.” - -“You don't mean to say----” he began, unbelievingly. - -“It isn't likely I'd go there for pleasure, is it?” she interrupted -dryly. - -“But think of the old times, the------” - -“I can think of them just as well here as anywhere else. No; I shan't -annoy Mrs Brood, Freddy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, -but she thought better of it. - -“They're going abroad soon,” he ventured. “At least, that's father's -plan. Yvonne isn't so keen about it. She calls this being abroad, you -know. Besides,” he hurried on in his eagerness to excuse Yvonne, “she's -tremendously fond of you.” - -Lydia was wise. “I would give a great deal to be able to really believe -so, Freddy. I--I could be very fond of her.” - -He warmed to the cause. - -“No end of times she's said you were the finest------” Her smile--an -odd one, such as he had never seen on her lips before--checked his -eager speech. He bridled. “Of course, if you don't choose to believe me, -there's nothing more to be said. She meant it, however.” - -“I am sure she said it, Freddy,” she hastened to declare. “Will she be -pleased with our--our marriage?” - -It required a great deal of courage on her part to utter these words, -but she was determined to bring the true situation home to him. - -He did not even hesitate, and there was conviction in his voice as he -replied: - -“It doesn't matter whether she's pleased or displeased. We're pleasing -ourselves, are we not? There's no one else to consider, dear.” - -Her eyes were full upon his, and there was wonder in them. - -“Thank you--thank you, Freddy,” she cried. -“I--I knew you'd------” The sentence remained unfinished. - -“Has there ever been a doubt in your mind?” he asked uneasily, after -a moment. He knew there had been misgivings, and he was ready, in his -self-abasement, to resent them if given the slightest opening. Guilt made -him arrogant. - -“No,” she answered simply. - -The answer was not what he expected. He flushed painfully. - -“I--I thought perhaps you'd--you'd get a notion in your head that------” - He, too, stopped for want of the right words to express himself without -committing the egregious error of letting her see that it had been in -his thoughts to accuse her of jealousy. - -She waited for a moment. “That I might have got the notion in my head -you did not love me any longer? Is that what you started to say?” - -“Yes,” he confessed, averting his eyes. - -“I've been unhappy at times, Freddy, but that is all,” she said -steadily. “You see, I know how honest you really are. I know it far -better than you know it yourself.” - -“I wonder just how honest I am,” he muttered. -“I wonder what would happen if------ But nothing can happen. Nothing -ever will happen. Thank you, old girl, for saying what you said just -now. It's--it's bully of you.” - -He got up and began pacing the floor. She leaned back in her chair, -deliberately giving him time to straighten out his thoughts for himself. -Wiser than she knew herself to be, she held back the warm, loving words -of encouragement, of gratitude, of belief. - -But she was not prepared for the impetuous appeal that followed. He -threw himself down beside her and grasped her hands in his. His face -seemed suddenly old and haggard, his eyes burned like coals of fire. -Then, for the first time, she had an inkling of the great struggle that -had been going on inside of him for weeks and weeks. - -“Listen, Lyddy,” he began nervously; “will you marry me to-morrow? Are -you willing to take the chance that I'll be able to support you, to earn -enough------” - -“Why, Freddy!” she cried, half starting up from the couch. She was -dumbfounded. - -“Will you? Will you? I mean it,” he went on, almost argumentatively. - -He was very much in earnest, but alas! the fire, the passion of the -importunate lover was missing. She shrank back into the corner of the -couch, staring at him with puzzled eyes. Comprehension was slow in -arriving. As he hurried on with his plea she began to see clearly, her -sound brain grasped the significance of this sudden decision on his -part. - -“There's no use waiting, dear. I'll never be more capable of earning -a living than I am right now. I can go into the office with Brooks any -day, and I--I think I can make good. God knows, I can try hard enough. -Brooks says he's got a place there for me in the bond department. It -won't be much at first, but I can work into a pretty good--what's the -matter? Don't you think I can do it? Have you no faith in me? Are you -afraid to take a chance?” - -She had smiled sadly--it seemed to him reprovingly. His cheek flushed. - -“What has put all this into your head, Freddy dear?” she asked shrewdly. - -“Why, good Lord, haven't we had this very thing in mind for years?” he -cried. “Haven't we talked about my------” - -“What put it into your head--just now?” she insisted. - -“I don't know what you're driving at,” he floundered. - -“Don't you think it would be safer--I mean wiser if you were to wait -until you are quite certain of yourself, Freddy?” - -“I am certain of myself,” he exploded. “What do you mean? What sort of -talk is this you are------” - -“Hush! Don't be angry, dear. Be honest now. Don't you understand just -what I mean?” They looked squarely into each other's eyes. - -“I want you to marry me at once,” said he doggedly. “You know I love -you, Lyddy. Is there anything more to say than that?” - -“Don't you want to tell me, Freddy?” - -His eyes wavered. “I can't go on living as I have been for the past few -months. I've just got to end it, Lyddy. You don't understand--you can't, -and there isn't any use in trying to explain the----” - -“I think I do understand, dear,” she said quietly, laying her hand on -his. “I understand so completely that there isn't any use in your trying -to explain. But don't you think you are a bit cowardly?” - -“Cowardly?” he gasped, and then the blood rushed to his face. - -“Is it quite fair to me--or to yourself?” He was silent. She waited for -a moment and then went on resolutely. “I know just what it is that you -are afraid of, Freddy. I shall marry you, of course. I love you more -than anything else in all the world. But are you quite fair in asking me -to marry you while you are still afraid, dear?” - -“Before God, Lyddy, I love no one else but you!” he cried earnestly. “I -know what it is you are thinking, and I--I don't blame you. But I want -you _now_--you don't know how much I need you now! I want to begin a new -life with you. I want to feel that you are with me--just you--strong and -brave and enduring. I am adrift. I need you.” - -“I know you love me, Frederic. I am absolutely certain of it,” she said -slowly, weighing her words carefully. “But I cannot marry you -to-morrow--nor for a long time after to-morrow. In a year--yes. But not -now, dear; not just now. You--you understand, don't you? Say that you -understand.” - -His chin sank upon his breast. “Of course I understand,” he said in a -very low voice. - -“I shall never love you any more than I love you now, Freddy--never so -much, perhaps, as at this moment.” - -“I know, Lyddy; I know,” he said dully. - -“If you insist, I will marry you to-morrow; but you cannot--you will not -ask it of me, will you?” - -“But you know I do love you,” he cried. “There isn't any doubt in your -mind, Lyddy. There is no one else I tell you.” - -“I think I am just beginning to understand men,” she remarked -enigmatically. - -“And to wonder why they call women the weaker sex, eh?” - -“Yes,” she said, so seriously that the wry smile died on his lips. “I -don't believe there are many women who would ask a man to be sorry for -them. That's really what all this amounts to, isn't it, Freddy?” - -“By Jove!” he exclaimed wonderingly. - -“You are a strong, self-willed, chivalrous man, and yet you think -nothing of asking a woman to protect you against yourself; You are -afraid to stand alone. Wait! You need me because you are a strong -man and are afraid that your very strength will lead you into ignoble -warfare. You are afraid of your strength, not of your weakness. So you -ask me to help you. Without thinking, you ask me to marry you to-morrow. -The idea came to you like a flash of light in the darkness. Five -minutes--yes, one minute before you asked it of me, Freddy dear, you -were floundering in the darkness, uncertain which way to turn. You were -afraid of the things you could not see. You looked for some place in -which to hide. The flash of light revealed a haven of refuge. So you -asked me to to marry you to-morrow.” - -All through this indictment she had held his hand clasped tightly in -both of hers. He was looking at her with a frank acknowledgment growing -in his eyes. - -“Are you ashamed of me, Lyddy?” he asked. - - “No,” she said, meeting his -gaze steadily. “I am a little disappointed, that's all. It is you who -are ashamed.” - -“I am,” said he simply. “It wasn't fair.” - -“Love will endure. I am content to wait,” she said with a wistful smile. - -“You will be my wife, no matter what happens? You won't let this make -any difference?” - -“You are not angry with me?” - -“Angry? Why should I be angry with you, Lyddy? For shaking some sense -into me? For seeing through me with that wonderful, far-sighted brain of -yours? Why, I could go down on my knees to you. I could------” - -“Let me think, Freddy,” she cried, suddenly confronted by her own -declaration of the night before. She had told James Brood that she would -marry this discredited son of his the instant he was ready to take her -unto himself. She had flung that in the older man's face, and she had -meant every word of it. - -“I--I take back what I said, dear. I will marry you to-morrow.” She -spoke rapidly, jerkily; her eyes were very dark and luminous. - -“What has come over you?” He stared at her in astonishment. “What--oh, I -see! You are not sure of me. You------” - -“Yes, yes, I am! It isn't that. I did not know what I was saying when I -refused to------” - -“Oh, there you go, just like a woman!” he cried triumphantly. “Spoiling -everything! You dear, lovable, inconsequent, regular girl! Hurray! Now -we're back where we began, and I'm holding the whip. You bring me to my -senses and then promptly lose your own.” He clasped her in his arms and -held her close. “You dear, dear Lyddy!” - -“I mean it, dear heart.” The whisper smothered in his embrace. -“To-morrow--to-day, if you will. We will go away. We will------” - -“No,” he said, quite resolutely; “you have shown me the way. I've -just got to make good in your estimation before I can hold you to your -promise. You're splendid, Lyddy; you're wonderful, but--well, I was -unfair a while ago. I mean to be fair now. We'll wait. It's better so. -I will come again and ask you, but it won't be as it was just now. It -would not be right for me to take you at your word. We'll wait.” - -Neither spoke for many minutes. It was she who broke the silence. - -“You must promise one thing, Frederic. For my sake, avoid a quarrel with -your father. I could not bear that. You will promise, dear? You must.” - -“I don't intend to quarrel with him; but if I am to remain in his house -there has got to be------” -He paused, his jaw set stubbornly. - -“Promise me you will wait. He is going away in two weeks. When he -returns--later on--next fall------” - -“Oh, if it really distresses you, Lyddy, I'll------” - -“It does distress me. I want your promise.” - -“I'll do my part,” he said resignedly, “and next fall will see us -married, so------” - -The telephone-bell in the hall was ringing. Frederic released Lydia's -hand and sat up rather stiffly, as one who suddenly suspects that he is -being spied upon. The significance of the movement did not escape Lydia. -She laughed mirthlessly. - -“I will see who it is,” she said, and arose. Two red spots appeared in -his cheeks. Then it was that she realised he had been waiting all along -for the bell to ring; he had been expecting a summons. - -“If it's for me, please say--er--say I'll------” he began, somewhat -disjointedly, but she interrupted him. - -“Will you stay here for luncheon, Frederic? And this afternoon we will -go to--oh, is there a concert or a recital------” - -“Yes, I'll stay if you'll let me,” he said wistfully. “We'll find -something to do.” - -She went to the telephone. He heard the polite greetings, the polite -assurances that she had not taken cold, two or three laughing rejoinders -to what must have been amusing comments on the storm and its effect on -timid creatures, and then: - -“Yes, Mrs Brood, I will call him to the phone.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Frederic had the feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl -handed the receiver to him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for -a second. Instead of returning to the sitting-room where she could have -heard everything that he said, she went into her own room down the hall -and closed the door. He was not conscious of any intention to temporise, -but it was significant that he did not speak until the door closed -behind her. Afterward he realised and was ashamed. - -Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle -and irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously -formed resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive -and lifeless to him. - -“Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He -made haste to declare their intention to attend a concert. “I am glad -you are going to do that,” she went on. - -“Are you ill, Yvonne?” he queried suddenly. “I? Oh, no. I think I never -felt better in my life than I do at this moment. The storm must have -blown the cobwebs out of my brain. I believe I'm quite happy to-day, -Frederic.” - -“Aren't you always happy?” he cried chidingly. “What an odd thing to -say.” - -She did not respond to this. - -“You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?” - -“Yes. She's trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli's--the one we -heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire, “Are -you there?” - -“Yes.” - -“I'm teaching it to her.” - -“I see.” - -“I will be home for dinner, of course. You--you don't need me for -anything, do you?” - -“No,” she said. Then, with a low laugh: “You may be excused for the day, -my son.” - -“What's wrong?” he demanded, lowering his voice. - -“Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Everything seems right to me. Your father and -I have been discussing the trip abroad.” - -“Is--is it settled?” - -“Yes. We are to sail on the twenty-fifth--in ten days.” - -“Settled, eh?” - -“Yes.” - -“I thought you--you were opposed to going.” - -“I've changed my mind. As a matter of fact, I've changed my heart.” - -“You speak in riddles.” - -“Your father has gone out to arrange for passage on the _Olympic_. He is -lunching at the Lawyers' Club.” - -“You will lunch alone, then?” - -“Naturally.” - -He suppressed an impulse. - -“I'm sorry, Yvonne.” - -She was silent for a long time. - -“Frederic, I want you to do something for me.” - -“I--I've promised Lydia to stay here------” - -“Oh, it isn't that. Will you try to convince Lydia that I meant no -offence last night when I------” - -“She understands all that perfectly, Yvonne.” - -“No, she doesn't. A woman _wouldn't_ understand.” - -“I will square everything,” he said. - -“It means a great deal to me,” - -“In what way?” - -There was a pause. - -“No woman likes to be regarded as a fool,” she said at last, apparently -after careful reflection. -“Oh, yes; there is something else. We are dining out this evening.” - -“You and I?” he asked, after a moment. - -“Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine -with Lydia--or, better still, ask her over here to share your dinner -with you.” - -He was scowling. - -“Where are you going?” - -“Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, “we thought -it would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico's and see a play -afterward.” - -“Just--you and father?” - -“We two--no more.” - -“How cunning,” he sneered. - -“Will you ask Lydia to dine with you?” - -“No.” - -“Perhaps you will go out somewhere?” - -“I'll have dinner with Mr Dawes and------” - -“That would be jolly. They will be pleased. A sort of--what do you call -it--a sort of reunion, eh?” - -“Are you making sport of me?” he demanded angrily. - -“But no! It will be making sport for the old gentleman, though, _aïe?_ -And now _au revoir!_ You will surely convince Lydia that I love her? -I am troubled. You will------” - -“What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco -production. “Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the -governor to-day? In a good humour?” - -There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: “Are -you there?”. - -“Good-bye,” came back over the wire. - -He started, as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was -cold and forbidding. - -When Lydia rejoined him in the sitting-room he was standing at the -window, staring across the courtyard far below. - -“Are you going?” she asked steadily. - -He turned toward her, conscious of the tell-tale scowl that was -passing from his brow. It did not occur to him to resent her abrupt, -uncompromising question. As a matter of fact, it seemed quite natural -that she should put the question in just that way, flatly, incisively. -He considered himself, in a way, to be on trial. - -“No, I'm not,” he replied. “You did not expect me to forget, did you?” - -He was uncomfortable under her honest, inquiring gaze. A sullen anger -against himself took possession of him. He despised himself for the -feeling of loneliness and homesickness that suddenly came over him. - -“I thought------” she began, and then her brow cleared. “I have been -looking up the recitals in the morning paper. The same orchestra you -heard last night is to appear again to-day at------” - -“We will go there, Lydia,” he interrupted, and at once began to hum the -gay little air that had so completely charmed him. “Try it again, Lyddy. -You'll get it in no time.” - -After luncheon, like two happy children they rushed off to the concert, -and it was not until they were on their way home at five o'clock that -his enthusiasm began to wane. She was quick to detect the change. He -became moody, preoccupied; his part of the conversation was kept up with -an effort that lacked all of the spontaneity of his earlier and more -engaging flights. - -They rode down town on the top of a Fifth Avenue stage, having it all -to themselves. She found herself speculating on the change that had come -over him, and soon lapsed into a reserve quite as pronounced as his -own. By the time they were ready to get down at the corner above Brood's -house there was no longer any pretence at conversation between them. -The day's fire had burned out. Its glow had given way to the bleak, gray -tone of dead coals. - -Lydia went far back in her calculations and attributed his mood to the -promise she had exacted in regard to his attitude toward his father. It -occurred to her that he was smarting under the restraint that promise -involved. She realised now, more than ever before, that there could be -no delay, no faltering on her part. She would have to see James Brood at -once; go down on her knees to him. - -“I feel rather guilty, Freddy,” she said as they approached the house. -“Mr Brood will think it strange that I should plead a headache and yet -run off to a concert and enjoy myself when he is so eager to finish the -journal--especially as he is to sail so soon. I ought to see him; don't -you think so? Perhaps there is something I can do to-night that will -make up for the lost time.” She was plainly nervous. - -“He'd work you to death if he thought it would serve his purpose,” said -Frederic gloomily. And back of that sentence lay the thought that made -it absolutely imperative for her to act without delay. - -“I will go in for a few minutes,” she said, at the foot of the steps. -“Are you not coming, too?” - -He had stopped. “Not just now, Lyddy. I think I'll run up to Tom's flat -and smoke a pipe with him. Thanks, old girl, for the happy day we've -had. You don't mind if I leave you here?” - -Her heart gave a great throb of relief. It was best to have him out of -the way for the time being. - -“No, indeed,” she said. “Do go and see Tom. I shan't be here long. We -have had a glorious day, haven't we?” There was something wistful in her -smile as she held out her hand to him. - -He searched her face with tired, yearning eyes. - -“We have thousands of them ahead of us, Lyddy--days that will be all our -own, with nothing else in them but ourselves. I--I wish we could begin -them to-morrow, after all.” - -A flush mounted to her cheek. - -“Good-bye, Freddy.” - -He seemed reluctant to release her hand; her hand was cold, but her eyes -were shining with a glorious warmth. - -“I--I may run in to see you this evening,” he said. “You won't mind?” - -“Come, by all means.” - -“Well--so-long,” he said diffidently. “So-long, Lyddy.” - -“So-long,” she repeated, dropping into his manner of speech without -thinking. There was a smothering sensation in her breast. - -He looked back as he strode off in the direction from which they had -come. She was at the top of the steps, her finger on the electric -button. He wondered why her face was so white. He had always thought of -it as being full of colour, rich, soft, and warm. - -Inside the door Lydia experienced a strange sinking of the heart. Her -limbs seemed curiously weak, and she was conscious of a feeling of utter -loneliness, such as she had never known before. She looked about her in -wonder, as if seeking an explanation for the extraordinary but fleeting -impression that she was in a strange house. Never was she to find an -interpretation of the queer fantasy that came and went almost in the -span of a single breath. - -“Is Mr Brood at------” she began nervously. - -A voice at the top of the stairway interrupted the question she was -putting to the footman. - -“Is it you, Lydia? Come up to my room.” - -The girl looked up and saw Mrs Brood leaning over the banister-rail. She -was holding her pink dressing-gown closely about her throat, as if -it had been hastily thrown about her shoulders. One bare arm was -visible--completely so. - -“I came to see Mr Brood. Is he------” - -“He is busy. Come up to my room,” repeated Yvonne, somewhat imperiously. - -As Lydia mounted the stairs she had a fair glimpse of the other's face. -Always pallid--but of a healthy pallor--it was now almost ghastly. -Perhaps it was the light from the window that caused it; Lydia was not -sure, but a queer greenish hue overspread the lovely, smiling face. The -lips were red, very red--redder than she had ever seen them. The girl -suddenly recalled the face she had once seen of a woman who was addicted -to the drug habit. - -Mrs Brood met her at the top of the stairs. She was but half dressed. -Her lovely neck and shoulders were now almost bare. Her hands were -extended toward the visitor; the filmy lace gown hung loose and -disregarded about her slim figure. - -“Come in, dear. Shall we have tea? I have been so lonely. One cannot -read the books they print nowadays. Such stupid things, _aïe?_” - -She threw an arm about the tall girl, and Lydia was surprised to find -that it was warm and full of a gentle strength. She felt her flesh -tingle with the thrill of contact. Yes, it must have been the light -from the window, for Yvonne's face was now aglow with the peculiar -iridescence that was so peculiarly her own. - -A door closed softly on the floor above them. Mrs Brood glanced over her -shoulder and upward. Her arm tightened perceptibly about Lydia's waist. - -“It was Ranjab,” said the girl, and instantly was filled with amazement. -She had not seen the Hindu, had not even been thinking of him, and yet -she was impelled by some mysterious intelligence to give utterance to a -statement in which there was conviction, not conjecture. - -“Did you see him?” asked the other, looking at her sharply. - -“No,” admitted Lydia, still amazed. “I don't know why I said that.” - -Mrs Brood closed her boudoir door behind them. For an instant she stood -staring at the knob, as if expecting to see it turn. - -“I know,” she said, “I know why you said it. Because it _was_ Ranjab.” - She shivered slightly. -“I am afraid of that man, Lydia. He seems to be watching me all the -time. Day and night his eyes seem to be upon me.” - -“Why, should he be watching you?” asked Lydia bluntly. - -Yvonne did not notice the question. - -“Even when I am asleep in my bed, in the dead hour of night, he is -looking at me. I can feel it. Oh, it is not a dream, for my dreams are -of something or someone else--never of him. And yet he is there, looking -at me. It--it is uncanny.” - -“Imagination,” remarked Lydia quietly. “He never struck me as especially -omnipresent.” - -“Didn't you _feel_ him a moment ago?” demanded Yvonne irritably. - -The other hesitated, reflecting. - -“I suppose it must have been something like that.” They were still -facing the door, standing close together. “Why do you feel that he is -watching you?” - -“I don't know. I just feel it, that's all. Day and night. He can read my -thoughts, Lydia, as he would read a book. Isn't--isn't it disgusting?” - Her laugh was spiritless, obviously artificial. - -“I shouldn't object to his reading my thoughts,” said Lydia. - -“Ah, but you are Lydia. It's different. I have thoughts sometimes, my -dear, that would not--but there! Let us speak of more agreeable things. -Take off your coat--here, let me help you. What a lovely waist! You -will pardon my costume, won't you, or rather the lack of one? I shan't -dress until dinner-time. Sit down here beside me. No tea? A cigarette, -then. No?” - -“I never smoke, you remember,” said the other. She was looking at Yvonne -now with a curious, new-found interest in her serious eyes. “I came to -explain to Mr Brood how it happens that------” - -“Poof! Never explain, my dear, never explain anything to a man!” cried -Yvonne, lighting a cigarette. The flare of the match in the partially -darkened room lit up her face with merciless candour. Lydia was -conscious once more of the unusual pallor and a certain haggardness -about the dark eyes. - -“But he is so eager to complete the------” - -“Do you forgive me for what I said to you last night?” demanded Yvonne, -sitting down beside the girl on the _chaise longue_. The interruption -was rude, perhaps, but it was impossible to resent it, so appealing was -the expression in the offender's eyes. - -“It was so absurd, Mrs Brood, that I have scarcely given it a moment's -thought. Of course, I was hurt at the time. It was so unjust to Mr -Brood. It was------” - -“It is like you to say that!” cried Yvonne. “You are splendid, Lydia. -Will you believe me when I tell you that I love you--that I love you -very dearly?” - -Lydia looked at her in some doubt, and not without misgivings. - -“I should like to believe it,” she said noncommittally. - -“Ah, but you doubt it. I see. Well, I do not blame you. I have given you -much pain, much distress. When I am far away you will be glad--you will -be happy. Is not that so?” - -“But you are coming back,” said Lydia with a frank smile, not meant to -be unfriendly. - -Yvonne's face clouded. - -“Yes, I shall probably come back. Nothing is sure in this queer world of -ours.” She threw her cigarette away. “I don't like it to-day. Ugh! how -it tastes in my mouth!” She drew closer to the girl's side. Lydia's -nostrils filled with the strange, sweet perfume that she affected, so -individually hers, so personally Yvonne. “Oh, yes; I shall come back. -Why not? Is not this my home?” - -“You may call it your home, Mrs Brood,” said -Lydia, “but are you quite sure your thoughts always abide here? I mean -in the United States, of course.” - -Yvonne had looked up at her quickly. - -“Oh, I see. No; I shall never be an American.” Then she abruptly changed -the subject. “You have had a nice day with Frederic? You have been -happy, both of you?” - -“Yes--very happy, Mrs Brood,” said the girl simply. - -“I am glad. You must always be happy, you two. It is my greatest wish.” - -Lydia hesitated for a moment. - -“Frederic asked me to be his wife--to-morrow,” she said, and her heart -began to thump queerly. She felt that she was approaching a crisis of -some sort. - -“To-morrow?” fell from Yvonne's lips. The word was drawn out, as if in -one long breath. Then, to Lydia's astonishment, an extraordinary change -came over the speaker. - -“Yes, yes; it should be--it must be to-morrow. Poor boy--poor, poor boy! -You will marry, yes, and go way at once, _aïe?_” Her voice was almost -shrill in its intensity, her eyes were wide and eager and--anxious. - -“I------ Oh, Mrs Brood, is it for the best?” cried Lydia. “Is it the -best thing for Frederic to do? I--I feared you might object. I am sure -his father will refuse permission------” - -“But you love each other--that is enough. Why ask the consent of anyone? -Yes, yes, it is for the best. I know--oh, you cannot realise how well I -know. You must not hesitate.” The woman was trembling in her eagerness. -Lydia's astonishment gave way to perplexity. - -“What do you mean? Why are you so serious--so intent on this------” - -“Frederic has no money,” pursued Yvonne, as if she had not heard Lydia's -words. “But that must not deter you--it must not stand in the way. I -shall find a way; yes, I shall find a way. I------” - -“Do you mean that you would provide for him for us?” exclaimed Lydia. - -“There is a way, there is a way,” said the other, fixing her eyes -appealingly on the girl's face, to which the flush of anger was slowly -mounting. - -“His father will not help him--if, that is what you are counting upon, -Mrs Brood,” said the girl coldly. - -“I know. He will not help him; no.” - -Lydia started. - -“What do you know about--what has Mr Brood said to you?” Her heart was -cold with apprehension. “Why are you going away next week? What has -happened?” - -Brood's wife was regarding her with narrowing eyes. - -“Are you attributing my motives to something that my husband has said to -me? Am I expected to say that he has--what you call it--that he has put -his foot down?” - -“I am sorry you misunderstood my------” - -“Oh, I see now. You think my husband suspects that Frederic is too -deeply interested in his beautiful stepmother; is not that so? Poof! -It has nothing to do with it.” Her eyes were sullen, full of resentment -now. She was collecting herself. - -The girl's eyes expressed the disdain that suddenly took the place of -apprehension in her thoughts. A sharp retort leaped to her lips, but she -suppressed it. - -“Mr Brood does not like Frederic,” she said instead, and could have cut -out her tongue the instant the words were uttered. Yvonne's eyes -were glittering with a light that she had never seen in them before. -Afterward she described it to herself as baleful. - -“So! He has spoken ill--evil--of his son to you?” she said, almost in -a monotone, “He has hated him for years--is not that so? I am not the -original cause, _aïe?_ It began long ago--long, long ago?” - -“Oh, I beg of you, Mrs Brood------” began -Lydia, shrinking back in dismay. - -“You are free to speak your thoughts to me. I shall not be offended. -What has he said to you about Frederic--and me?” - -“Nothing, I swear to you; nothing!” cried the girl. - -“But you have the power of observation. You do not have to be told in so -many words. You have been with him a great deal, alone. His manner -tells you what his lips hold back. Tell me.” Lydia resolved to take the -plunge. Now was the time to speak plainly to this woman of the thing -that was hurting her almost beyond the limits of endurance. Her voice -was rather high-pitched. She had the fear that she would not be able to -control it. - -“I should be blind not to have observed the cruel position in which you -are placing Frederic. Is it surprising that your husband has eyes -as well as I? What must be his thoughts, Mrs Brood?” - - She expected an -outburst, a torrent of indignation, an angry storm of words, and was -therefore unprepared for the piteous, hunted expression that came -swiftly into the lovely eyes, bent so appealing upon her own, which were -cold and accusing. Here was a new phase to this extraordinary creature's -character. She was a coward, after all, and Lydia despised a coward. The -look of scorn deepened in her eyes, and out from her heart rushed -all that was soft and tender in her nature, leaving it barren of all -compassion. - -“I do not want to hurt Frederic,” murmured -Yvonne. “I--I am sorry if------” - -“You are hurting him dreadfully,” said Lydia, suddenly choking up with -emotion. - -“He is not--not in love with me,” declared Yvonne, - -“No,” said the girl, regaining control of herself, “he is not in love -with you. That is the whole trouble. He is in love with me. But--but -can't you see?” - -“You are a wise young woman to know men so well,” said the other -enigmatically. “I have never believed in St Anthony.” - -“Nor I,” said Lydia, and was surprised at herself. - -“I prefer to put my faith in the women who tempted him,” said Yvonne, -drawing a little closer to the girl. - -“Perhaps you are right. They at least were not pretending.” - -“I am not so sure of that. At any rate, they succeeded in making a saint -of him eventually.” - -“I suppose you are undertaking a similar office in--in Frederic's -behalf,” said Lydia with fine irony. - -“Do you consider me to be a bad woman, Lydia?” Her lips trembled. There -was a suspicious quiver to her chin. - -“No; I do not,” pronounced the girl flatly. “If I could only think that -of you it would explain everything, and I should know just how to treat -you. But I do not think it of you.” - -With a long, deep sigh Yvonne crept closer and laid her head against -Lydia's shoulder. The girl's body stiffened, her brow grew dark with -annoyance. - -“I am afraid you do not understand, Mrs Brood. The fact still remains -that you have not considered Frederic's peace of mind.” - -“Nor yours,” murmured the other. - -“Nor mine,” confessed Lydia, after a moment. - -“I did not know that you and Frederic were in love with each other until -I had been here for some time,” Mrs Brood explained, suddenly fretful. - -Lydia stared hard at the soft white cheek that lay exposed below the -black crown of hair. - -“What had that to do with it?” - -“A great deal more than you can imagine,” said the other, looking up -into Lydia's face with a curious gleam in her eyes. - -“You admit, then, that you deliberately------” - -“I admit nothing, except that I am sorry to have made you unhappy.” - -“What kind of a woman are you?” burst out Lydia's indignant soul. “Have -you no conception of the finer, nobler------” - -Yvonne deliberately put her hand over the girl's lips, checking the -fierce outburst. She smiled rather plaintively as Lydia tried to jerk -her head to one side in order to continue her reckless indictment. - -“You shall not say it, Lydia. I am not all that you think I am. No, no; -a thousand times no. God pity me, I am more accursed than you may think -with the finer and nobler instincts. If it were not so, do you think -I should be where I am now--cringing here like a beaten child? No, you -cannot understand--you never will understand. I shall say no more. It -is ended. I swear on my soul that I did not know you were Frederic's -sweetheart. I did not know------” - -“But you knew almost immediately after you came here!” exclaimed Lydia -harshly. “It is not myself I am thinking of, Mrs Brood, but of Frederic. -Why have you done this abominable thing to him? Why?” - -“I--I did not realise what it would mean to him,” said the other -desperately. “I--I did not count all the cost. But, dearest Lydia, it -will come out all right. Everything shall be made right again, I promise -you. I have made a horrible, horrible mistake. I can say no more. -Now let me lie here with my head upon your breast. I want to feel the -beating of your pure, honest heart--the heart I have hurt. I can tell -by its throbs whether it will ever soften toward me. Do not say anything -now--let us be still.” - -It would be difficult to describe the feelings of -Lydia Desmond as she sat there with the despised, though to be adored, -head pillowed upon her breast, where it now rested in a sort of -confident repose, as if there was safety in the very strength of the -young girl's disapproval. Yvonne had twisted her lithe body on the -_chaise longue_ so that she half faced Lydia. Her free arm, from which -the loose sleeve had fallen, leaving it bare to the shoulder, was about -the girl's neck. - -For a long time Lydia stared straight before her, seeing nothing, -positively dumb with wonder, and acknowledging a sense of dismay over -her own disposition to submit to this extraordinary situation. She was -asking herself why she did not cast the woman away, why she lacked the -power to resent by deed as well as by thought. - -At last she lowered her eyes, conquered by an impulse she had resisted -for many minutes. Her now perplexed gaze rested upon the gleaming white -arm, and then moved wonderingly to the smooth cheek and throat. She saw -the pulse beating in that slender neck. Fascinated, she watched it for a -long, long time. - -Suddenly there ran through her heart a strange wave of tenderness. That -faint, delicate throb in the throat of this woman represented the -rush of life's blood--the warm, sweet flood of a lovely living thing. -Yvonne's eyes were closed. The long, dark lashes lay feathery above the -alabaster cheek; there were delicate blue lines in the lids. A faint, -almost imperceptible depression as of pain appeared between the -eyebrows. The black, glossy hair filled Lydia's nostrils with its living -perfume. - -Life--marvellous, adorable life rested there on her breast. This woman -had hurt her--had hurt her wantonly--and yet there came stealing over -her, subtly, the conviction that she could never hurt her in return. She -could never bring herself to the point of hurting this wondrous living, -breathing, throbbing creature who pleaded, not only with her lips and -eyes, but with the gentle heart-beats that rose and fell in her throat. - -Like velvet was the smooth, glossy skin of her arm and breast. Never had -Lydia dreamed that flesh could be so soft and white and so aglow with -vitality. There was a sheen to it, a soft sheen that seemed fairly to -radiate light itself. - -Still in a maze of wonder and something bordering on sheer delight, she -fell to studying the perfections that the cheek and lips revealed. - -Scarlet, pensively drooping were the lips, and almost opalescent the -clear-cut cheek and chin. The delicate nostrils vibrated with the -quickened breath that stirred the firm, full breast which rose and fell -softly, gently; there were firm, hitherto invisible blue lines in the -gleaming skin. Slowly, resistlessly Lydia's arm tightened about the -slender, seductive body. - -After a long time, in which there was conflict, she suddenly pressed her -warm lips to Yvonne's in a kiss that thrilled through every nerve in her -body--a kiss that lingered because it was returned with equal fervour -and abandon. They were clasped tightly in each other's arms and their -eyes were closed as with pain. - -Then, in an abrupt revulsion of feeling, in a desperate awakening, -Lydia relaxed. Her arms fell away from the warm, sweet body and her -eyes widened with something that passed for confusion, but which was in -reality shame. Almost roughly she pushed Yvonne away from her. - -“I--I didn't mean to do that!” she gasped. - -The other withdrew her arm and straightened up slowly, all the time -regarding the girl with a strange, wondering look in her eyes--a look -that quickly resolved itself into sadness so poignant that the girl, -even in her confused state of mind, recognised it as such and was -abashed. - -“I knew that you would,” said Yvonne in a very low voice, and shook her -head drearily. - -“I am sorry,” murmured Lydia in great distress. - -The other smiled, but it was a sad, plaintive effort on her part. - -“I knew that you would,” she repeated. - -Lydia sprang to her feet, her face suddenly flaming with embarrassment. -She felt unaccountably guilty of--she knew not what. - -“I must see Mr Brood. I stepped in to tell him that------” she began, -trying to cover her confusion, but Yvonne interrupted. - -“I know that you could not help it, my dear,” she said. Then, after a -pause: “You will let me know what my husband has to say about it?” - -“To--to say about it?” - -“About your decision to marry Frederic in spite of his objections.” - -Lydia felt a little shiver race over her as she looked toward the door. - -“You will help us?” she said tremulously, turning to Yvonne. Again she -saw the drawn, pained look about the dark eyes and was startled. - -“You can do more with him than I,” was the response. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -Lydia stopped for a moment in the hall, after closing the door behind -her, to pull herself together for the ordeal that was still to come. -She was trembling; a weakness had assailed her. She had left Yvonne's -presence in a dazed, unsettled condition of mind. - -There was a lapse of some kind that she could neither account for nor -describe even to herself. She tried to put it into seconds and minutes, -and then realised that it was not a matter to be reckoned as time. Yet -there had been a distinct, unmistakable gap in her existence. Something -had stopped--she knew not for how long--and then she had found herself -breathing, thinking once more. In spite of the conviction that she had -passed through a period of utter oblivion, she could account for every -second of time with an absolute clearness of memory. - -There was not an instant, nor a sensation, nor an impulse that was not -fully recorded in her alert brain. She remembered everything; she could -have described every emotion; and yet she felt that there had been a -period of complete absence, as real as it was improbable. - -She felt now as she always felt after sipping champagne--in a warm glow -of intoxication. She was drunk with the scent that filled her nostrils, -the scent that lay on her lips, that lived and breathed with her. Her -heart was throbbing rapidly, as if earnestly seeking to regain the beats -that it had lost. - -Suddenly there came to her an impulse to go back and lay bare before -Yvonne all of the wretched story that had fallen from the lips of James -Brood the night before. She conceived the strange notion that Yvonne -alone could avert the disaster, that she could be depended upon to save -Frederic from the blow that seemed so sure to fall. She even went so far -as to turn toward the door and to take a step in its direction. - -Then came the revolt against the impulse. Was it fair to Frederic? Had -she the right to reveal this ugly thing to one whose sympathies might, -after all, be opposed to the wife who had preceded her in James Brood's -affections--the wife who had been first in his heart, and whose memory, -for all she knew, might still be a worthy adversary even in this day of -apparent supremacy? - -What right had she to conclude that this woman would take up the cause -of Frederic's mother and jeopardise her own position by seeking to -put her husband in the wrong in that unhappy affair of long ago? Would -Yvonne do this for Frederic? Would she do all this for Frederic's -mother? - -Lydia turned away and went slowly toward the stairs, despising herself -for the thought. The black velvet coat that formed a part of her trig -suit hung limply in her hand, dragging along the floor as she moved with -hesitating steps in the direction of James Brood's study. A sickening -estimate of her own strength of purpose confronted her. She was suddenly -afraid of the man who had always been her friend. Somehow she felt that -he would turn upon and rend her, this man who had always been gentle and -considerate--and who had killed things! - -She found herself at last standing stock-still at the bottom of the -steps, looking upward, trying to concentrate all of her determination on -what now appeared to her to be an undertaking of the utmost daring, as -one who risks everything in an encounter in the dark. - -Ranjab appeared at the head of the stairs. She waited for his signal to -ascend, somehow feeling that Brood had sent him forth to summon her. Her -hand sought the stair-rail and gripped it tightly. Her lips parted in -a stiff smile. Now she knew that she was turning coward, that she longed -to put off the meeting until to-morrow--_to-morrow!_ - -The Hindu came down the stairs, quickly, noiselessly. - -“The master say to come to-morrow, to-morrow as usual,” he said, as he -paused above her on the steps. - -“It--it must be to-day,” she said doggedly, even as the chill of relief -shot through her. - -“To-morrow,” said the man. His eyes were kindly inquiring. “_Sahib_ say -you are to rest.” There was a pause. “To-morrow will not be too late.” - -She started. Had he read the thought that was in her mind? - -“Thank you, Ranjab,” she said, after a moment of indecision. “I will -come to-morrow.” - -Then she slunk downstairs and out of the house, convinced that she had -failed Frederic in his hour of greatest need, that to-morrow would be -too late. - -Frederic did not come in for dinner until after his father and Yvonne -had gone from the house. He did not inquire for them, but instructed -Jones to say to the old gentlemen that he would be pleased to dine with -them if they could allow him the time to “change.” He also told Jones to -open a single bottle of champagne and to place three glasses. - -“If you please, sir, Mrs Brood has given strict orders----” - -“That's all right, Jones. She won't mind for to-night. We expect to -drink the health of the bride, Jones.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“That is to say, _my_ bride.” - -“Your bride, Mr Frederic?” - -“I'm going to be married.” - -“Bless my soul, sir!” - -“You seem surprised.” - -“Ahem! I should 'ave said, 'God be praised,' sir.” - -“Now that I think of it, don't mention it to Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs. Let -me make the announcement, Jones.” - -“Certainly, sir. It is most confidential, of course. Bless my--I mean to -say, Golden Seal, sir?” - -“Any old thing, Jones.” - -“May I offer my congratulations, Mr Frederic? Thank you, sir. Ahem! -Aw--ahem! Anyways soon, sir?” - -“Very soon, Jones.” - -“Bless--very good, sir. Of course, if I may be so bold as to inquire, -sir, it's--it's--ahem?” - -“Certainly, Jones. Who else could it be?” - -“To be sure, sir, it _couldn't_ be anyone else. Thank you, sir. Yes, -sir. She is the finest young lady in this 'ere world, Mr Frederic. -You did say Golden Seal, Cliquot, ninety-eight, sir? It's the best in -the 'ouse, sir, quite the best at present.” - -Later on Frederic made his announcement to the old men. In the fever of -an excitement that caused him to forget that Lydia might be entitled to -some voice in the matter, he deliberately committed her to the project -that had become a fixed thing in his mind the instant he set foot in the -house and found it empty--oh, so empty! - -Jones's practised hand shook slightly as he poured the wine. The old men -drank rather noisily. They, too, were excited. Mr Riggs smacked his lips -and squinted at the chandelier, as if trying to decide upon the vintage, -but in reality doing his best to keep from coughing up the wine that had -gone the wrong way in a moment of profound paralysis. - -“The best news I've heard since Judas died,” said Mr Dawes manfully. -“Fill 'em up again, Jones. I want to propose the health of Mrs Brood.” - -“The future Mrs Brood,” hissed Mr Riggs wheezily, glaring at his -comrade. “Ass!” - -“I'm not married yet, Mr Dawes,” explained Frederic, grinning. - -“Makes no difference,” said Mr Dawes stoutly. “Far as I'm concerned, you -are. We'll be the first to drink to Lydia Brood! The first to call her -by that name, gentlemen. God bless her!” - -“God bless her!” shouted Mr Riggs. - -“God bless her!” echoed Frederic, and they drained their glasses to -Lydia Brood. - -“Jones, open another bottle,” commanded Mr Dawes loftily. - -Frederic shook his head, and two faces fell. Right bravely, however, -the old men maintained a joyous interest in the occasion. They expounded -loudly upon the virtues and graces of John Desmond's daughter; they -plied the young man with questions and harangued him with advice; they -threatened him with hell-fire if he ever gave the girl a minute of -unhappiness; they were very firm in their contention that he “oughtn't -to let the grass grow under his feet,” not for an instant! In the -end they waxed tearful. It was quite too much joy to be borne with -equanimity. - -The young man turned moody, thoughtful; the unwonted exhilaration died -as suddenly as it had come into existence. A shadow crossed his vision -and he followed it with his thoughts. The gabbling of the old men -irritated him as the makeshift feast of celebration grew old, and he -made no pretence of keeping up his end of the conversation. - -The gloomy, uneasy look deepened in his face. It was a farce, after all, -this attempt to glorify an impulse conceived in desperation. A sense of -utter loneliness came over him with a swiftness that sickened, -nauseated him. The food was flat to his taste; he could not eat. -Self-commiseration stifled him. He suddenly realised that he had never -been so lonely, so unhappy, in all his life as he was at this moment. - -His thoughts were of his father. A vast, inexplicable longing possessed -his soul--a longing for the affection of this man who was never tender, -who stood afar off and was lonely, too. He could not understand this -astounding change of feeling. He had never felt just this way before. -There had been times--and many--when his heart was sore with longing, -but they were of other days, childhood days. To-night he could not crush -out the thought of how ineffably happy, how peaceful life would be if -his father were to lay his hands upon his shoulders and say: “My son, -I love you--I love you dearly.” There would be no more lonely days; all -that was bitter in his life would be swept away in the twinkling of an -eye; the world would be full of joy for him and for Lydia. - -If anyone had told him an hour earlier that he would have been possessed -of such emotions as these he could have sneered in the face of him. When -he entered the house that evening he was full of resentment toward -his father and sullen with the remains of an ugly rage. And now to be -actually craving the affection of the man who humbled him, even in -the presence of servants. It was unbelievable. He could not understand -himself. A wonderful, compelling tenderness filled his heart. He longed -to throw himself at his father's feet and crave his pardon for the -harsh, vengeful thoughts he had spent upon him in those black hours. He -hungered for a word of kindness or of understanding on which he could -feed his starving soul. He wanted his father's love. He wanted, more -than anything else in the world, to love his father. - -Lydia slipped out of his mind, Yvonne was set aside in that immortal -moment. He had not thought of them except in their relation to a -completed state of happiness for his father. Indistinctly he recognised -them as essentials. - -In the library, later on, he smoked with the old men, moodily staring -up through the blue clouds into a space that seemed limitless. The -expression of pain, and the self-pity that attended it, increased in his -eyes. The old men rambled on, but he scarcely heard them. They wrangled, -and he was not impatient with them. He was lonely. He felt deserted, -forsaken. The sweet companionship of the day just closing stood for -naught in this hour of a deeper longing. He wanted to hear his father -say, from his heart: “Frederic, my son, here is my hand. It is no longer -against you.” - -Aye, he was lonely. The house was as bleak as the steppes of Siberia. -He longed for companionship, friendship, kindness, and suddenly in the -midst of it all he leaped to his feet. - -“I'm going out, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, breaking in upon an -unappreciated tale that Mr Riggs was relating at some length and with -considerable fierceness in view of the fact that Mr Dawes had pulled him -up rather sharply once or twice in a matter of inaccuracies. “Excuse me, -please.” - -He left them gaping with astonishment and dashed out into the hall for -his coat and hat. Even then he had no definite notion as to what his -next move would be, save that he was going out--somewhere, anywhere; -he did not care. All the time he was employed in getting into his light -overcoat his eyes were fixed on the front door, and in his heart was the -strange, indescribable hope that it would open to admit his father, -who, thinking of him in his loneliness and moved by a suddenly aroused -feeling of love, had abandoned an evening of selfish pleasure in order -to spend it with him. - -And if his father should walk in, with eagerness in his long unfriendly -eyes, what joy it would be for him to rush up to him and cry out: -“Father, let's be happy! Let's make each other happy!” - -Somehow, as he rushed down the front steps with the cool night air -blowing in his face, there surged up within him a strong, overpowering -sense of filial duty. It was his duty to make the first advances. It -was for him to pave the way to peace and happiness. Something vague but -disturbing tormented him with the fear that his father faced a great -peril and that his own place was beside him and not against him, as he -had been for all these illy directed years. He could not put it away -from him, this thought that his father was in danger--in danger of -something that was not physical, something from which, with all his -valour, he had no adequate form of defence. - -At the corner he paused, checked by an irresistible impulse to look -backward at the house he had just left. To his surprise there was a -light in the drawing-room windows facing the street. The shade in one of -them had been thrown wide open and a stream of light flared out across -the sidewalk. - -Standing in this stream of light was the figure of a man. Slowly, as if -drawn by a force he could not resist, the young man retraced his steps -until he stood directly in front of the window. A questioning smile was -on his lips. He was looking up into Ranjab's shadowy, unsmiling face, -dimly visible in the glow from the distant street-lamp. For a long time -they stared at each other, no sign of recognition passing between them. -The Hindu's face was as rigid, as emotionless as if carved out of stone; -his eyes were unwavering. Frederic could see them, even in the shadows. -He had the queer feeling that, though the man gave no sign, he had -something he wanted to say to him, that he was actually calling to him -to come back into the house. - -Undecided, the man outside took several halting steps toward the -doorway, his gaze still fixed on the face in the window. Then he broke -the spell. It was a notion on his part, he argued, If he had been -wanted, his father's servant would have beckoned to him. He would not -have stood there like a graven image, staring out into the night. - -Having convinced himself of this, Frederic wheeled and swung off up the -street once more, walking rapidly, as one who is pursued. Turning, -he waved his hand at the man in the window. He received no response. -Farther off, he looked back once more. The Hindu still was there. Long -after he was out of sight of the house he cast frequent glances over -his shoulder, as if still expecting to see the lighted window and its -occupant. - -Blocks away, in his hurried, aimless flight, he slackened his pace and -began to wonder whither he was going. He had no objective point in mind. -He was drifting. His footsteps lagged and he looked about him for marks -of locality. Union Square lay behind him, and beyond, across Eighteenth -Street, was the Third Avenue Elevated. He had not meant to come in this -direction. It was not his mind alone that wandered. - -As he made his way back to Broadway, somewhat hazily bent on following -that thoroughfare up to the district where the night glittered and the -stars were shamed, he began turning over in his mind a queer notion -that had just suggested itself to him, filtering through the maze of -uncertainty in which he had been floundering. It occurred to him that -he had been mawkishly sentimental in respect to his father. He was -seriously impressed by the feelings that had mastered him, but he -found himself ridiculing the idea that his father stood in peril of any -description. And suddenly, out of no particular trend of thought, -groped the sly, persistent suspicion that he had not been altogether -responsible for the sensations of an hour ago. Some outside influence -had moulded his emotions, some cunning brain had been doing his thinking -for him! - -Then came the sharp recollection of that motionless, commanding figure -in the lighted window, and his own puzzling behaviour on the side-walk -outside. He recalled his impression that someone has called out to -him just before he turned to look up at the window. It was all quite -preposterous, he kept on saying over and over again to himself, and yet -he could not shake off the uncanny feeling. - -Like a shot there flashed into his brain the startling question: was -Ranjab the solution? Was it Ranjab's mind and not his own that had moved -him to such tender resolves? Could such a condition be possible? Was -there such a thing as mind control? - -He laughed aloud, and was startled by the sound of his own voice. The -idea was preposterous! Such a thing could not have been possible. They -were his own thoughts, his own emotions, coming from his own brain, his -own heart. - -An hour later Frederic approached the box-office of the theatre -mentioned by Yvonne over the telephone that morning. The play was -half over and the house was sold out. He bought a ticket of admission, -however, and lined up with others who were content to stand at the back -to witness the play. - -He had walked past the theatre three or four times before finally making -up his mind to enter, and even then his intentions were not quite clear. -He only knew that he was consciously committing an act that he was -ashamed of, an act so inexcusable that his face burned as he thought of -the struggle he had had with himself up to the moment he stood at the -box-office window. - -Inside the theatre he leaned weakly against the railing at the back -of the auditorium and wiped his brow. What was it that had dragged him -there against his will, in direct opposition to his dogged determination -to shun the place? The curtain was up, the house was still, save for the -occasional coughing of those who succumb to a habit that can neither be -helped nor explained. - -There were people moving on the stage, but Frederic had no eyes for -them. He was seeking in the darkness for the two figures that he knew -were somewhere in the big, tense throng. - -Hundreds of backs confronted him, no faces. A sensation not far removed -from stealth took possession of him. His searching eyes were furtive -in their quest. If he had been lonely before, he was doubly so now. -The very presence of the multitude filled him with a sickening sense of -emptiness. He was friendless there, with all those contented backs for -company. Not one among them all had a thought for him, not one turned -so much as an inch from the engrossing scene that held them in its grip. -Straight, immovable, unresponsive backs--nothing but backs! - -Again he asked of himself, why was he there? And he pitied himself so -vastly that his throat contracted as with pain. His soul sickened. The -truth was being revealed to him as he stood there and with aching eyes -searched throughout the serried rows of backs. It came home to him -all of a sudden that his quest was a gleaming white back and a small, -exquisitely poised head crowned with black. - -With a sharp execration, a word of disgust for himself, he tore himself -away from the railing and rushed toward the doors. At the same instant -a tremendous burst of applause filled the house and he whirled just in -time to see the curtain descending. Curiously interested, he paused near -the door, his gaze fixed on the great velvet wall that rose and fell -at least a half-dozen times in response to the clamour of the delighted -crowd. - -The backs all at once seemed to become animated and friendly. He drew -near the last row of seats again and stared at the actor and the actress -who came out to take the “curtain-call”--stared as if at something he -had never seen before. - -And they had been up there all the time, developing the splendid climax -that had drawn people out of their seats, that had put life into all -those insufferable backs. - -The lights went up and the house was bright. Men began scurrying up -the aisles. Here and there broad, black backs rose up in the centre of -sections and moved tortuously toward the aisles. Pretty soon, when the -theatre was dark again and the curtain up, they would return, politely -hiss something about being sorry or “Don't get up, please,” and even -more tortuously move into their places, completing once more the sullen, -arrogant row of backs. - -Frederic experienced a sudden shock of dismay. It was not at all -unlikely that his father would be among those heading for the lobby, -although the chance was remote. His father was the peculiar type of -gentleman, now almost extinct, that subsists without fresh air quite -as long as the lady who sits in the seat beside him. He was a -bit old-fashioned for a New Yorker, no doubt, but he was rather -distinguished for his good manners. In fact, he was almost unique. He -would not leave Yvonne between the acts, Frederic was quite sure. In -spite of this, the young man discreetly hid himself behind two stalwart -figures and watched the aisles with alert, shifty eyes. - -Presently the exodus was over and the danger past. He moved up to the -railing again and resumed his eager scrutiny of the throng. He could not -find them. At first he was conscious of disappointment, then he gave way -to an absurd rage. Yvonne had misled him, she had deceived him--aye, -she had _lied_ to him. They were not in the audience, they had not even -contemplated coming to this theatre. He had been tricked, deliberately -tricked. - -No doubt they were seated in some other place of amusement, serenely -enjoying themselves. - -The thought of it maddened him. And then, just as he was on the point of -tearing out of the house, he saw them, and the blood rushed to his head -so violently that he was almost blinded. - -He caught sight of his father far down in front, and then the dark, -half-obscured head of Yvonne. He could not see their faces, but there -was no mistaking them for anyone else. He only marvelled that he had not -seen them before, even in the semi-darkness. They now appeared to be the -only people in the theatre; he could see no one else. - -James Brood's fine, aristocratic head was turned slightly toward his -wife, who, as Frederic observed after changing his position to one of -better advantage, apparently was relating something amusing to him. -They undoubtedly were enjoying themselves. Once more the great, -almost suffocating wave of tenderness for his father swept over him, -mysteriously as before and as convincing. He experienced a sudden, -inexplicable feeling of pity for the strong, virile man who had never -revealed the slightest symptoms of pity for him. The same curious desire -to put his hands on his father's shoulders and tell him that all was -well with them came over him again. - -Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder, and the fear was in his -heart that somewhere in the shifting throng his gaze would light upon -the face of Ranjab. - -Long and intently his searching gaze went through the crowd, seeking -the remote corners and shadows of the foyer, and a deep breath of relief -escaped him when it became evident that the Hindu was not there. He had, -in a measure, proved his own cause; his emotions were genuinely his own -and not the outgrowth of an influence for good exercised over him by the -Brahmin. - -He began what he was pleased to term a systematic analysis of his -emotions covering the entire evening, all the while regarding the couple -in the orchestra chairs with a gaze unswerving in its fidelity to the -sensation that now controlled him--a sensation of impending peril. - -All at once he slunk farther back into the shadow, a guilty flush -mounting to his cheek. Yvonne had turned and was staring rather fixedly -in his direction. Despite the knowledge that he was quite completely -concealed by the intervening group of loungers, he sustained a distinct -shock. He had the uncanny feeling that she was looking directly into his -eyes. She had turned abruptly, as if someone had called out to attract -her attention and she had obeyed the sudden impulse. A moment later her -calmly impersonal gaze swept on, taking the sections to her right and -the balcony, and then went back to her husband's face. - -Frederic was many minutes in recovering from the effects of the queer -shock he had received. He could not get it out of his head that she -knew he was there, that she actually turned in answer to the call of his -mind. She had not searched for him; on the contrary, she directed her -gaze instantly to the spot where he stood concealed. - -Actuated by a certain sense of guilt, he decided to leave the theatre as -soon as the curtain went up on the next act, which was to be the last. -Instead of doing so, however, he lingered to the end of the play, secure -in his conscienceless espionage. It had come to him that if he met them -in front of the theatre as they came out he could invite them to join -him at supper in one of the near-by restaurants. The idea pleased him. -He coddled it until it became a sensation. - -When James Brood and his wife reached the side-walk they found him -there, directly in their path as they wedged their way to the curb to -await the automobile. He was smiling frankly, wistfully. There was an -honest gladness in his fine, boyish face and an eager light in his eyes. -He no longer had the sense of guilt in his soul. It had been a passing -qualm, and he felt regenerated for having experienced it, even so -briefly. Somehow it had purged his soul of the one longing doubt as to -the sincerity of his impulses. - -“Hello!” he said, planting himself squarely in front of them. - -There was a momentary tableau. He was vividly aware of the fact that -Yvonne had shrunk back in alarm and that a swift look of fear leaped -into her surprised eyes. She drew closer to Brood's side--or was it the -jostling of the crowd that made it seem to be so? He realised then that -she had not seen him in the theatre. Her surprise was genuine. It was -not much short of consternation, a fact that he realised with a sudden -sinking of the heart. - -Then his eyes went quickly to his father's face. James Brood was -regarding him with a cold, significant smile, as one who understands and -despises. - -“They told me you were here,” faltered Frederic, the words rushing -hurriedly through his lips, “and I thought we might run in somewhere -and have a bite to eat. I--I want to tell you about Lydia and myself and -what------” - -The carriage-man bawled a number in his ear and jerked open the door of -a limousine that had pulled up to the curb. - -Without a word James Brood handed his wife into the car and then turned -to the chauffeur. - -“Home,” he said, and, without so much as a glance at Frederic, stepped -inside. The door was slammed and the car slid out into the maelstrom. - -Yvonne had sunk back into a corner, huddled down as if suddenly deprived -of all her strength. Frederic saw her face as the car moved away. She -was staring at him with wide-open, reproachful eyes, as if to say: “Oh, -what have you done? What a fool you are!” - - For a second or two he stood -as if petrified, then everything turned red before him, a wicked red -that blinded him. He staggered, as if from a blow in the face. - -“My God!” slipped from his stiff lips, and tears leaped to his -eyes--tears of supreme mortification. Like a beaten dog he slunk away, -feeling himself pierced by the pitying gaze of every mortal in the -street. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Long past midnight the telephone in the Desmond apartment rang sharply, -insistently. Lydia, who had just fallen asleep, awoke with a start and -sat bolt upright in her bed. A clammy perspiration broke out all over -her body. There in the darkness she shivered with a dread so desolating -that every vestige of strength forsook her and she could only stare -helplessly into the black pall that surrounded her. - -Never before in all her life had she been aroused from sleep by the -jangling of a telephone-bell. The sound struck terror to her heart. She -knew that something terrible had happened. She knew there had been a -catastrophe. - -She sat there chattering until she heard her mother's door open and then -the click of the receiver as it was lifted from the hook. Then she -put her fingers to her ears and closed her eyes. The very worst had -happened; she was sure of it. The blow had fallen. The one thought that -seared her brain was that she had failed him, failed him miserably in -the crisis. Oh, if she could only reclaim that lost hour of indecision -and cowardice! - -The light in the hallway suddenly smote her in the face, and she -realised for the first time that her eyes were tightly closed, as if to -shut out some abhorrent sight. - -“Lydia!” Her mother was standing in the open door. “Oh, you are awake?” - Mrs Desmond stared in amazement at the girl's figure. - -“What is it, mother? Tell me what has happened? Is he--------” - -“He wants to speak to you. He is on the wire. His voice sounds -queer----” - -The girl sprang out of bed and hurried to the telephone. - -“Don't go away, mother--stay here,” she cried as she sped past the -white-clad figure in the doorway. Mrs Desmond flattened herself against -the wall and remained there as motionless as a statue, her sombre gaze -fixed on her daughter's face. - -“Yes, Frederic, it is I, Lydia. What is it, dear?” Her voice was high -and thin. - -His words came jerking over the wire, sharp and querulous. She closed -her eyes in anticipation of the blow, her body rigid. - -“I'm sorry to disturb you,” he was saying, “but I just had to call you -up.” The words were disjointed, as if he forced them from his lips in a -supreme effort at coherency. - -“Yes, yes--it's all right. I don't mind. You did right. What is it?” - -“I want you to release me from my promise.” - -“Release you? Oh, Freddy!” It was a wail that issued from her lips. Her -body sagged limply, she steadied herself by leaning against the wall for -support. - -“You've got to, Lydia. There's no other way. Something has happened -to-night, dear. You've got to------” - -“Has he--has he------” Her throat closed up as if gripped by a strong -hand. - -“I'm sorry to drag you out of bed to tell you------” - -“Freddy, Freddy!” - -“To tell you that I must withdraw my promise, even if you refuse to -release me. Oh, I'm not excited, I'm not crazy, I'm not drunk! I never -was so steady in my life. To-night has made a man of me. I know just -where I stand at last. Now go back to bed, dearest, and don't worry -about anything. I couldn't go ahead until I'd asked you to release me -from the promise I made.” - -“You mean--the promise--but, Freddy, I can't release you. I love you. I -_will_ be your wife, no matter what has happened, no matter------” - -“Oh, Lord, Lyddy--it isn't that! It's the other--the promise to say -nothing to my father------” - -“Oh!” she sighed weakly, a vast wave of relief almost suffocating her. - -“He has made it impossible for me to go on without------” - -“Where are you, Frederic?” she cried in sudden alarm. - -“Oh, I'm all right. I shan't go home, you may be sure of that. To-morrow -will be time enough.” - -“Where are you? I must know. How can I reach you by telephone--” - -“Don't be frightened, dear. It's got to be, that's all. It might as well -be ended now as later on. The last straw was laid on to-night. Now don't -ask questions. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. -I've--I've told you that I can't stick to my promise. You'll understand. -I couldn't rest until I'd told you and heard your dear voice. Forgive me -for calling you up. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good night!” - -“Freddy, listen to me! You must wait until I------ Oh!” He had hung up -the receiver. She heard the whir of the open wire. - -There was little comfort for her in the hope held out by her mother as -they sat far into the night and discussed the possibilities of the day -so near at hand. She could see nothing but disaster, and she could -think of nothing but her own lamentable weakness in shrinking from the -encounter that might have made the present situation impossible. Between -them mother and daughter constructed at random a dozen theories as to -the nature of the fresh complication that had entered into the already -serious situation, and always it was Lydia who advanced the most -sickening of conjectures. - -Nor was it an easy matter for Mrs Desmond to combat these fears. In her -heart she felt that an irreparable break had occurred and that the final -clash was imminent. She tried to make light of the situation, however, -prophesying a calmer attitude for Frederic after he had slept over his -grievance, which, after all, she argued was doubtless exaggerated. - -She promised to go with Lydia to see James Brood in the morning, and -to plead with him to be merciful to the boy she was to marry, no matter -what transpired. The girl at first insisted on going over to see him -that night, notwithstanding the hour, and was dissuaded only after the -most earnest opposition. - -It was four o'clock before they went back to bed, and long after five -before either closed her eyes. - -Mrs Desmond, utterly exhausted, was the first to awake. She glanced -at the little clock on her dressing-table and gave a great start of -consternation. It was long past nine o'clock. She arose at once and -hurried to her daughter's door, half expecting to find the room empty -and the girl missing from the apartment. - -But Lydia was lying there sound asleep. Mrs Desmond's lips parted to -give voice to a gentle call, but it was never uttered. A feeling of -infinite pity for the tired, harassed girl came over her. For a long -time she stood there watching the gentle rise and fall of the sleeper's -breast. Then she closed the door softly and stole back to her own room, -inspired by a sudden resolve. - -While she was dressing the little maid-servant brought in her coffee and -toast and received instructions not to awaken Miss Lydia but to let -her have her sleep out. A few minutes later she left the apartment and -walked briskly around the corner to Brood's home. - -She had resolved to take the matter out of her daughter's hands. As she -stood at the bedroom door watching Lydia's sweet, troubled face, there -arose within her the mother instinct to fight for her young. It was not -unlikely that James Brood could be moved by Lydia's pleading, in spite -of his declaration that Frederic should never marry her, but the mother -recognised the falseness of a position gained by such means. - -Over Lydia's head would hang the perpetual reminder that he had -submitted out of consideration for her, and not through fairness or -justice to Frederic; all the rest of her life she would be made to feel -that he tolerated Frederic for her sake. The girl would never know a -moment in which she could be free from that ugly sense of obligation. -God willing, Frederic would be her daughter's husband. Lydia might spare -him the blow that James Brood could deal, but all of her life would be -spent in contemplation of that one bitter hour in which she went on her -knees to beg for mercy. - -The mother saw all this with a foresightedness that stripped the -situation of every vestige of romance. Lydia might rejoice at the -outset, but there would surely come a time of heartache for her. It -would come with the full realisation that James Brood's pity was hard to -bear. - -Fearing that she might be too late, she walked so rapidly that she was -quite out of breath when she entered the house. Mr Riggs and Mr Dawes -were putting on their coats in the hall preparatory to their short -morning constitutional. They greeted her profusely, and with one accord -proceeded to divest themselves of the coats, announcing in one voice -their intention to remain for a good, old-fashioned chat. - -“It's dear of you,” she said hurriedly, “but I must see Mr Brood at -once. Why not come over to my apartment this afternoon for a cup of tea -and----” - -Mrs Brood's voice interrupted her. - -“What do you want, Mrs Desmond?” came from the landing above. - -The visitor looked up with a start, not so much of surprise as -uneasiness. There was something sharp, unfriendly, in the low, level -tones. - -Yvonne, fully dressed--a most unusual circumstance at that hour of the -day--was leaning over the banister-rail. - -“I came to see Mr Brood on a very important--” - -“He is occupied. Won't I do as well?” - -“It is really quite serious, Mrs Brood. I am afraid it would be of no -avail to--to take it up with you.” - -“Have you been sent here by someone else?” demanded Mrs Brood. - -“I have not seen Frederic,” fell from the other's lips before she -thought. - -“I dare say you haven't,” said the other with ominous clearness. “He has -been here since seven this morning, waiting for a chance to speak to his -father in private.” - -“Heaven help me! I--I am too------” - -“Unless he spent the night in your apartment, I fancy you haven't seen -him,” went on Yvonne languidly. - -She was descending the stairs slowly, almost lazily as she uttered the -remark. - -“They are together now?” gasped Mrs Desmond. - -“Will you come into the library? Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you -may enjoy your long walk.” - -Mrs Desmond followed her into the library. Yvonne closed the door -almost in the face of Mr Riggs, who had opened his mouth to accept the -invitation to tea, but who said he'd “be blasted” instead, so narrow was -his escape from having his nose banged. He emphasised the declaration by -shaking his fist at the door. - -The two women faced each other. For the first time since she had known -Yvonne Brood, Mrs Desmond observed a high touch of colour in her cheeks. -Her beautiful eyes were alive with an excitement she could not conceal. -Neither spoke for a moment. - -“You are accountable for this, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia Desmond's mother -sternly, accusingly. She expected a storm of indignant protest. Instead, -Yvonne smiled slightly. - -“It will not hurt my husband to discover that Frederic is a man and not -a milksop,” she said, but despite her coolness there was a perceptible -note of anxiety in her voice. - -“You know, then, that they are--that they will quarrel?” - -“I fancy it was in Frederic's mind to do so when he came here this -morning. He was still in his evening clothes, Mrs Desmond.” - -“Where are they now?” - -“I think he has them on,” said Yvonne lightly. - -Mrs Desmond regarded her for a moment in perplexity. Then her eyes -flashed dangerously. - -“I do not think you misunderstood me, Mrs Brood. Where are Frederic and -his father?” - -“I am not accustomed to that tone of voice, Mrs Desmond.” - -“I am no longer your housekeeper,” said the other succinctly. “You do -not realise what this quarrel may mean. I insist on going up to them -before it has gone too far.” - -“My husband can take care of himself, thank you.” - -“I am not thinking of your husband, but of that poor boy who is------” - -“And if I am to judge by Frederic's manner this morning, he is also able -to take care of himself,” said Yvonne coolly. Her voice shook a little. - -Mrs Desmond shot a quick glance of comprehension at the speaker. - -“You are worried, Mrs Brood. Your manner betrays you. I command you to -tell me how long they have been upstairs together. How long------” - -“Will you be so good, Mrs Desmond, as to leave this house instantly?” - cried Yvonne angrily. - -“No,” said the other quietly. “I suppose I am too late to prevent -trouble between those two men, but I shall at least remain here to -assure Frederic of my sympathy, to help him if I can, to offer him the -shelter of my home.” - -A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's face. - -“Do you really believe it will come to that?” she demanded nervously. - -“If what I fear should come to pass, he will not stay in this house -another hour. He will go forth from it cursing James Brood with all the -hatred that his soul can possess. And now, Mrs Brood, shall I tell you -what I think of you?” - -“No. It isn't at all necessary. Besides, I've changed my mind. I'd like -you to remain. I do not want to mystify you any farther, Mrs Desmond, -but I now confess to you that I am losing my courage. Don't ask me to -tell you why, but------” - -“I suppose it is the custom with those who play with fire. They shrink -when it burns them.” - -Mrs Brood looked at her steadily. The rebellious, sullen expression died -out of her eyes. She sighed deeply, almost despairingly. - -“I am sorry you think ill of me, but yet I cannot blame you for -considering me to be a--a------ I'll not say it. Mrs Desmond, I--I wish -I had never come to this house.” - -“Permit me to echo your words.” - -“You will never be able to understand me. And, after all, why should I -care? You are nothing to me. You are merely a good woman who has no real -object in life. You------” - -“No real object in life?” - -“Precisely. Sit down. We will wait here together, if you please. I--I -_am_ worried. I think I rather like to feel that you are here with me. -You see, the crisis has come.” - -“You know, of course, that he turned one wife out of this house, Mrs -Brood,” said Mrs Desmond deliberately. - -Something like terror leaped into the other's eyes. The watcher -experienced an incomprehensible feeling of pity for her--she who had -been despising her so fiercely the instant before. - -“He--he will not turn me out,” murmured Yvonne, and suddenly began -pacing the floor, her hands clenched. Stopping abruptly in front of the -other woman, she exclaimed: “He made a great mistake in driving that -other woman out. He is not likely to repeat it, Mrs Desmond.” - -“Yes--I think he _did_ make a mistake,” said Mrs Desmond calmly. “But he -does not think so. He is a man of iron. He is unbending.” - -“He is a wonderful man--a great, splendid man,” cried Yvonne fiercely. -“It is I--Yvonne Lestrange--who proclaim it to the world. I cannot bear -to see him suffer. I------” - -“Then, why do you------” - -“Ah, you would say it, eh? Well, there is no answer. Poof! Perhaps it -will not be so bad as we think. Come! I am no longer uneasy. See! I -am very calm. Am I not an example for you? Sit down. We will wait -together.” - -They sat far apart, each filled with dark misgivings, though radically -opposed in their manner of treating the situation. Mrs Desmond was cold -with apprehension. She sat immovable, tense. Yvonne sank back easily in -a deep, comfortable chair and coolly lighted a cigarette. It would have -been remarked by a keen observer that her failure to offer one to her -visitor was evidence of an unwonted abstraction. As a matter of fact, -inwardly she was trembling like a leaf. - -“I suppose there is nothing to do,” said Mrs Desmond in despair, after a -long silence. “Poor Lydia will never forgive herself.” - -Yvonne blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling. - -“I dare say you think I am an evil person, Mrs Desmond.” - -“Curiously, Mrs Brood, I have never thought of you in that light. Your -transgressions are the greater for that reason.” - -“Transgressions? An amiable word, believe me.” - -“I did not come here, however, to discuss your actions.” - -Yvonne leaned forward suddenly. - -“You do not ask what transpired last night to bring about this crisis. -Why do you hesitate?” - -Mrs Desmond shook her head slowly. “I do not want to know.” - -“Well, it was not what you have been thinking it was,” said Yvonne -levelly. - - “I am relieved to hear it,” said the other rather grimly. - -Mrs Brood flushed to the roots of her hair. - -“I do not want to appear unfair to my husband, but I declare to you, Mrs -Desmond, that Frederic is fully justified in the attitude he has taken -this morning. His father humiliated him last night in a manner that made -forbearance impossible. That much I must say for Frederic. And permit -me to add, from my soul, that he is vastly more sinned against than -sinning.” - -“I can readily believe that, Mrs Brood.” - -“This morning Frederic came into the breakfast-room while we were having -our coffee. You look surprised. Yes, I was having breakfast with my -husband. I knew that Frederic would come. That was my reason. When I -heard him in the hall I sent the servants out of the dining-room. He had -spent the night with a friend. His first words on entering the room were -these--I shall never forget them: 'Last night I thought I loved you, -father, but I have come home just to tell you that I hate you. I can't -stay in this house another day. I'm going to get out. But I just wanted -you to know that I thought I loved you last night, as a son should love -his father. I just wanted you to know it.' - -“He did not even look at me, Mrs Desmond. I don't believe he knew I was -there. I shall never forget the look in James Brood's face. It was as -if he saw a ghost or some horrible thing that fascinated him. He did not -utter a word, but stared at Frederic in that terrible, awe-struck way. - -“'I'm going to get out,' said Frederic, his voice rising. 'You've -treated me like a dog all of my life, and I'm through. I shan't even say -good-bye to you. You don't deserve any more consideration from me than -I've received from you. I hope I'll never see you again. If I ever have -a son I'll not treat him as you've treated your son. You don't deserve -the honour of being called father; you don't deserve to have a son. I -wish to God I had never been obliged to call you father! I don't know -what you did to my mother, but if you treated her as------' - -“Just then my husband found his voice. He sprang to his feet, and -I've never seen such a look of rage. I thought he was going to strike -Frederic, and I think I screamed--just a little scream, of course. I -was so terrified. But he only said--and it was horrible the way he said -it--'You fool--you bastard!' And Frederic laughed in his face and cried -out, unafraid: 'I'm glad you call me a bastard! I'd rather be one than -be your son. It would at least give me something to be proud of--a real -father!'” - -“Good Heaven!” fell from Mrs Desmond's white lips. - -Yvonne seemed to have paused to catch her breath. Her breast heaved -convulsively, the grip of her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. - -Suddenly she resumed her recital, but her voice was hoarse and -tremulous. - -“I was terribly frightened. I thought of calling out to Jones, but I--I -had no voice! Ah, you have never seen two angry men waiting to spring at -each other's throats, Mrs Desmond. My husband suddenly regained control -of himself. He was very calm. 'Come with me,' he said to Frederic. -'This is not the place to wash our filthy family linen. You say you want -something to be proud of. Well, you shall have your wish. Come to my -study.' And they went away together, neither speaking a word to me--they -did not even glance in my direction. They went up the stairs. I heard -the door close behind them--away up there. That was half an hour ago. -I have been waiting, too--waiting as you are waiting now--to comfort -Frederic when he comes out of that room a wreck.” - -Mrs Desmond started up, an incredulous look in her eyes. - -“You are taking his side? You are against your husband? Oh, now I know -the kind of woman you are. I know------” - -“Peace! You do not know the kind of woman I am. You will never know. -Yes, I shall take sides with Frederic.” - -“You do not love your husband!” - -A strange, unfathomable smile came into Yvonne's face and stayed there. -Mrs Desmond experienced the same odd feeling she had had years ago on -first seeing the Sphinx. She was suddenly confronted by an unsolvable -mystery. - -“He shall not drive me out of his house, Mrs Desmond,” was her answer to -the challenge. - -A door slammed in the upper regions of the house. Both women started to -their feet. - -“It is over,” breathed Yvonne with a tremulous sigh. - -“We shall see how well they were able to take care of themselves, Mrs -Brood,” said Mrs Desmond in a low voice. - -“We shall see--yes,” said the other mechanically. Suddenly she turned on -the tall, accusing figure beside her. “Go away! Go now! I command you to -go. This is _our_ affair, Mrs Desmond. You are not needed here. You were -too late, as you say. I beg of you, go!” She strode swiftly toward the -door. As she was about to place her hand on the knob it was opened from -the other side, and Ranjab stood before them. - -“_Sahib_ begs to be excused, Mrs Desmond. He is just going out.” - -“Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had shrunk back into the room. - -“Yes, _sahibah_. You will please excuse, Mrs Desmond. He regret very -much.” - -Mrs Desmond passed slowly through the door, which he held open for her. -As she passed by the Hindu she looked full into his dark, expressive -eyes, and there was a question in hers. He did not speak, but she read -the answer as if it were on a printed page. Her shoulders drooped. - -She went back to Lydia. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -When James Brood and Frederic left the dining-room, nearly an hour -prior to the departure of Mrs Desmond, there was in the mind of each the -resolution to make short work of the coming interview. Each knew that -the time had arrived for the parting of the ways, and neither had the -least desire to prolong the suspense. - -Frederic, far from suspecting the ordeal in store for him, experienced -a curious sense of exaltation as he followed the master of the house up -the stairway. He was about to declare his freedom; the very thought of -it thrilled him. He had at last found the courage to revolt, and there -was cause for rejoicing in the prospect of a lively triumph over what he -was pleased to call oppression. - -He would not mince matters! Oh, no; he would come straight to the point. -There wasn't any sense in temporising. There were years of pent-up -grievances that he could fling at his father, but he would crystallise -them into a few withering minutes and have done with the business. He -knew he was as pale as a ghost and his legs were strangely weak, but -he was not cognisant of the slightest sensation of fear, nor the least -inclination to shrink from the consequences of that brief, original -challenge. - -The study door was closed. James Brood put his hand on the knob, but -before turning it faced the young man with an odd mixture of anger and -pity in his eyes. - -“Perhaps it will be better if we had nothing more to say to each other,” - he said with an effort. -“I have changed my mind. I cannot say the thing to you that I----” - -“Has it got anything to do with Yvonne and me?” demanded Frederic -ruthlessly, jumping at conclusions in his new-found arrogance. - -Brood threw open the door. - -“Step inside,” he said in a voice that should have warned the younger -man, it was so prophetic of disaster. Frederic had touched the open -sore with that unhappy question. Not until this instant had James Brood -admitted to himself that there was a sore and that it had been festering -all these weeks. Now it was laid bare and it smarted with pain. Nothing -could save Frederic after that reckless, deliberate thrust at the very -core of the malignant growth that lay so near the surface. - -It had been in James Brood's heart to spare the boy. An unaccountable -wave of compassion had swept through him as he mounted the stairs, -leading his victim to the sacrifice. He would have allowed him to go -his way in ignorance of the evil truth; he would have spared the son of -Matilde and been happier, far happier, he knew, for having done so. He -would have let him fare forth, as he elected to go, rejoicing in his -foolish independence, scorning to the end of his days, perhaps, the man -who posed as father to him. - -But Frederic had touched the hateful sore. His chance was gone. - -Hot words were on Frederic's lips. Brood held up his hand, and there was -in the gesture a command that silenced the young man. He was somewhat -shocked to find that he still recognised the other's right to command. -The older man went quickly to the door of the Hindu's closet. He rapped -on the panel, and in an instant the door was opened. Ranjab stepped out -and quickly closed the door behind him. A few words, spoken in lowered -tones and in the language of the East, passed between master and man. - -Frederic turned his back to them. Moved by a sudden impulse, he strode -to the window and pulled the curtains apart. A swift glance upward -showed him the drawn shades in Lydia's bedroom windows. Somehow he was -glad that she was asleep. An impulse as strong as the other ordered him -to shift his glance downward to the little balcony outside of Yvonne's -windows. Then he heard the door close softly behind him and turned to -face his father. - -They were alone in the room. He squared his shoulders. - -“I suppose you think I am in love with her,” he said defiantly. He -waited a moment for the response that did not come. Brood was regarding -him with eyes from which every spark of compassion had disappeared. -“Well, it may interest you to know that I intend to marry Lydia this -very day.” - -Brood advanced a few steps toward him. In the subdued light of the room -his features were not clearly distinguishable. His face was gray and -shadowy; only the eyes were sharply defined. They glowed like points of -light, unflickering. - -“I shall be sorry for Lydia,” he said levelly. - -“You needn't be,” said Frederic hotly. “She understands everything.” - -“You were born to be dishonest in love.” - -“What do you mean by that?” - -“It is my purpose to tell you precisely what I mean. Lydia understands -far more than you think. If she marries you it will be with her eyes -open; she will have no one to blame but herself for the mistake.” - -“Oh, I haven't tried to deceive her as to my prospects. She knows how -poor we will be at the------” - -“Does she know that this love you profess for her is at the very outset -disloyal?” - -Frederic was silent for a moment. A twinge shot through his heart. - -“She understands everything,” he repeated stubbornly. - -“Have you lied to her?” - -“Lied? You'd better be careful how you------” - -“Have you told her that you love her and no one else?” - -“Certainly!” - -“Then you _have_ lied to her.” - -There was silence--tense silence. - -“Do you expect me to strike you for that?” came at last from Frederic's -lips, low and menacing. - -“You have always considered yourself to be my son, haven't you?” pursued -Brood deliberately. “Can you say to me that you have behaved of late as -a son should------” - -“Wait! We'll settle that point right now. I _did_ lose my head. Head, I -say, not heart. I shan't attempt to explain--I can't, for that matter. -As for Yvonne--well, she's as good as gold. She understands me far -better than I understand myself. She knows that even honest men lose -their heads sometimes--and she knows the difference between love -and--the other thing. I can say to you now that I would sooner have cut -my own throat than do more than envy you the possession of someone you -do not deserve. I _have_ considered myself your son. I have no apology -to make for my--we'll call it infatuation. I shall only admit that it -has existed and that I have despaired. So God is my witness, I have -never loved anyone but Lydia. I have given her pain, and the amazing -part of it is that I can't help myself. Naturally, you can't understand -what it all means. You are not a young man any longer. You cannot -understand.” - -“Good God!” burst from Brood's lips. Then he laughed -aloud--grotesquely. - -“Yvonne is the most wonderful thing that has ever come into my life. She -has shown me that life is beautiful and rich and full of warmth. I -had always thought it ugly and cold. Something inside of me awoke the -instant I looked into her eyes--something that had always been there, and -yet undeveloped. She spoke to me with her eyes, if you can believe such -a thing possible, and I understood. I adored her the instant I saw her. -I have felt sometimes that I knew her a thousand years ago. I have felt -that I loved her a thousand years ago.” A calm seriousness now attended -his speech, in direct contrast to the violent mood that had gone before. -“I have thought of little else but her. I confess it to you. But through -it all there has never been an instant in which I did not worship Lydia -Desmond. I--I do not pretend to account for it. It is beyond me.” - -Brood waited patiently to the end. - -“Your mother before you had a somewhat similar affliction,” he -said, still in the steady, repressed voice. “Perhaps it is a gift--a -convenient gift--this ability to worship without effort.” - -“Better leave my mother out of it,” said Frederic sarcastically. A look -of wonder leaped to his eyes. “That's the first time you've condescended -to acknowledge that I ever had a mother.” - -“I shall soon make you regret that you were ever so blessed as to have -had one.” - -“You've always made it easy for me to regret that I ever had a father.” - -Brood's smile was deadly. - -“If you have anything more to say to me, you had better get it over. -Purge your soul of all the gall that embitters it. I grant you that -privilege. Take your innings.” - -A spasm of pain crossed Frederic's face. - -“Yes, I am entitled to my innings. I'll go back to what I said -downstairs. I thought I loved and honoured you last night. I would have -forgiven everything if you had granted me a friendly--friendly, that's -all--just a friendly word. You denied------” - -“I suppose you want me to believe that it was love for me that brought -you slinking to the theatre,” said the other ironically. - -“I don't expect you to believe anything. I was lonely. I wanted to be -with you and Yvonne. Curse you! Can't you understand how lonely I've -been all my life? Can't you understand how hungry I am for the affection -that every other boy I've known has had from his parents? I've never -asked you about my mother. I used to wonder a good deal. Every other boy -had a mother. I never had one. I couldn't understand it. And they all -had fathers, but they were not like my father. Their fathers were kind -and loving, they were interested in everything their sons did--good or -bad. I used to love the fathers of all those other lucky boys at school. -They came often--and so did the mothers. No one ever came to see me--no -one! - -“I used to wonder why you never told me of my own mother. Long ago -I gave up wondering. Something warned me not to ask you about her. -Something told me it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. I never inquired -of anyone after I was old enough to think for myself. I was afraid to -ask, so I waited, hoping all the time that you would some day tell me -of her. But you've never breathed her name to me. I no longer wonder. I -know now that she must have hated you with all the strength of her soul. -God, how she must have hated to feel the touch of your hands upon -her body! Something tells me she left you, and if she did, I hope she -afterward found someone who--but no, I won't say it. Even now I haven't -the heart to hurt you by saying that.” He stopped, choking up with the -rush of bitter words. “Well, why don't you say something?” - -“I'm giving you your innings. Go on,” said Brood softly. - -“She must have loved you once--or she wouldn't have married you. She -must have loved you or I wouldn't be here in this world. She------” - -“Ha!” came sharply from Brood. - - “--didn't find you out until it was too -late. She was lovely, I know. She was sweet and gentle and she loved -happiness. I can see that in her face, in her big, wistful eyes. -You------” - -“What's this?” demanded Brood, startled. “What are you saying?” - -“Oh, I've got her portrait--an old photograph. For a month I've carried -it here in this pocket-case over my heart. I wouldn't part with it for -all the money in the world. When I look at the dear, sweet, girlish face -and her eyes look back into mine, I know that _she_ loved me.” - -“Her portrait?” said Brood, unbelieving. - -“Yes--and I have only to look at it to know that she couldn't have hurt -you--so it must have been the other way round. She's dead now, I know, -but she didn't die for years after I was born. Why was it that I never -saw her? Why was I kept up there in that damnable village------” - -“Where did you get that photograph?” demanded Brood hoarsely. “Where, I -say? What interfering fool------” - -“I wouldn't be too nasty, if I were you,” said Frederic, a note of -triumph in his voice. “Yvonne gave it to me. I made her promise to say -nothing to you about it. She------” - -“Yvonne? Are you------ Impossible! She could not have had------” - -“It was lying under the marble top of that old bureau in her bedroom. -She found it there when the men came to take it away to storage. It -hadn't been moved in twenty years or more.” - -“In--her--bedroom?” murmured Brood, passing his hand over his eyes. -“The old bureau--marble top--good Lord! It was our bedroom. Let me see -it--give it to me this instant!” - -“I can't do that. It's mine now. It's safe where it is.” - -“Yvonne found it? Yvonne? And gave it to you? What damnable trick of -fate is this? But------ Ah, it may not be a portrait of your--your -mother. Some old photograph that got stuck under the------” - -“No; it is my mother. Yvonne saw the resemblance at once and brought it -to me. And it may interest you to know that she advised me to treasure -it all my life, because it would always tell me how lovely and sweet my -mother was--the mother I have never seen.” - -“I insist on seeing that picture,” said Brood with deadly intensity. - -“No,” said Frederic, folding his arms tightly across his breast. “You -didn't deserve her then and you------” - -“You don't know what you are saying, boy!” - -“Ah, don't I? Well, I've got just a little bit of my mother safe here -over my heart--a little faded card, that's all--and you shall not rob me -of that. I wish to God I had her here, just as she was when she had the -picture taken. Don't glare at me like that. I don't intend to give it -up. Last night I was sorry for you. I had the feeling that somehow you -have always been unhappy over something that happened in the past, and -that my mother was responsible. And yet when I took out this photograph, -this tiny bit of old cardboard--see, it is so small that it can be -carried in my waistcoat pocket--when I took it out and looked at the -pure, lovely face, I--by Heaven, I knew she was not to blame!” - -“Have you finished?” asked Brood, wiping his brow. It was dripping. - -“Except to repeat that I am through with you for ever. I've had all that -I can endure, and I'm through. My greatest regret is that I didn't get -out long ago. But like a fool--a weak fool--I kept on hoping that you'd -change and that there were better days ahead for me. I kept on hoping -that you'd be a real father to me. Good Lord, what a libel on the name!” - He laughed raucously. “I'm sick of calling you father. You did me the -honour downstairs of calling me 'bastard.' You had no right to call me -that; but, by Heaven, if it were not for this bit of cardboard here -over my heart, I'd laugh in your face and be happy to shout from the -housetops that I am no son of yours. But there's no such luck as that! -I've only to look at my mother's innocent, soulful face to------” - -“Stop!” shouted Brood in an awful voice. His clenched hands were raised -above his head. “The time has come for me to tell you the truth about -this innocent mother of yours. Luck is with you. I am not your father. -You are------” - -“Wait! If you are going to tell me that my mother was not a good woman, -I want to go on record in advance of anything you may say, as being glad -that I am her son no matter who my father was. I am glad that she loved -me because I was her child, and if you are not my father, then I -still have the joy of knowing that she loved some one man well enough -to------” He broke off the bitter sentence and with nervous fingers -drew a small leather case from his waistcoat pocket. “Before you go -any farther, take one look at her face. It will make you ashamed -of yourself. Can you stand there and lie about her after looking -into------” - -He was holding the window curtains apart, and a stream of light fell -upon the lovely face, so small that Brood was obliged to come quite -close to be able to see it. His eyes were distended. - -“It is not Matilde--it is like her, but--yes, yes; it is Matilde! I must -be losing my mind to have thought------” He wiped his brow. “But it -was startling--positively uncanny.” He spoke as to himself, apparently -forgetting that he had a listener. - -“Well, can you lie about her now?” demanded Frederic. - -Brood was still staring, as if fascinated, at the tiny photograph. - -“But I have never seen that picture before. She never had one so small -as that. It------” - -“It was made in Vienna,” interrupted Frederic, not without a strange -thrill of satisfaction in his soul, “and before you were married, I'd -say. On the back of it is written 'To my own sweetheart,' in Hungarian, -Yvonne says. There! Look at her. She was like that when you married her. -How adorable she must have been. 'To my own sweetheart'! O--ho!” - -A hoarse cry of rage and pain burst from Brood's lips. The world grew -red before his eyes. - -“'To my own sweetheart'!” he cried out. He sprang forward and struck -the photograph from Frederic's hand. It fell to the floor at his feet. -Before the young man could recover from his surprise, Brood's foot was -upon the bit of cardboard. “Don't raise your hand to me! Don't you dare -to strike me! Now I shall tell you who that sweetheart was!” - -Half an hour later James Brood descended the stairs alone. He went -straight to the library, where he knew that he could find Yvonne. -Ranjab, standing in the hall, peered into his white, drawn face as he -passed, and started forward as if to speak to him. But Brood did not see -him. He did not lift his gaze from the floor. The Hindu went swiftly up -the stairs, a deep dread in his soul. - -The shades were down. Brood stopped inside the door and looked dully -about the library. He was on the point of retiring when Yvonne spoke to -him out of the shadowy corner beyond the fireplace. - -“Close the door,” she said huskily. Then she emerged slowly, almost like -a spectre, from the dark background formed by the huge mahogany -bookcases that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. “You were a long -time up there,” she went on. - -“Why is it so dark in here, Yvonne?” he asked lifelessly. - -“So that it would not be possible for me to see the shame in your eyes, -James.” - -He leaned heavily against the long table. She came up and stood across -the table from him, and he felt that her eyes were searching his very -soul. - -“I have hurt him beyond all chance of recovery,” he said hoarsely. - -She started violently. - -“You--you struck him down? He--he is dying?” Her voice trailed off into -a whisper. - -“He will be a long time in dying. It will be slow. I struck him down, -not with my hand, not with a weapon that he could parry, but with words--words! -Do you hear? I have crushed his soul with words!” - -“Oh, you coward!” she cried, leaning over the table, her eyes blazing. -“I can understand it in you. You have no soul of your own. What have you -done to your son, James Brood?” - -He drew back as if from the impact of a blow. “Coward? If I have crushed -his soul, it was done in time, Yvonne, to deprive you of the glory of -doing it.” - -“What did he say to you about me?” - -“You have had your fears for nothing. He did not put you in jeopardy,” - he said scornfully. - -“I know. He is not a coward,” she said calmly. - -“In your heart you are reviling me. You judge me as one guilty soul -judges another. Suppose that I were to confess to you that I left him -up there with all the hope, all the life blasted out of his eyes--with -a wound in his heart that will never stop bleeding--that I left him -because I was sorry for what I had done and could not stand by and look -upon the wreck I had created. Suppose------” - -“I am still thinking of you as a coward. What is it to me that you are -sorry now? What have you done to that wretched, unhappy boy?” - -“He will tell you soon enough. Then you will despise me even more than I -despise myself. He--he looked at me with his mother's eyes when I kept on -striking blows at his very soul. Her eyes--eyes that were always -pleading with me! But, curse them--always scoffing at me! For a moment -I faltered. There was a wave of love--yes, love, not pity, for him--as -I saw him go down before the words I hurled at him. It was as if I had -hurt the only thing in all the world that I love. Then it passed. He was -not meant for me to love. He was born for me to despise. He was born to -torture me as I have tortured him.” - -“You poor fool!” she cried, her eyes glittering. - -“Sometimes I have doubted my own reason,” he went on, as if he had not -heard her scathing remark. “Sometimes I have felt a queer gripping -of the heart when I was harshest toward him. Sometimes, his eyes--_her -eyes_--have melted the steel that was driven into my heart long ago, -his voice and the touch of his hand have gently checked my bitterest -thoughts. Are you listening?” - -“Yes.” - -“You ask what I have done to him. It is nothing in comparison to what he -would have done to me. It isn't necessary to explain. You know the thing -he has had in his heart to do. I have known it from the beginning. It is -the treacherous heart of his mother that propels that boy's blood along -its craven way. She was an evil thing--as evil as God ever put life -into.” - -“Go on.” - -“I loved her as no woman was ever loved before--or since. I thought she -loved me; I believe she did. He--Frederic had her portrait up there to -flash in my face. She was beautiful; she was as lovely as--but no more! -I was not the man. She loved another. You may have guessed, as others -have guessed, that she betrayed me. Her lover was that boy's father.” - -Dead silence reigned in the room, save for the heavy breathing of -the man. Yvonne was as still as death itself. Her hands were clenched -against her breast. - -“That was years ago,” resumed the man hoarsely. - -“You--you told him this?” she cried, aghast. - -“He stood before me up there and said that he hoped he might some day -discover that he was not my son.” - -“You told him _then?_” - -“He cursed me for having driven his mother out of my house.” - -“You told him?” - -“He uttered the hope that she might come back from the grave to torture -me for ever--to pay me back for what I had done to her.” - -“Then you told him!” - -“He said she must have loathed me as no man was ever loathed before. -Then I told him.” - -“You told him because you knew she did _not_ loathe you!” - -“Yvonne! You are laughing!” - -“I laugh because after he had said all these bitter things to you, and -you had paid him back by telling him that he was not your son, it was -you--not he--who was sorry!” - -“I did not expect sympathy from you, but--to have you laugh in my face! -I------” - -“Did you expect sympathy from him?” she cried. - -“I told him in the end that as he was not my son he need feel no -compunction in trying to steal my wife away from me. I------” - -“And what did he say to that?” she broke in shrilly. - -“Nothing! He did not speak to me after that. Not one word!” - -“Nor should I speak to you again, James Brood!” - -“Yvonne--I--I love you. I------” - -“And you loved Matilde--God pity your poor soul! For no more than I have -done, you drove her out of your house. You accuse me in your heart when -you vent your rage on that poor boy. Oh, I know! You suspect _me!_ And -you suspected the other one. I swear to you that you have more cause to -suspect me than Matilde. She was not untrue to you. She could not have -loved anyone else but you. I know--I know! Don't come near me! Not now! -I tell you that Frederic is your son. I tell you that Matilde loved no -one but you. You drove her out. You drive Frederic out. _And you will -drive me out!_” - -She stood over him like an accusing angel, her arms extended. He shrank -back, glaring. - -“Why do you say these things to me? You cannot know--you have no right -to say------” - -“I _am_ sorry for you, James Brood,” she murmured, suddenly relaxing. -Her body swayed against the table, and then she sank limply into the -chair alongside. - -“Yvonne!” - -“You will never forget that you struck a man who was asleep, absolutely -asleep, James Brood. That's why I am sorry for you.” - -“Asleep!” he murmured, putting his hand to his eyes. “Yes, yes--he was -asleep! Yvonne, I--I have never been so near to loving him as I am now. -I--I------” - -“I am going up to him. Don't try to stop me. But first let me ask you -a question. What did Frederic say when you told him his mother was was -what you claim?” - -Brood lowered his head. - -“He said that I was a cowardly liar.” - -“And it was then that you began to feel that you loved him. Ah, I -see what it is that you need, James. You are a great, strong man, a -wonderful man in spite of all this. You have a heart--a heart that still -needs breaking before you can ever hope to be happy.” - -“As if my heart hasn't already been broken,” he groaned. - -“Your head has been hurt, that's all. There is a vast difference. Are -you going out?” - -He looked at her in dull amazement. Slowly he began to pull himself -together. - -“Yes. I think you should go to him. I--I gave him an hour to--to------” - -“To get out?” - -“Yes. He must go, you see. See him, if you will. I shall not oppose you. -Find out what he expects to do.” - -She passed swiftly by him as he started toward the door. In the hall, -which was bright with the sunlight from the upper windows, she turned to -face him. To his astonishment her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright -with eagerness. She seemed almost radiant. - -“Yes; it needs breaking, James,” she said, and went up the stairs, -leaving him standing there dumbfounded. Near the top she began to hum a -blithe tune. It came down to him distinctly--the weird little air that -had haunted him for years--Feverelli's! - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -To Brood's surprise she came half-way down the steps again, and, -leaning over the railing, spoke to him with a voice full of irony. - -“Will you be good enough to call off your spy, James?” - -“What do you mean?” He had started to put on his light overcoat. - -“I think you know,” she said briefly. - -“Do you consider me so mean, so infamous as------” he began hotly. - -“Nevertheless, I feel happier when I know he is out of the house. Call -off your dog, James.” - -He smothered an execration and then called out harshly to Jones: - -“Ask Ranjab to attend me here, Jones. He is to go out with me,” he said -to the butler a moment later. - -Yvonne was still leaning over the banister, a scornful smile on her -lips. - -“I shall wait until you are gone. I intend to see Frederic alone,” she -said, with marked emphasis on the final word. - -“As you like,” said he coldly. - -She crossed the upper hall and disappeared from view down the corridor -leading to her own room. Her lips were set with decision; a wild, -reckless light filled her eyes, and the smile of scorn had given way -to one of exaltation. Her breath came fast and tremulously through -quivering nostrils as she closed her door and hurried across to the -little vine-covered balcony. - -“The time has come--the time has come, thank God!” she was saying to -herself, over and over again. The French doors stuck. She was jerking -angrily at them when her maid hurried in from the bedroom, attracted by -the unusual commotion. - -“_Que faites vous, madame?_” she cried anxiously. - -Her mistress turned quickly. - -“Listen! Go downstairs at once and tell them that I have dismissed you. -At once, do you hear?” - -“_Oui madame!_” cried Céleste, her eyes dancing with a sudden, -incomprehensible delight. - -“You are to leave the house immediately. I dismiss you. You have been -stealing from me, do you understand?” - -“_Oui, madame. Je comprendes parfaitement, madame!_” cried the maid, -actually clapping her hands. - -“You will pack two steamer-trunks and get them out of the house before -five o'clock. You are going back to Paris. You are dismissed.” - -The little Frenchwoman beamed. - -“_Certainement, madame! Par le premier bateau. Je comprend_.” - -“The first boat for Havre--do you know the hour for sailing? Consult the -morning paper, Céleste.” - -“_En bien, madame. La Provence. Il part demain. Je------_” - -“Go at once!” cried the mistress, waving her hands excitedly. - -“_Vous me renvoyez!_” And the little maid dashed out of the room. - -As she descended the back stairs an amazing change came over her. Her -sprightly face became black with sullen rage and her eyes snapped with -fury. So violent was her manner when she accosted Jones in the servants' -hall that he fell back in some alarm. She was not long in making him -understand that she had been dismissed, however, and that she would -surely poison the diabolical creature upstairs if she remained in the -house another hour. Even the cook, who had a temper of her own, was -appalled by the exhibition; other servants were struck dumb. - -Jones, perspiring freely, said something about calling in an officer, -and then Céleste began to weep bitterly. All she wanted was to get out -of the house before she did something desperate to the cruel tyrant -upstairs, and she'd be eternally grateful to Jones if he'd get her -trunks out of the storeroom as soon as------ But Jones was already on -his way to give instructions to the furnace-man. - -Céleste took the occasion to go into hysterics, and the entire servant -body fell to work hissing “_Sh--h!_” in an agony of apprehension lest -the turmoil should penetrate the walls and reach the ears of the “woman -upstairs.” They closed all of the doors and most of the windows, and the -upstairs maid thought it would be a good idea to put a blanket over the -girl's head. - -Left alone, Yvonne turned her attention to the window across the -court and two floors above her the heavily curtained window in Brood's -“retreat.” There was no sign of life there, so she hurried to the front -of the house to wait for the departure of James Brood and his man. -The two were going down the front steps. At the bottom Brood spoke to -Ranjab, and the latter, as imperturbable as a rock, bowed low and moved -off in an opposite direction to that taken by his master. She watched -until both were out of sight. Then she rapidly mounted the stairs to the -top floor. - -Frederic was lying on the couch near the jade room door. She was able -to distinguish his long, dark figure after peering intently about the -shadowy interior in what seemed at first to be a vain search for him. -She shrank back, her eyes fixed in horror upon the prostrate shadow. -Suddenly he stirred and then half raised himself on one elbow to stare -at the figure in the doorway. - -“Is it _you?_” he whispered hoarsely, and dropped back with a great sigh -on his lips. - -Her heart leaped. The blood rushed back to her face. Quickly closing the -door, she advanced into the room, her tread as swift and as soft as a -cat's. - -“He has gone out. We are quite alone,” she said, stopping to lean -against the table, suddenly faint with excitement. - -He laughed, a bitter, mirthless, snarling laugh. - -“Get up, Frederic. Be a man! I know what has happened. Get up! I want to -talk it over with you. We must plan. We must decide now at once--before -he returns.” The words broke from her lips with sharp, staccato-like -emphasis. - -He came to a sitting posture slowly, all the while staring at her with a -dull wonder in his heavy eyes. - -“Pull yourself together,” she cried hurriedly. “We cannot talk here. I -am afraid in this room. It has ears, I know. That awful Hindu is always -here, even though he may seem to be elsewhere. We will go down to my -boudoir.” - -He slowly shook his head and then allowed his chin to sink dejectedly -into his hands. With his elbows resting on his knees, he watched her -movements in a state of increasing interest and bewilderment. She turned -abruptly to the Buddha, whose placid, smirking countenance seemed to be -alive to the situation in all of its aspects. Standing close, her hands -behind her back, her figure very erect and theatric, she proceeded to -address the image in a voice full of mockery. - -“Well, my chatterbox friend, I have pierced his armour, haven't I? He -will creep up here and ask you, his wonderful god, to tell him what to -do about it, _aïe?_ His wits are tangled. He doubts his senses. And -when he comes to you, my friend, and whines his secret doubts into your -excellent and trustworthy ear, do me the kindness to keep the secret I -shall now whisper to you, for I trust you, too, you amiable fraud.” - -Standing on tiptoe, she put her lips to the idol's ear and whispered. -Frederic, across the room, roused from his lethargy by the strange -words and still stranger action, rose to his feet and took several steps -toward her. - -“There! Now you know everything. You know more than James Brood knows, -for you know what his charming wife is about to do next.” She drew back -and regarded the image through half-closed, smouldering eyes. “But he -will know before long--before long.” - -“What are you doing, Yvonne?” demanded Frederic unsteadily. - -She whirled about and came toward him, her hands still clasped behind -her back. - -“Come with me,” she said, ignoring his question. - -“He--he thinks I am in love with you,” said he, shaking his head. - -“And are you not in love with me?” - -He was startled. “Good Lord, Yvonne!” - -She came quite close to him. He could feel the warmth that travelled -from her body across the short space that separated them. The -intoxicating perfume filled his nostrils; he drew a deep breath, his -eyes closing slowly as his senses prepared to succumb to the delicious -spell that came over him. When he opened them an instant later she was -still facing him, as straight and fearless as a soldier, and the light -of victory was in her dark, compelling eyes. - -“Well,” she said deliberately, “I am ready to go away with you.” - -He fell back stunned beyond the power of speech. His brain was filled -with a thousand clattering noises. - -“He has turned you out,” she went on rapidly. “He disowns you. Very -well; the time has come for me to exact payment of him for that and for -all that has gone before. I shall go away with you. I------” - -“Impossible!” he cried, finding his tongue and drawing still farther -away from her. - -“Are you not in love with me?” she whispered softly. - -He put his hands to his eyes to shut out the alluring vision. - -“For God's sake, Yvonne--leave me. Let me go my way. Let me------” - -“He cursed your mother! He curses you! He damns you--as he damned her. -You can pay him up for everything. You owe nothing to him. He has killed -every------” - -Frederic straightened up suddenly and, with a loud cry of exultation, -raised his clenched hands above his head. - -“By Heaven, I will break him! I will make him pay! Do you know what -he has done to me? Listen to this: he boasts of having reared me to -manhood, as one might bring up a prize beast, that he might make me pay -for the wrong that my poor mother did a quarter of a century ago. All -these years he has had in mind this thing that he has done to-day. All -my life has been spent in preparation for the sacrifice that came an -hour ago. I have suffered all these years in ignorance of------” - -“Not so loud!” she whispered, alarmed by the vehemence of his reawakened -fury. - -“Oh, I'm not afraid!” he cried savagely. “Can you imagine anything more -diabolical than the scheme he has had in mind all these years? To pay -back my mother--whom he loved and still loves--yes, by Heaven, he still -loves her--he works to this beastly end! He made her suffer the agonies -of the damned up to the day of her death by refusing her the right to -have the child that he swears is no child of his. Oh, you don't know -the story--you don't know the kind of man you have for a husband--you -don't------” - -“Yes, yes; I do know!” she cried violently, beating her breast with -clenched hands. “I _do_ know! I know that he still loves the poor girl -who went out of this house with his curses ringing in her ears a score -of years ago, and who died still hearing them. And I had almost come -to the point of pitying him--I was failing--I was weakening. He is -a wonderful man. I--I was losing myself. But that is all over. Three -months ago I could have left him without a pang--yesterday I was afraid -that it would never be possible. To-day he makes it easy for me. He has -hurt you beyond all reason, not because he hates you, but because he -loved your mother.” - -“But you do love him!” cried Frederic in stark wonder. “You don't -care the snap of your fingers for me. What is all this you are saying, -Yvonne? You must be mad. Think! Think what you are saying.” - -“I have thought--I am always thinking. I know my own mind well enough. -It is settled: I am going away, and I am going with you.” - -“You can't be in earnest!” - -“I am desperately in earnest. You owe nothing to him now. He says you -are not his son. You owe nothing but hatred to him, and you should pay. -You owe vengeance for your mother's sake--for the sake of her whose face -you have come to love, who loved you to the day she died, I am sure. He -will proclaim to the world that you are not his son, he will brand you -with the mark of shame, he will drive you out of New York. You are the -son of a music-master, he shouts from the housetops! Your mother was a -vile woman, he shouts from the housetops! You cannot remain here. You -_must_ go. You must take me with you. Ah, you are thinking of Lydia! -Well, are you thinking of dragging her through the mire that he will -create? Are you willing to give her the name he declares is not yours to -give? Are you a craven, whipped coward who will not strike back when the -chance is offered to give a blow that will------” - -“I cannot listen to you, Yvonne!” cried Frederic, aghast. His heart was -pounding so fiercely that the blood surged to his head in great waves, -almost stunning him with its velocity. - -“We go to-morrow!” she cried out in an ecstasy of triumph. She was -convinced that he would go! “La Provence!” - -“Good Heaven!” he gasped, dropping suddenly into a chair and burying his -face in his shaking hands. “What will this mean to Lydia--what will she -do--what will become of her?” - -A quiver of pain crossed the woman's face, her eyelids fell as if to -shut out something that shamed her in spite of all her vainglorious -protestations. Then the spirit of exaltation resumed its sway. She -lifted her eyes heavenward, and inaudible words trembled on her lips. A -moment later she stood over him, her hands extended as if in blessing. - -Had he looked up at that instant he would have witnessed a Yvonne he did -not know. No longer was she the alluring, sensuous creature who had been -in his thoughts for months, but a transfigured being whose soul looked -out through gentle, pitying eyes, whose wiles no longer were employed -in the devices of which she was past-mistress, whose real nature was -revealed now for the first time since she entered the house of James -Brood. - -There was pain and suffering in the lovely eyes, and there was a strange -atmosphere of sanctuary attending the very conquest she had made. But -Frederic did not look up until all this had passed and the smile of -triumph was on her lips again and the glint of determination in her -eyes. He had missed the revelation that would have altered his estimate -of her for the future. - -“You cannot marry Lydia now,” she said, affecting a sharpness of tone -that caused him to shrink involuntarily. “It is your duty to write her -a letter to-night, explaining all that has happened to-day. She would -sacrifice herself for you to-day, but there is--to-morrow! A thousand -to-morrows, Frederic. Don't forget them, my dear. They would be ugly, -after all, and she is too good, too fine to be dragged into------” - -“You are right!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It would be the -vilest act that a man could perpetrate. Why--why, it would be proof of -what he says of me--it would stamp me for ever the dastard he--no, no; -I could never lift my head again if I were to do this utterly vile thing -to Lydia. He said to me here--not an hour ago--that he expected me to -go ahead and blight that loyal girl's life, that I would consider it a -noble means of self-justification! What do you think of that? He------ -But wait! What is this that we are proposing to do? Give me time to -think! Why--why, I can't take you away from him, Yvonne! What am I -thinking of? Have I no sense of honour? Am I------” - -“You are not his son,” she said significantly. - -“But that is no reason why I should stoop to a foul trick like this. -Do--do you know what you are suggesting?” He drew back from her with a -look of disgust in his eyes. “No! I'm not that vile! I----” - -“Frederic, you must let me------” - -“I don't want to hear anything more, Yvonne. What manner of woman are -you? He is your husband, he loves you, he trusts you; oh, yes, he does! -And you would leave him like this? You would------” - -“Hush! Not so loud!” she cried in great agitation. - -“And let me tell you something more. Although I can never marry Lydia, -by Heaven, I shall love her to the end of my life. I will not betray -that love. To the end of time she shall know that my love for her is -real and true and------” - -“Frederic, you must listen to me,” she cried, wringing her hands. “You -must hear what I have to say to you. Wait! Do not leave me!” - -“What is it, Yvonne--what is it?” he cried, pausing in utter amazement -after taking a few steps toward the door. - -“Where are you going?” she whispered, following him with dragging steps. -“Not to _him?_” - -“Certainly not! Do you think I would betray you to him?” - -“Wait! Give me time to think,” she pleaded. He shook his head -resolutely. “Do not judge me too harshly. Hear what I have to say before -you condemn me. I am not the vile creature you think, Frederic. Wait! -Let me think!” - -He stared at her for a moment in deep perplexity and then slowly drew -near. - -“Yvonne, I do not believe you mean to do wrong--I do not believe it of -you. You have been carried away by some horrible------” - -“Listen to me,” she broke in fiercely. “I would have sacrificed -you--aye, sacrificed you, poor boy--in order to strike James Brood the -cruellest blow that man ever sustained. I would have destroyed you in -destroying him--God forgive me! But you have shown me how terrible I am, -how utterly terrible! Love you? No! No! Not in that way. I would have -put a curse, an undeserved curse, upon your innocent head, and all for -the joy it would give me to see James Brood grovel in misery for the -rest of his life. Oh!” - -She uttered a groan of despair and self-loathing so deep and full of -pain that his heart was chilled. - -“Yvonne!” he gasped, dumbfounded. - -“Do not come near me!” she cried out, covering her face with her hands. -For a full minute she stood before him, straight and rigid as a statue, -a tragic figure he was never to forget. Suddenly she lowered her hands. -To his surprise, a smile was on her lips. - -“You would never have gone away with me. I know it now. All these -months I have been counting on you for this very hour, this culminating -hour--and now I realise how little hope I have really had, even from the -beginning. You are honourable. There have been times when my influence -over you was such that you resisted only because you were loyal to -yourself--not to Lydia, not to my husband--but to yourself. I came to -this house with but one purpose in mind. I came here to take you away -from the man who has always stood as your father. I would not have -become your mistress--pah! how loathsome it sounds!--but I would have -enticed you away, believing myself to be justified. I would have struck -James Brood that blow. He would have gone to his grave believing himself -to have been paid in full by the son of the woman he had degraded, by -the boy he had reared for the slaughter, by the blood------” - -“In God's name, Yvonne, what is this you are saying? What have you -against my--against him?” - -“Wait! I shall come to that. I did not stop to consider all that I -should have to overcome. First, there was your soul, your honour, your -integrity to consider. I did not think of all those things. I did not -stop to think of the damnable wrong I should be doing to you. I was -blind to everything except my one great, long-enduring purpose. I could -see nothing else but triumph over James Brood. To gain my end it was -necessary that I should be his wife. I became his wife--I deliberately -took that step in order to make complete my triumph over him. I became -the wife of the man I had hated with all my soul, Frederic. So you can -see how far I was willing to go to--ah, it was a hard thing to do! But -I did not shrink. I went into it without faltering, without a single -thought of the cost to myself. He was to pay for all that, too, in the -end. Look into my eyes, Frederic. I want to ask you a question. Will you -go away with me? Will you take me?” - -He returned her look steadily. - -“No!” - -“That is all I want to hear you say. It means the end. I have done all -that could be done, and I have failed. Thank God, I have failed!” She -came swiftly to him and, before he was aware of her intention, clutched -his hand and pressed it to her lips. He was shocked to find that a -sudden gush of tears was wetting his hand. - -“Oh, Yvonne!” he cried miserably. - -She was sobbing convulsively. He looked down upon her dark, bowed head -and again felt the mastering desire to crush her slender, beautiful body -in his arms. The spell of her was upon him again, but now he realised -that the appeal was to his spirit and not to his flesh--as it had been -all along, he was beginning to suspect. - -“Don't pity me,” she choked out. “This will pass, as everything else has -passed. I am proud of you now, Frederic. You are splendid. Not many men -could have resisted in this hour of despair. You have been cast off, -despised, degraded, humiliated. You were offered the means to retaliate. -You------” - -“And I was tempted!” he cried bitterly. “For the moment I was------” - -“And now what is to become of _me?_” she wailed. - -His heart grew cold. - -“You--you will leave him? You will go back to Paris? Yvonne, it will be -a blow to him. He has had one fearful slash in the back. This will break -him.” - -“At least, I may have that consolation,” she cried, straightening up in -an effort to revive her waning purpose. “Yes, I shall go. I cannot stay -here now. I--” She paused and shuddered. - -“What, in Heaven's name, have you against my--against him? What does it -all mean? How you must have hated him to------” - -“Hated him? Oh, how feeble the word is! Hate! There should be a word -that strikes more terror to the soul than that one. But wait! You shall -know everything. You shall have the story from the beginning. There is -much to tell, and there will be consolation--aye, triumph for you in the -story I shall tell. First, let me say this to you: when I came here I -did not know that there was a Lydia Desmond. I would have hurt that poor -girl; but it would not have been a lasting pain. In my plans, after I -came to know her, there grew a beautiful alternative through which she -should know great happiness. Oh, I have planned well and carefully, but -I was ruthless. I would have crushed her with him rather than to have -failed. But it is all a dream that has passed, and I am awake. - -“It was the most cruel, but the most magnificent dream--ah, but I dare -not think of it. As I stand here before you now, Frederic, I am shorn of -all my power. I could not strike him as I might have done a month ago. -Even as I was cursing him but a moment ago I realised that I could not -have gone on with the game. Even as I begged you to take your revenge, I -knew that it was not myself who urged, but the thing that was having its -death-struggle within me.” - -“Go on. Tell me. Why do you stop?” - -She was glancing fearfully toward the Hindu's door. “There is one man in -this house who knows. He reads my every thought. He does not know all, -but he knows _me_. He has known from the beginning that I was not to be -trusted. That man is never out of my thoughts. I fear him, Frederic--I -fear him as I fear death. If he had not been here I--I believe I should -have dared anything. I _could_ have taken you away with me months ago. -But he worked his spell and I was afraid. I faltered. He knew that I was -afraid, for he spoke to me one day of the beautiful serpents in his land -that were cowards in spite of the death they could deal with one flash -of their fangs. You were intoxicated. I _am_ a thing of beauty. I can -charm as the------” - -“God knows that is true,” he said hoarsely. - -“But enough of that! I am stricken with my own poison. Go to the door! -See if he is there. I fear------” - -“No one is near,” said he, after striding swiftly to both doors, -listening at one and peering out through the other. - -“You will have to go away, Frederic. I shall have to go. But we shall -not go together. In my room I have kept hidden the sum of ten thousand -dollars, waiting for the day to come when I should use it to complete -the game I have played. I knew that you would have no money of your -own. I was prepared even for that. Look again! See if anyone is there? I -feel--I feel that someone is near us. Look, I say!” - -He obeyed. - -“See! There is no one near.” He held open the door to the hall. “You -must speak quickly. I am to leave this house in an hour. I was given the -hour.” - -“Ah, I can see by your face that you hate him! It is well. That is -something. It is but little, I know, after all I have wished for--but it -is something for me to treasure--something for me to take back with me -to the one sacred little spot in this beastly world of men and women.” - -“Yvonne, you are the most incomprehensible------” - -“Am I not beautiful, Frederic? Tell me!” She came quite close to him. - -“You are the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said abjectly. - -“And I have wasted all my beauty--I have lent it to unloveliness, and it -has not been destroyed! It is still with me, is it not? I have not lost -it in------” - -“You are beautiful beyond words--beyond anything I have ever imagined,” - said he, suddenly passing his hand over his brow. - -“You would have loved me if it had not been for Lydia?” - -“I couldn't have helped myself. I--I fear I--faltered in my--are you -still trying to tempt me? Are you still asking me to go away with you?” - -A hoarse cry came from the doorway behind them--a cry of pain and anger -that struck terror to their souls. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -Transfixed, they watched James Brood take two or three steps into the -room. At his back was the swarthy Hindu, his eyes gleaming like coals of -fire in the shadowy light. - -“James!” fell tremulously from the lips of Yvonne. She swayed toward him -as Ranjab grasped his arm from behind. - -Frederic saw the flash of something bright as it passed from the brown -hand to the white one. He did not at once comprehend. - -“It happened once,” came hoarsely from the throat of James Brood. “It -shall not happen again. Thank you, Ranjab.” - -Then Frederic knew. The Hindu had slipped a revolver into his master's -hand! - -“It gives me great pleasure, Yvonne, to relieve you of that worthless -thing you call your life.” - -As he raised his arm Frederic sprang forward with a shout of horror. -Scarcely realising what he did, he hurled Yvonne violently to one side. - -It was all over in the twinkling of an eye. There was a flash, the crash -of an explosion, a puff of smoke, and the smell of burned powder. - -Frederic stood perfectly still for an instant, facing the soft cloud -that rose from the pistol-barrel, an expression of vague amazement in -his face. Then his hand went uncertainly to his breast. - -Already James Brood had seen the red blotch that spread with incredible -swiftness--blood-red against the snowy white of the broad shirt bosom. -Glaring with wide-open eyes at the horrid spot, he stood there with the -pistol still levelled. - -“Good God, father, you've--why, you've------” struggled from Frederic's -writhing lips, and then his knees sagged; an instant later they gave way -with a rush and he dropped heavily to the floor. - -There was not a sound in the room. Suddenly Brood made a movement, quick -and spasmodic. At the same instant Ranjab flung himself forward and -grasped his master's arm. He had turned the revolver upon himself! The -muzzle was almost at his temple when the Hindu seized his hand in a grip -of iron. - -“_Sahib! Sahib!_” he hissed. “What would you do?” Wrenching the weapon -from the stiff, unresisting fingers, he hurled it across the room. - -Brood groaned. His tall body swerved forward, but his legs refused to -carry him. The Hindu caught him as he was sinking limply to his knees. -With a tremendous effort of the will, Brood succeeded in conquering the -black unconsciousness that was assailing him. He straightened up to his -full height and with trembling fingers pointed to the prostrate figure -on the floor. - -“The pistol, Ranjab! Where is it? Give it to me! Man, can I live after -_that?_ I have killed my son--my own son! Quick, man!” - -“_Sahib!_” cried the Hindu, wringing his hands. “I cannot! I cannot!” - -“I command you! The pistol!” - -Without a word the Hindu, fatalist, slave, pagan that he was, turned to -do his master's bidding. It was not for him to say nay, it was not for -him to oppose the will of the master, but to obey. - -All this time Yvonne was crouching against the table, her horrified -gaze upon the great red blotch that grew to terrible proportions as she -watched. She had not moved, she had not breathed, she had not taken -her hands from her ears where she had placed them at the sound of the -explosion. - -“Blood! It is blood!” she moaned, and for the first time since the -shot was fired her husband glanced at the one for whom the bullet had -originally been intended. - -An expression of incredulity leaped into his face, as if he could not -believe his senses. She was alive and unhurt! His bullet had not touched -her. His brain fumbled for the explanation of this miracle. He had not -aimed at Frederic, he had not fired at him, and yet he lay stretched out -there before him, bleeding, while the one he had meant to destroy was -living--incomprehensively living! How had it happened? What agency had -swept his deadly bullet out of its path to find lodgment in the -wrong heart? There was no blood gushing from her breast; he could not -understand it. - -She did not take her eyes from the great red blot; she was fascinated -by the horror that spread farther and farther across the gleaming white. -She was alone, utterly alone with the most dreadful thing she had ever -known; alone with that appalling thing called death. A life was leaving -its warm, beautiful home as she watched, leaving in a path of red, -creeping away across a stretch of white! - -“Blood!” she wailed again, a long, shuddering word that came not from -her lips but from the very depths of her terror-stricken soul. - -Slowly Brood's mind worked out of the maze. His shot had gone straight, -but Frederic himself had leaped into its path to save this miserable -creature who would have damned his soul if life had been spared to him. - -Ranjab crawled to his side, his eyes covered with one arm, the other -extended. Blindly the master felt for the pistol, not once removing his -eyes from the pallid figure against the table. His fingers closed upon -the weapon. Then the Hindu looked up, warned by the strange voice that -spoke to him from the mind of his master. He saw the arm slowly extend -itself with a sinister hand directed straight at the figure of the -woman. This time Brood was making sure of his aim, so sure that the -lithe Hindu had time to spring to his feet weapon. - -“Master! Master!” he cried out. - -Brood turned to look at his man in sheer bewilderment. What could all -this mean? What was the matter with the fellow? - -“Down, Ranjab!” he commanded in a low, cautious tone, as he would have -used in speaking to a dog when the game was run to earth. - -“There is but one bullet left, _sahib!_” cried the man. - -“Only one is required,” said the master hazily. - -“You have killed your son. This bullet is for yourself.” - -“Yes! But--but see! She lives! She------” - -The Hindu struck his own breast significantly. - -“Thy faithful servant remains, _sahib_. Die, if thou wilt, but leave her -to Ranjab. There is but one bullet left. It is for you. You must not be -here to witness the death Ranjab, thy servant, shall inflict upon her. -Shoot thyself now, if so be it, but spare thyself the sight of------” - -He did not finish the sentence, but his strong, bony fingers went -through the motion that told a more horrible story than words could have -expressed. There was no mistaking his meaning. He had elected himself -her executioner. - -A ghastly look of comprehension flitted across Brood's face. For a -second his mind slipped from one dread to another more appalling. He -knew this man of his. He remembered the story of another killing in -the hills of India. His gaze went from the brown fanatic's face to the -white, tender, lovely throat of the woman, and a hoarse gasp broke from -his lips. - -“No! No! Not that!” he cried, and as the words rang out Yvonne removed -her horrified gaze from the blot of red and fixed it upon the face of her husband. She straightened -up slowly and her arms fell limply to her sides. - -“It was meant for me. Shoot, James!” she said, almost in a whisper. - -The Hindu's grasp tightened at the convulsive movement of his master's -hand. His fingers were like steel bands. - -“Shoot!” she repeated, raising her voice. “Save yourself, for if he is -dead I shall kill you with my own hands! This is your chance--shoot!” - -Brood's fingers relaxed their grip on the revolver. A fierce, wild hope -took all the strength out of his body; he grew faint with it. - -“He--he can't be dead! I have not killed him. He shall not die, he shall -not!” - -Flinging the Hindu aside, he threw himself down beside the body on the -floor. The revolver, as it dropped, was caught in the nimble hand of the -Hindu, who took two long, swift strides toward the woman who now faced -him instead of her husband. There was a great light in his eyes as he -stood over her, and she saw death staring upon her. - -But she did not quail. She was past all that. She looked straight into -his eyes for an instant and then, as if putting him out of her thoughts -entirely, turned slowly toward the two men on the floor. The man -half-raised the pistol, but something stayed his hand, something -stronger than any mere physical opposition could have done. - -He glared at the half-averted face, confounded by the most -extraordinary impression that ever had entered his incomprehensible -brain. Something strange and wonderful was transpiring before his very -eyes, something so marvellous that even he, mysterious seer of the -Ganges, was stunned into complete amazement and unbelief. - -That strange, uncanny intelligence of his, born of a thousand mysteries, -was being tried beyond all previous exactions. It was as if he now saw -this woman for the first time, as if he had never looked upon her face -before. A mist appeared to envelop her, and through this veil he saw a -face that was new to him, the face of Yvonne, and yet _not_ hers at all. -Absolute wonder crept into his eyes. - -As if impelled by the power of his gaze, she faced him once more. For -what seemed hours to him, but in reality only seconds, his searching -eyes looked deep into hers. He saw at last the soul of this woman, and -it was not the soul he had known as hers up to that tremendous moment. -And he came to know that she was no longer afraid of him or his powers. -His hand was lowered, his eyes fell, and his lips moved; but there were -no words, for he addressed a spirit. All the venom, all the hatred fled -from his soul. His knee bent in sudden submission, and his eyes were -raised to hers once more, but now in their sombre depths was the -fidelity of the dog. - -“Go at once,” she said, and her voice was as clear as a bell. - -He shot a swift glance at the prostrate Frederic and straightened his -tall figure, as would a soldier under orders. His understanding gaze -sought hers again. There was another command in her eyes. He placed the -weapon on the table. It had been a distinct command to him. - -“One of us will use it,” she said monotonously. “Go!” - -With incredible swiftness he was gone. The curtains barely moved as he -passed between them, and the heavy door made no sound in opening and -closing. There was no one in the hall. The sound of the shot had not -gone beyond the thick walls of that proscribed room on the top floor. -Somewhere at the rear of the house an indistinct voice was uttering a -jumbled stream of French. - -Many minutes passed. There was not a sound, not a movement in the room. -Brood, kneeling beside the outstretched figure of his unintended victim, -was staring at the graying face with wide, unblinking eyes. He looked -at last upon features that he had searched for in vain through all the -sullen years. There was blood on his hands and on his cheek, for he had -listened at first for the beat of the heart. Afterward his agonised gaze -had gone to the bloodless face. There it was arrested. - -A dumb wonder possessed his soul. He knelt there petrified by the shock -of discovery. In the dim light he no longer saw the features of Matilde, -but his own, and his heart was still. In that revealing moment he -realised that he had never seen anything in Frederic's countenance save -the dark, never-to-be-forgotten eyes, and they were his Matilde's. -Now those eyes were closed. He could not see them, and the blindness was -struck from his own. - -He had always looked into the boy's eyes, he had never been able to seek -farther than those haunting, inquiring eyes, but now he saw the lean, -strong jaw and the firm chin, the straight nose and the broad forehead, -and none of these was Matilde's. These were the features of a man, and -of but one man. He was seeing himself as he was when he looked into his -mirror at twenty-one. - -All these years he had been blind; all these years he had gone on -cursing his own image. In that overpowering thought came the realisation -that it was too late for him to atone. His mind slowly struggled out of -the stupefied bondage of years. He was looking at his own face. Dead, he -would look like that! Matilde was gone for ever, the eyes were closed, -but he was there; James Brood was still there, turning grayer and grayer -of face all the time. - -All the pent-up rage of years rushed suddenly to his lips and an awful -curse issued, but it was delivered against himself. He started to rise -to his feet, his mind bent on the one way to end the anguish that was -too great to bear. The revolver! - -It had been cruel, it should be kind. His heart leaped. He had a few -seconds to live, not longer than it would take to find the weapon and -place it against his breast--just so long and no longer would he be -compelled to live. - -He had forgotten the woman. She was standing just beyond the body that -stretched itself between them. Her hands were clasped against her breast -and her eyes were lifted heavenward. She had not moved throughout that -age of oblivion. - -He saw her and suddenly became rigid. Slowly he sank back, his eyes -distended, his jaw dropping. He put out a hand and saved himself from -falling, but his eyes did not leave the face of the woman who prayed, -whose whole being was the material representation of prayer. But it -was not Yvonne, his wife, that he saw standing there. It was another -Matilde! - -A hoarse, inarticulate sound came from his gaping mouth, and then issued -the words that his mind had created unknown to him while he knelt, but -now were uttered in a purely physical release from the throat that had -held them back through a period of utter unconsciousness. He never knew -that he spoke them; they were not the words that his conscious mind was -now framing for deliverance. He said what he had already started to say -when his soul was full of hatred for Yvonne. - -“You foul, cringing------” and then came the new cry--“Matilde, Matilde! -Forgive! Forgive!” - -Slowly her eyes were lowered until they fell full upon his stricken -face. - -“Am I going mad?” he whispered hoarsely. As he stared the delicate, wan -face of Matilde began to fade and he again saw the brilliant, undimmed -features of Yvonne. “But it _was_ Matilde! What trick of------” - -He sprang to his feet and advanced upon her, stepping across the body -of his son in his reckless haste. For many seconds they stood with their -faces close together, he staring wildly, she with a dull look of agony -in her eyes, but unflinching. What he saw caused an icy chill to sweep -through his tense body and a sickness to enter his soul. He shrank back. - -“Who--who are you?” he cried out in sudden terror. He felt the presence -of Matilde. He could have stretched out his hand and touched her, so -real, so vivid was the belief that she was actually there before him. -“Matilde was here--I saw her, I saw her. And--and now it is you! She is -still here. I can feel her hand touching mine--I can feel--no, no! It is -gone--it--has passed. She has left me again. I--I------” - -The cold, lifeless voice of Yvonne was speaking to him, huskier than -ever before. - -“Matilde _has_ been here. She has always been with her son. She is -always near you, James Brood.” - -“What--are--you--saying?” he gasped. - -She turned wearily away and pointed to the weapon on the table. - -“Who is to use it--you or I?” - -He opened his mouth, but uttered no sound. His power of speech was gone. - -She went on in a deadly monotone. - -“You intended the bullet for me. It is not too late. Kill me, if you -will. I give you the first chance--take it, for if you do not I shall -take mine.” - -“I--I cannot kill you, I cannot kill the woman who stood where you are -standing a moment ago. Matilde was there! She was alive; do you hear me? -Alive and--ah!” - -The exclamation fell from his lips as she suddenly leaned forward, her -intense gaze fixed on Frederic's face. - -“See! Ah, see! I prayed, and I have been answered. See!” - -He turned. Frederic's eyes were open. He was looking up at them with a -piteous appeal, an appeal for help, for life, for consciousness. - -“He is not dead! Frederic, Frederic, my son----” Brood dropped to his -knees and frantically clutched at the hand that lay stretched beside the -limp figure. The pain-stricken eyes closed slowly. - -Yvonne knelt beside Brood. He saw a slim, white hand go out and touch -the pallid brow. - -“I shall save your soul, James Brood,” a voice was saying, but it seemed -far away. “He shall not die. Your poor, wretched soul may rest secure. I -shall keep death away from him. You shall not have to pay for this; no, -not for this. The bullet was meant for me. I owe my life to him, you -shall owe his to me. But you have yet to pay a greater debt than this -can ever become. He is your son. You owe another for his life, and you -will never be out of her debt, not even in hell, James Brood!” - -Slowly Frederic's eyes opened again. They wavered from one face to the -other and there was in them the unsolvable mystery of divination. As the -lids drooped once more, Brood's manner underwent a tremendous change. -The stupefaction of horror and doubt fell away in a flash and he was -again the clear-headed, indomitable man of action. The blood rushed -back into his veins, his eyes flashed with the returning fire of hope, -his voice was steady, sharp, commanding. - -“The doctor!” he cried in Yvonne's ear, as his strong fingers went out -to tear open the shirt-bosom. “Be quick! Send for Hodder; we must save -him.” She did not move. He whirled upon her fiercely. “Do as I tell you! -Are you so----” - -“Dr Hodder is on the way now,” she said dully. - -His hands ceased their operations as if checked by a sudden paralysis. - -“On the way here?” he cried incredulously. “Why------” - -“He is coming,” she said fiercely. “I sent for him. Don't stop now, be -quick! You know what to do. Stanch the flow of blood. Do something, man! -You have seen men with mortal wounds, and this man _must_ be saved!” - -He worked swiftly, deftly, for he did know what to do. He had worked -over men before with wounds in their breasts, and he had seen them -through the shadow of death. But he could not help thinking, as he now -worked, that he was never known to miss a shilling at thirty paces. - -She was speaking. Her voice was low, with a persistent note of -accusation in it. - -“It was an accident, do you understand? You did not shoot to kill him. -The world shall never know the truth, unless he dies, and that is not to -happen. You are safe. The law cannot touch you, for I shall never speak. -This is between you and me. Do you understand?” - -He glanced at her set, rigid face. - -“Yes. It was an accident. And this is between you and me. We shall -settle it later on. Now I see you as you are--as Yvonne. I--wonder------” - His hand shook with a sudden spasm of indecision. He had again caught -that baffling look in her dark eyes. - -“Attend!” she cried, and he bent to the task again. “He is not going to -die. It would be too cruel if he were to die now and miss all the joy of -victory over you, his lifelong foe. He------” - -The door opened behind them and they looked up to see the breathless -Hindu. He came straight to the woman. - -“He comes. Ranjab has obey. I have told him that the revolver was -discharge accidentally, by myself, by the unhappy son of a dog, I. It is -well. Ranjab is but a dog. He shall die to-day and his lips be sealed -for ever. Have no fear. The dead shall be silent.” His voice trailed off -into a whisper, for his eyes were looking into hers. “No,” he whispered, -after a moment, “no; the dead are not silent. One who is dead has spoken -to Ranjab.” - -“Hush!” said the woman. Brood's hands were shaking again, shaking and -uncertain. “The doctor? He comes?” - -“Even now,” said the Hindu, turning toward the door. - -Dr Hodder came blinking into the room. A gaping assistant from his -office across the street followed close behind, carrying a box of -instruments. - -“Turn up the lights,” said the surgeon crisply. It seemed hours before -the soft glow was at its full and the room bathed in its mellow light. -All this time not a word was uttered. “Ah!” exclaimed Dr Hodder at -last. “Now we'll see.” - -He was kneeling beside Frederic an instant later. - -“Bad!” he said after a single glance. “Wiley, get busy now. Clear that -table, Ranjab. Water, quick, Wiley. Lively, Ranjab. Shove 'em off, don't -waste time like that. Ah, now lend a hand, both of you. Easy! So!” Three -strong, nerveless pairs of hands raised the inert figure. - -“Hello! What's this?” The incomprehensible Hindu in his ruthless -clearing of the table had left the revolver lying where Yvonne had -placed it. “Good Lord, take it away! It's done enough damage already.” - It was Wiley, the assistant, who picked it up gingerly and laid it on -a chair near by. “Now, where's the butler? Send for an ambulance, -and--you, Wiley, call up the hospital and say------” - -“No!” came in Yvonne's husky, imperative voice. “No, not the hospital. -He is not to be taken away.” - -“But, madam, you------” - -“I insist! It is not to be thought of, Dr Hodder. He must remain in this -house. I will get his room ready for him. He is--to--stay--here!” - -“Well, we'll see,” said the surprised surgeon, and forthwith put her out -of his mind. - -James Brood was standing stock-still and rigid in the centre of the -room. He had not moved an inch from the position he had taken when the -doctor pushed him aside in order to clear the way to the table. Yvonne -came straight to him. The matter of half a yard separated them as she -stopped and spoke to him, her voice so low that the bustling doctor -could not have distinguished a word. - -“You owe it to Frederic to allow Ranjab's story to stand. There is no -one to dispute it. I command you to protect the good name of your son. -That weapon was accidentally discharged by your servant, and you will -have to swear to it, James Brood, if called upon to do so, for I shall -swear to it, and Ranjab, too.” - -“I shall conceal nothing,” he groaned. “Do you think I am a craven -coward as well as a------” - -“Nevertheless, you will do as I command. He is going to live. That is -why I demand it of you. If he were to die--well, even then you would not -be permitted to speak. I shall stand here beside you, James Brood, and -if you utter one word to contradict Ranjab's story I shall shoot you -down. Can you not see how desperately in earnest I am?” She reached over -and caught up the revolver from the chair as she was speaking. - -For a full minute they looked into each other's eyes, and he--the -strong, invulnerable Brood--was the first to give way. The steely -glitter faded before the swift rush of a new feeling that swept over -him--an extraordinary feeling of tenderness toward this woman who fought -him with something more than her own cause at stake. - -“I understand. You are right. If he gets well, this beastly thing must -never be known. We will leave it to him. If he chooses to tell the -truth, then------” - -“I have your promise--_now?_” she demanded intensely. - -“Yes. Now go!” Involuntarily he straightened his tall figure and pointed -toward the door. - -“He is not to be removed from this house,” she insisted. - -“Ten minutes ago you were suggesting a different------” he began -sneeringly. - -“The whole world has changed since then, James Brood,” she said, and her -shoulders drooped. Almost instantly she recovered her poise. “I have a -great deal to say to you later on.” - -“Not a great deal,” he said meaningly. - -He saw her flinch and was conscious of a curious pang, a poignant yet -indefinable pang of remorse. - -She went swiftly from the room. He looked for the revolver. It was gone. -Somehow he found himself wondering if she had taken it away with her in -the fear that he would turn it against himself in case---- - -“No powder stains,” he heard Hodder saying to his assistant. “Not a sign -of 'em.” - -“That's right,” said the assistant, shaking his head. - -“Couldn't have been--no, of course not,” went on the first speaker in a -matter-of-fact tone. - -“Doesn't look that way,” agreed the assistant. - -“Fired from some little distance, I'd say.” - -“Fifteen or twenty feet, perhaps.” - -It suddenly dawned upon Brood that they were talking of suicide. - -“Good Heaven, Hodder, it--it wasn't _that!_” he cried hoarsely. “What -right have you to doubt my word? I tell you I------” - -“Your word, Jim? This is the first word you've spoken since I came into -the room.” - -“Is--is it a mortal wound?” broke from the other's lips. - -“Can't tell. First aid now, that's the point. We'll get him downstairs -in a few minutes. More light. I can't see a thing in this--hello! What's -this? A photograph? Fell out of his pocket when I--oh, I see! Your wife. -Sorry I got blood on it.” He laid the small bit of pasteboard on the -table. “Wiley! See if you can get a mattress. We'll move him at once. -Lively, my lad. He's alive, all right, Jim. Do our best. Looks bad. Poor -kid. He's not had a very happy life of it, I'm afraid--I beg pardon!” - -In considerable embarrassment he brought his comments to an end and bent -lower to examine the small black hole in the left breast of his patient. - -Frederic's lips moved. The doctor's ear caught the strangled whisper -that issued. - -“Curious,” he remarked, turning to Brood with something like awe in his -eyes. “I'm sure he said 'Mother.' But he never knew his mother, did he?” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -Hours afterward Brood sat alone in the room where the tragedy occurred. -Much had transpired in the interim to make those hours seem like -separate and distinct years to him, each hour an epoch in which a vital -and memorable incident had been added to his already overfull measure of -experience. - -He had refused to see the newspaper men who came. Dr Hodder wisely had -protested against secrecy. - -“Murder will out,” he had said fretfully, little realising how closely -the trite old saying applied to the situation. He had accepted the -statements of Yvonne and Ranjab as to the accidental discharge of the -weapon, but for some reason had refrained from asking Brood a single -question, although he knew him to be a witness to the shooting. - -Yvonne saw the reporters and, later on, an inspector of police. Ranjab -told his unhappy story. He had taken the weapon from a hook on the wall -for the purpose of cleaning it. It had been hanging there for years, -and all the time there had been a single cartridge left in the cylinder -unknown to anyone. He had started to remove the cylinder as he left the -room. - -All these years the hammer had been raised; death had been hanging over -them all the time that the pistol occupied its insecure position on the -wall. Somehow, he could not tell how, the hammer fell as he tugged at -the cylinder. No one could have known that the revolver was loaded. That -was all that he could say, except to declare that if his master's son -died he would end his own miserable, valueless life. - -His story was supported by the declarations of Mrs Brood, who, while -completely exonerating her husband's servant, had but little to say -in explanation of the affair. She kept her wits about her. Most people -would have made the mistake of saying too much. She professed to know -nothing except that they were discussing young Mr Brood's contemplated -trip abroad and that her husband had given orders to his servants to -pack a revolver in his son's travelling-bag. - -She had paid but little attention to the Hindu's movements. All she -could say was that it was an accident--a horrible, blighting accident. -For the present it would not be possible for anyone to see the -heart-broken father. Doubtless later on he would be in the mood to -discuss the dreadful catastrophe, but not now. He was crushed with the -horror of the thing that had happened. And so she explained. - -The house was in a state of subdued excitement. Servants spoke in -whispers and tiptoed through the halls. Nurses and other doctors came. -Two old men, shaking as with palsy, roamed about the place, intent only -on worming their way into the presence of their friend and supporter to -offer consolation and encouragement to him in his hour of tribulation. -They shuddered as they looked into each other's faces, and they shook -their heads without speaking, for their minds were filled with doubt. -They did not question the truth of the story as told, but they had their -own opinions. - -In support of the theory that they did not believe there was anything -accidental in the shooting of Frederic it is only necessary to speak of -their extraordinary attitude toward Ranjab. They shook hands with him -and told him that Allah would reward him. Later on, after they had -had time to think it all out for themselves, being somewhat slow of -comprehension, they sought out James Brood and offered to accept all -the blame for having loaded the revolver without consulting him, their -object having been to destroy a cat that infested the alley hard by. -They felt that it was absolutely necessary to account for the presence -of the unexploded cartridge. - -“As a matter of fact, Jim, old man,” insisted Mr Riggs, “I am entirely -to blame for the whole business. I ought to have had more sense than to -leave a shell in------” - -“You had nothing to do with it,” said Mr Dawes fiercely. “It was I who -loaded the devilish thing, and I'm going to confess to the police. To be -perfectly honest about it, I sort of recollect cocking it before I hung -it up on the nail. I sort of recollect it, I say, and that's more than -you can do. No, sir, Jim; I'm the one to blame. I ought to be shot for -my carelessness. It was------” - -“There's no sense in your lying at a time like this,” said Mr Riggs -caustically, glaring at his lifelong friend. “I suppose it's because -he can't help it, Jim. Lying has got to be such a habit with him -that------” - -“Well,” interrupted Mr Dawes vigorously, “to show you that I am not -lying, I intend to give myself up to the police and take the full -penalty for criminal and contributory negligence. I suppose you'll -still say I'm lying after they've sent me to jail for a couple of years -for------” - -“Yes, sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. “And I shall have you -arrested for perjury if you try any of your tricks on me. I loaded it, -I cocked sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. - -“And I suppose you fired it off!” exclaimed Mr Dawes savagely. - -Mr Riggs took a long breath. “Yes, sir, you scoundrel, I am ready to -swear that I _did_ fire it off!” They glared at each other with such -ferocity that Brood, coming between them, laid his hands on their -shoulders, shaking his head as he spoke to them gently. - -“Thank you, old pals. I understand what it is you are trying to do. It's -no use. I fired the shot. It isn't necessary to say anything more to -you, I'm sure, except that, as God is my witness, I did not intend the -bullet for Frederic. It was an accident in that respect. Thank you for -what you would do. It isn't necessary, old pals. The story that Ranjab -tells must stand for the time being. Later on--well, I may _write_ my -own story and give it to the world.” - -“Write it?” said Mr Dawes, and Brood nodded his head slowly, -significantly. - -“Oh, Jim, you--you mustn't do that!” groaned Mr Dawes, appalled. “You -ain't such a coward as to do that!” - -“There is one bullet left in that revolver. Ranjab advised me to save -it--for myself. He's a thoughtful fellow,” said Brood. - -“Jim,” said Mr Riggs, squaring himself, “it's too bad that you didn't -hit what you shot at.” - -Mr Dawes turned on him in a flash. “None o' that, Joe,” he said, and -this time he was very much in earnest. “She's all right. You'll all find -out she's all right. I tell you a woman can't nurse a feller back from -the edge of the grave, yes, from the very bottom of it almost, and not -betray her true nature to that same feller in more------” - -“Jim,” interrupted Mr Riggs, ignoring his comrade's defence, “I see -she's going to nurse Freddy. Well, sir, if I was you, I'd------” - -Brood stopped him with an impatient gesture. - -“I must ask you not to discuss Mrs Brood.” - -“I was just going to say, Jim, that if I was you I'd thank the Lord that -she's going to do it,” substituted Mr Riggs somewhat hastily. “She's a -wonderful nurse. She told me a bit ago that she was going to save his -life in spite of the doctor.” - -“What does Dr Hodder say?” demanded Brood, pausing in his restless -pacing of the floor. - -“He says the poor boy is as good as dead,” said Mr Riggs, - -“Ain't got a chance in a million,” said Mr Dawes. - -They were surprised to see Brood wince. He hadn't been so thin-skinned -in the olden days. His nerve was going back on him, that's what it was; -poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffened his back and taken -it like a man. It did not occur to them that they might have broken the -news to him with tact and consideration. - -“But you can depend on us, Jim, to pull him through,” said Mr Riggs -quickly. “Remember how we saved you back there in Calcutta when all the -fool doctors said you hadn't a chance? Well, sir, we're still------” - -“If any feller can get well with a bullet through his----” began Mr -Dawes encouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his -hands over his eyes and sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on -his lips. - -“I guess we'd better go,” whispered Mr Riggs, after a moment of -indecision, and then, inspired by a certain fear for his friend, struck -the gong resoundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room, -encountering Ranjab just outside the door. - -“You must stick to it, Ranjab,” said Mr Riggs sternly. - -“With your dying breath,” added Mr Dawes, and the Hindu, understanding, -gravely nodded his head. - -“Well?” said Brood, long afterward, raising his haggard face to meet the -gaze of the motionless brown man who had been standing in his presence -for many minutes. - -“She ask permission of _sahib_ to be near him until the end,” said the -Hindu. “She will not go away. I have heard the words she say to the -_sahibah_, and the _sahibah_ is silent as the tomb. She say no word for -herself, just sit and look at the floor and never move. Then she accuse -the _sahibah_ of being the cause of the young master's death, and the -_sahibah_ only nod her head to that and go out of the room and up to the -place where the young master is, and they cannot keep her from going in. -She just look at the woman in the white cap and the woman step aside. -The _sahibah_ is now with the young master and the doctors. She is not -of this world, _sahib_, but of another.” - -“And Miss Desmond? Where is she?” - -“She wait in the hall outside his door. Ranjab have speech with her. -She does not believe Ranjab. She look into his eye and his eye is -not honest; she see it all. She say the young master shoot himself -and------” - -“I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab,” said Brood stolidly. “She must -know, she and her mother. To-night I shall see them, but not now. -Suicide! Poor, poor Lydia!” - -“Miss Lydia say she blame herself for everything. She is a coward, she -say, and Ranjab he understand. She came yesterday and went away. Ranjab -tell her the _sahib_ no can see her.” - -“Yesterday? I know. She came to plead with me. I know,” groaned Brood -bitterly. - -“She will not speak her thoughts to the world, _sahib_,” asserted -Ranjab. “Thy servant have spoken his words and she will not deny him. It -is for the young master's sake. But she say she _know_ he shoot himself -because he no can bear the disgrace------” - -“Enough, Ranjab,” interrupted the master. “To-night I shall tell her -everything. Go now and fetch me the latest word.” - -The Hindu remained motionless just inside the door. His eyes were -closed. - -“Ranjab talk to the winds, _sahib_. The winds speak to him. The young -master is alive. The great doctor he search for the bullet. It is bad. -But the _sahibah_ stand between him and death. She hold back death. She -laugh at death. She say it no can be. Ranjab know her now. Here in this -room he see the two woman in her, and he no more will be blind. She -stand there before Ranjab, who would kill, and out of the air came a new -spirit to shield her. Her eyes are the eyes of another who does not live -in the flesh, and Ranjab bends the knee. He see the inside. It is not -black. It is full of light, a great big light, _sahib_. Thy servant -would kill his master's wife, but, Allah defend! He cannot kill the -wife who is already dead. His master's wives stand before him--two, not -one--and his hand is stop.” - -Brood was regarding him through wide--open, incredulous eyes. “You--you -saw it, too?” he gasped. - -“The serpent is deadly. Many time Ranjab have take the poison from its -fangs and it becomes his slave. He would have take the poison from the -serpent in his master's house, but the serpent change before his eye and -he become the slave. She speak to him on the voice of the wind and he -obey. It is the law. Kismet! His master have of wives two. Two, _sahib_, -the living and the dead. They speak with Ranjab to-day and he obey.” - -There was dead silence in the room for many minutes after the remarkable -utterances of the mystic. Master and man looked into each other's eyes -and spoke no more, yet something passed between them. - -“The _sahibah_ has sent Roberts for a priest,” said the Hindu at last. - -“A priest? But I am not a Catholic--nor Frederic.” - -“Madam is. The servants are saying that the priest will be here too -late. They are wondering why you have not already killed me, _sahib_.” - -“Kill you, _too?_” - -“They are now saying that the last stroke of the gong, _sahib_, was the -death-sentence for Ranjab. It called me here to be slain by you. I have -told them all that I fired the------” - -“Go down at once, my friend,” said Brood, laying his hand on the man's -shoulder. “Let them see that I do not blame you, even though we permit -them to believe this lie of ours. Go, my friend!” - -The man bent his head and turned away. Near the door he stopped -stock-still and listened intently. - -“The _sahibah_ comes.” - -“Aye, she said she would come to me here,” said Brood, and his jaw -hardened. “Hodder--sent for me, Ranjab, an hour ago, but--but he was -conscious then. His eyes were open. I--I could not look into them. There -would have been hatred in them--hatred for me, and I--I could not go. -I was a coward. Yes, a coward, after all. She would have been there to -watch me as I cringed. I was afraid of what I might do to her then.” - -“He is not conscious now, _sahib_” said the Hindu slowly. - -“Still,” said the other, compressing his lips, “I am afraid--I am -afraid. Ranjab, you do not know what it means to be a coward! You------” - -“And yet, _sahib_, you are brave enough to stand on the spot where he -fell, where his blood flowed, and that is not what a coward would do.” - -The door opened and closed swiftly and he was gone. Brood allowed his -dull, wondering gaze to sink to his feet. He was standing on the spot -where Frederic had fallen. There was no blood there now. The rug had -been removed, and before his own eyes the swift-moving Hindu had washed -the floor and table and put the room in order. All this seemed ages -ago. Since that time he had bared his soul to the smirking Buddha, and -receiving no consolation from the smug image, had violently cursed the -thing. - -Since then he had waited--he had waited for many things to happen. He -knew all that took place below stairs. He knew when Lydia came and he -denied himself to her. The coming of the police, the nurses and the -anæsthetician, and later on Mrs John Desmond and the reporters. All this -he had known, for he had listened at a crack in the open door. And he -had heard his wife's calm, authoritative voice in the hall below, giving -directions. Now for the first time he looked about him and felt himself -attended by ghosts. In that instant he came to hate this once-loved -room, this cherished retreat, and all that it contained. He would never -set his foot inside of its four walls again. It was filled with ghosts! - -On the corner of the table lay a great heap of manuscript, the story -of his life up to the escape from Thassa. The sheets of paper had been -scattered over the floor by the surgeon, but now they were back in -perfect order, replaced by another hand. He thought of the final chapter -that would have to be written if he went on with the journal. It would -have to be written, for it was the true story of his life. He strode -swiftly to the table. In another instant the work of many months would -have been torn to bits of waste paper. But his hand was stayed. Someone -had stopped outside his door. He could not hear a sound, and yet he knew -that a hand was on the heavy latch. He suddenly recalled his remark to -the old men. He would have to _write_ the final chapter, after all. - -He waited. He knew that she was out there, collecting all of her -strength for the coming interview. She was fortifying herself against -the crisis that was so near at hand. To his own surprise and distress -of mind he found himself trembling and suddenly deprived of the fierce -energy that he had stored up for the encounter. He wondered whether he -would command the situation, after all, notwithstanding his righteous -charge against her. - -She had wantonly sought to entice Frederic, she had planned to dishonour -her husband, she had proved herself unwholesome and false, and her heart -was evil. And yet he wondered whether he would be able to stand his -ground against her. - -So far she had ruled. At the outset he had attempted to assert his -authority as the master of the house in this trying, heart-breaking -hour, and she had calmly waved him aside. His first thought had been to -take his proper place at the bedside of his victim and there to remain -until the end, but she had said: “You are not to go in. You have done -enough for one day. If he must die, let it be in peace and not in fear. -You are not to go in,” and he had crept away to hide! - -He remembered her words later on when Hodder sent for him to come down. -“Not in fear,” she had said. - -On the edge of the table, where it had reposed since Dr Hodder dropped -it there, was the small photograph of Matilde. He had not touched it, -but he had bent over it for many minutes at a time, studying the sweet, -never-to-be-forgotten, and yet curiously unfamiliar features of that -long-ago loved one. He looked at it now as he waited for the door to -open, and his thoughts leaped back to the last glimpse he had ever had -of that adorable face. Then it was white with despair and misery; -here it looked up at him with smiling eyes and the languor of unbroken -tranquillity. - -Suddenly he realised that the room was quite dark. He dashed to the -window and threw aside the broad, thick curtains. A stream of afternoon -sunshine rushed into the place. He would have light this time; he would -not be deceived by the darkness, as he had been once before. This time -he would see her face plainly. There should be no sickening illusion. He -straightened his tall figure and waited for the door to open. - -The window at his back was open. He heard a penetrating but hushed -voice speaking from one of the windows across the court, from his wife's -window, he knew without a glance of inquiry. - -Céleste, her maid, was giving orders in great agitation to the -furnace-man in the yard below. - -“No, no, you big fool! I am not dismiss. I am not going away--no. Tak' -_zem_ back. _Madame_ has change her mind. I am not fire non, _non!_ Tak' -zem back, _vitement!_ I go some other day!” - -The door was opened suddenly and Yvonne came into the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -If she had hesitated outside the room to summon the courage to face -the man who would demand so much of her, there was nothing in her manner -when she entered to indicate that such had been the case. She approached -him without a symptom of nervousness or irresolution. Her dark eyes met -his without wavering, and there was purpose in them. - -She devoted a single glance of surprise to the uncurtained window on -entering the door, and an instant later scrutinised the floor with -unmistakable interest, as if expecting to find something there to -account for his motive in admitting the glare of light, something to -confound and accuse her. But there was no fear in the look. - -She had put on a rather plain white blouse, open at the neck. The cuffs -were rolled up nearly to the elbows, evidence that she had been -using her hands in some active employment and had either forgotten or -neglected to restore the sleeves to their proper position. A chic -black walking-skirt lent to her trim, erect figure a suggestion of -girlishness. - -Her arms hung straight down at her sides, limply it would have seemed at -first glance, but in reality they were rigid. - -“I have come, as I said I would,” she said, after a long, tense -silence. Her voice was low, huskier than ever, but without a tremor of -excitement. “You did not say you would wait for me here, but I knew you -would do so. The hour of reckoning has come. We must pay, both of us. -I am not frightened by your silence, James, nor am I afraid of what you -may say or do. First of all, it is expected that Frederic will die. Dr -Hodder has proclaimed it. He is a great surgeon. He ought to know. But -he doesn't know--do you hear? He does not know. I shall not let him -die.” - -“One moment, if you please,” said her husband coldly. “You may spare me -the theatrics. Moreover, we will not discuss Frederic. What we have to -say to each other has little to do with that poor boy downstairs. This -is _your_ hour of reckoning, not his. Bear that------” - -“You are very much mistaken,” she interrupted, her gaze growing more -fixed than before. “He is a part of our reckoning. He is the one great -character in this miserable, unlooked-for tragedy. Will you be so kind -as to draw those curtains? And do me the honour to allow me to sit in -your presence.” - -There was infinite scorn in her voice. “I am very tired. I have not been -idle. Every minute of my waking hours belongs to your son, James Brood, -but I owe this half-hour to you. You shall know the truth about me, as -I know it about you. I did not count on this hour ever being a part of -my life, but it has to be, and I shall face it without weeping over what -might have been. Will you draw the curtains?” - -He hesitated a moment and then jerked the curtains together, shutting -out the pitiless glare. - -“Will you be seated there?” he said quietly, pointing to a chair at the -end of the table. - -She switched on the light in the big lamp, but instead of taking the -chair indicated, sank into one on the opposite side of the table, with -the mellow light full upon her lovely, serious face. - -“Sit there,” she said, signifying the chair he had requested her to -take. “Please sit down,” she went on impatiently, as he continued to -regard her forbiddingly from his position near the window. - -“I shall be better able to say what I have to say standing,” he said -significantly. - -“Do you expect me to plead with you for forgiveness?” she inquired, with -an unmistakable look of surprise. - -“You may save yourself the humiliation of such----” - -“But you are gravely mistaken,” she interrupted. “I shall ask nothing of -you.” - -“Then we need not prolong the------” - -“I have come to explain, not to plead,” she went on resolutely. “I want -to tell you why I married you. You will not find it a pleasant story, -nor will you be proud of your conquest. It will not be necessary for -you to turn me out of your house. I entered it with the determination to -leave it in my own good time. I think you had better sit down.” - -He looked at her fixedly for a moment, as if striving to materialise -a thought that lay somewhere in the back of his mind. He was vaguely -conscious of an impression that he could unfathom all this seeming -mystery without a suggestion from her if given the time to concentrate -his mind on the vague, hazy suggestion that tormented his memory. - -He sat down opposite her and rested his arms on the table. The lines -about his mouth were rigid, uncompromising, but there was a look of -wonder in his eyes. - -She leaned forward in her chair, the better to watch the changing -expression in his eyes as she progressed with her story. Her hands were -clenched tightly under the table's edge. - -“You are looking into my eyes, as you have looked a hundred times,” she -said after a moment. “There is something in them that has puzzled you -since the night when you looked into them across that great ballroom -in London. You have always felt that they were not new to you, that you -have had them constantly in front of you for ages. Do you remember when -you first saw me, James Brood?” - -He stared, and his eyes widened. - -“I never saw you in my life until that night in London, I------” - -“Look closely. Isn't there something more than doubt in your mind as you -look into them now?” - -“I confess that I have always been puzzled by by something I cannot -understand in--but all this leads to nothing,” he broke off harshly. “We -are not here to mystify each other, but to------” - -“To explain mysteries, that's it, of course. You are looking. What do -you see? Are you not sure that you looked into my eyes long, long ago? -Are there not moments when my voice is familiar to you, when it speaks -to you out of------” - -He sat up, rigid as a block of stone. - -“Yes, by Heaven, I have felt it all along! To-day I was convinced that -the unbelievable had happened. I saw something that------” He stopped -short, his lips parted. - -She waved her hand in the direction of the Buddha. - -“Have you never petitioned your too-stolid friend over there to unravel -the mystery for you? In the quiet of certain lonely, speculative hours -have you not wondered where you had seen me before, long, long before -the night in London? In all the years that you have been trying to -convince yourself that Frederic is not your son has there not been the -vision of------” - -“What are you saying to me? Are you trying to tell me that you are -Matilde?” - -“If not Matilde, then who am I, pray?” she demanded. - -He sank back frowning. - -“It cannot be possible. I would know her a thousand years from now. You -cannot trick me into believing--but, who are you?” He leaned forward -again, clutching the edge of the table. “I sometimes think you are a -ghost come to haunt me, to torture me. What trick, what magic is -behind all this? Has her soul, her spirit, her actual being found a -lodging-place in you, and have you been sent to curse me for------” - -She rose half-way out of her chair, leaning farther across the table. - -“Yes, James Brood, I represent the spirit of Matilde Valeska, if you -will have it so. Not sent to curse you, but to love you. That's the pity -of it all. I swear to you that it is the spirit of Matilde that urges -me to love you and to spare you now. It is the spirit of Matilde that -stands between her son and death. But it is not Matilde who confronts -you here and now, you may be sure of that. Matilde loved you. She loves -you now, even in her grave. You will never be able to escape from that -wonderful love of hers. If there have been times--and God help me, there -were many, I know--when I appeared to love you for myself, I swear -to you that I was moved by the spirit of Matilde. I--I am as much -mystified, as greatly puzzled as yourself. I came here to hate you, and -I have loved you; yes, there were moments when I actually loved you.” - -Her voice died away into a whisper. For many seconds they sat looking -into each other's eyes, neither possessing the power to break the -strange spell of silence that had fallen upon them. - -“No, it is not Matilde who confronts you now, but one who would not -spare you as she did up to the hour of her death. You are quite safe -from ghosts from this hour on, my friend. You will never see Matilde -again, though you look into my eyes till the end of time. Frederic may -see, may feel the spirit of his mother, but you--ah, no! You have seen -the last of her. Her blood is in my veins, her wrongs are in my heart. -It was she with whom you fell in love, and it was she you married six -months ago, but now the curtain is lifted. Don't you know me now, James? -Can your memory carry you back twenty-three years and deliver you from -doubt and perplexity? Look closely, I say. I was six years old then, -and------” - -Brood was glaring at her as one stupefied. Suddenly he cried out in a -loud voice. “You are you are the little sister? The little Thérèse?” - -She was standing now, leaning far over the table, for he had shrunk down -into his chair. - -“The little Thérèse, yes! Now do you begin to see? Now do you begin to -realise what I came here to do? Now do you know why I married you? Isn't -it clear to you? Well, I have tried to do all these things so that I -might break your heart as you broke hers. I came to make you pay!” - -She was speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her voice was high-pitched and -unnatural. Her eyes seemed to be driving him deeper and deeper into the -chair, forcing him down as though with a giant's hand. - -“The little, timid, heart-broken Thérèse who would not speak to you, -nor kiss you, nor say goodbye to you when you took her darling sister -away from the Bristol in the _Kartnerring_ more than twenty years ago. -Ah, how I loved her, how I loved her! And how I hated you for taking -her away from me. Shall I ever forget that wedding night? Shall I ever -forget the grief, the loneliness, the hatred that dwelt in my poor -little heart that night? Everyone was happy, the whole world was happy; -but was I? I was crushed with grief. You were taking her away across the -awful sea, and you were to make her happy, so they said, _aïe_, so said -my beloved, joyous sister. - -“You stood before the altar in St Stephens's with her and promised, -promised, promised everything. I heard you. I sat with my mother and -turned to ice, but I heard you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that you -promised naught but happiness to each other. She was twenty-one. She -was lovely; ah, far lovelier than that wretched photograph lying there -in front of you. It was made when she was eighteen. She did not write -those words on the back of the card. I wrote them, not more than a month -ago, before I gave it to Frederic. To this house she came twenty-three -years ago. You brought her here the happiest girl in all the world. How -did you send her away? How?” - -He stirred in the chair. A spasm of pain crossed his face. - -“And I was the happiest man in all the world,” he said hoarsely. “You -are forgetting one thing, Thérèse.” He fell into the way of calling her -Thérèse as if he had known her by no other name. “Your sister was not -content to preserve the happiness that------” - -“Stop!” she commanded. “You are not to speak evil of her now. You will -never think evil of her after what I am about to tell you. You will -curse yourself. Somehow I am glad that my plans have gone awry. It gives -me the opportunity to see you curse yourself.” - -“Her sister!” muttered the man unbelievingly. “I have married the child -Thérèse. I have held her sister in my arms all these months and never -knew. It is a dream. I------” - -“Ah, but you have _felt_, even though------” - -He struck the table violently with his fist. His eyes were blazing. - -“What manner of woman are you? What were you planning to do to that -unhappy boy--her son? Are you a fiend to------” - -“In good time, James, you will know what manner of woman I am,” she -interrupted quietly. Sinking back in the chair, she resumed the broken -strain, all the time watching him through half--closed eyes. “She died -ten years ago. Her boy was twelve years old. She never saw him after the -night you turned her away from this house. On her death-bed, as she was -releasing her pure, undefiled soul to God's keeping, she repeated to -the priest who went through the unnecessary form of absolving her, -she repeated her solemn declaration that she had never wronged you by -thought or deed. I had always believed her, the holy priest believed -her, God believed her. You would have believed her, too, James Brood. -She was a good woman. Do you hear? And you put a curse upon her and -drove her out into the night. That was not all. You persecuted her to -the end of her unhappy life. You did that to my sister!” - -“And yet you married me,” he muttered thickly. - -“Not because I loved you; oh, no! She loved you to the day of her death, -after all the misery and suffering you had heaped upon her. No woman -ever endured the anguish that she suffered throughout those hungry -years. You kept her child from her. You denied him to her, even though -you denied him to yourself. Why did you keep him from her? She was his -mother. She had borne him; he was all hers. But no! It was your revenge -to deprive her of the child she had brought into the world. You worked -deliberately in this plan to crush what little there was left in life -for her. - -“You kept him with you, though you branded him with a name I cannot -utter; you guarded him as if he were your most precious possession, and -not a curse to your pride; you did this because you knew that you could -drive the barb more deeply into her tortured heart. You allowed her to -die, after years of pleading, after years of vain endeavour, without -one glimpse of her boy, without ever having heard the word mother on -his lips. That is what you did to my sister. For twelve long years you -gloated over her misery. Man, man, how I hated you when I married you!” - She paused, breathless. - -“You are creating an excuse for your devilish conduct!” he exclaimed -harshly. “You are like Matilde, false to the core. You married me for -the luxury I could provide, notwithstanding the curse I had put upon -your sister. I don't believe a word of what you are saying to------” - -“Don't you believe that I am her sister?” - -“You, yes; I must believe that. Why have I been so blind? You are the -little Thérèse, and you hated me in those other days. I remember well -the------” - -“A child's despairing hatred because you were taking away the being she -loved best of all. Will you believe me when I say that my hatred did not -endure for long? When her happy, joyous letters came back to us filled -with accounts of your goodness, your devotion, I allowed my hatred to -die. I forgot that you had robbed me. I came to look upon you as the -fairy prince, after all. It was not until she came all the way across -the ocean and began to die before our eyes--she was years in dying--it - was not until then that I began to hate you with a real, undying -hatred.” - -“And yet you gave yourself to me!” he cried. “You put yourself in her -place! In Heaven's name, what was to be gained by such an act as that?” - -“I wanted to take Matilde's boy away from you,” she hurried on, and for -the first time her eyes began to waver. “The idea suggested itself to -me the night I met you at the comtesse's dinner. It was a wonderful, -a tremendous thought that entered my brain. At first my real self -revolted, but as time went on the idea became an obsession. I married -you, James Brood, for the sole purpose of hurting you in the worst -possible way: by having Matilde's son strike you where the pain would be -the greatest. Ah, you are thinking that I would have permitted myself -to have become his mistress, but you are mistaken. I am not that bad. I -would not have damned his soul in that way. I would not have betrayed my -sister in that way. Far more subtle was my design. I confess that it was -my plan to make him fall in love with me and in the end to run away with -him, leaving you to think that the very worst had happened. But it would -not have been as you think. He would have been protected, my friend, -amply protected. He------” - -“But you would have wrecked him; don't you see that you would have -wrecked the life you sought to protect? How blind and unfeeling you -were. You say that he was my son and Matilde's, honestly born. What -was your object, may I inquire, in striking me at such cost to him? You -would have made a scoundrel of him for the sake of a personal vengeance. -Are you forgetting that he regarded himself as my son?” - -“No; I do not forget, James. There was but one way in which I could hope -to steal him away from you, and I went about it deliberately, with my -eyes open. I came here to induce him to run away with me. I would have -taken him back to his mother's home, to her grave, and there I would -have told him what you did to her. If, after hearing my story, he -elected to return to the man who had destroyed his mother, I should have -stepped aside and offered no protest. - -“But I would have taken him away from you in the manner that would have -hurt you the worst. My sister was true to you. I would have been just as -true, and after you had suffered the torments of hell, it was my plan to -reveal everything to you. But you would have had your punishment by that -time. When you were at the very end of your strength, when you trembled -on the edge of oblivion, then I would have hunted you out and laughed -at you and told you the truth. But you would have had years of -anguish--years, I say.” - -“I have already had years of agony, pray do not overlook that fact,” - said he. “I suffered for twenty years. I was at the edge of oblivion more -than once, if it is a pleasure for you to hear me say it, Thérèse.” - -“It does not offset the pain that her suffering brought to me. It does -not counterbalance the unhappiness you gave to her boy, nor the stigma -you put upon him. I am glad that you suffered. It proves to me that you -secretly considered yourself to be in the wrong. You doubted yourself. -You were never sure, and yet you crushed the life out of her innocent, -bleeding heart. You let her die without a word to show that you------” - -“I was lost to the world for years,” he said. “There were many years -when I was not in touch with------” - -“But her letters must have reached you. She wrote a thousand of--------” - -“They never reached me,” he said significantly. - -“You ordered them to be destroyed?” she cried in sudden comprehension. - -“I must decline to answer that question.” - -She gave him a curious, incredulous smile and then abruptly returned to -her charge. - -“When my sister came home, degraded, I was nine years of age, but I was -not so young that I did not know that a dreadful thing had happened to -her. She was blighted beyond all hope of recovery. It was to me, little -me, that she told her story over and over again, and it was I to whom -she read all of the pitiful letters she wrote to you. My father wanted -to come to America to kill you. He did come later on to plead with you -and to kill you if you would not listen to him. But you had gone--to -Africa, they said. I could not understand why you would not give to her -that little baby boy. He was hers, and------” - -She stopped short in her recital and covered her eyes with her hands. -He waited for her to go on, sitting as rigid as the image that faced him -from beyond the table's end. - -“Afterward my father and my uncles made every effort to get the child -away from you, but he was hidden; you know how carefully he was hidden -so that she might never find him. For ten years they searched for him, -and you. For ten years she wrote to you, begging you to let her have -him, if only for a little while at a time. She promised to restore him -to you. You never replied. You scorned her. We were rich, very rich. -But our money was of no help to us in the search for her boy. You had -secreted him too well. At last, one day, she told me what it was -that you accused her of doing. She told me about Guido Feverelli, her -music-master. I knew him, James. He had known her from childhood. He -was one of the finest men I have ever seen.” - -“He was in love with her,” grated Brood. - -“Perhaps. Who knows? But if so, he never uttered so much as one word of -love to her. He challenged you. Why did you refuse to fight him?” - -“Because she begged me not to kill him. Did she tell you that?” - -“Yes. But that was not the real reason. It was because you were not sure -of your ground.” - -“I deny that!” - -“Never mind! It is enough that poor Feverelli passed out of her life. -She did not see him again until just before she died. He was a noble -gentleman. He wrote but one letter to her after that wretched day in -this house. I have it here in this packet.” - -She drew a package of letters, tied with a white ribbon, from her bosom -and laid it upon the table before him. - -“But one letter from him,” she went on. “I have brought it here for you -to read. But not now. There are other letters and documents here for -you to consider. They are from the grave. Ah, I do not wonder that you -shrink and draw back from them. They convict you, James.” - -“Now I can see why you have taken up this fight against me. You--you -knew she was innocent,” he said in a low, unsteady voice. - -“And why I have hated you, _aïe?_ But what you do not understand is how -I could have brought myself to the point of loving you.” - -“Loving me! Good Heaven, woman, what do you------” - -“Loving you in spite of myself,” she cried, beating upon the table with -her hands. “I have tried to convince myself that it was not I, but the -spirit of Matilde that had come to lodge in my treacherous body. I hated -you for myself and I loved you for Matilde. She loved you to the end. -She never hated you. That was it. The pure, deathless love of Matilde -was constantly fighting against the hatred I bore for you. I believe as -firmly as I believe that I am alive that she has been near me all the -time, battling against my insane desire for vengeance. You have only -to recall to yourself the moments when you were so vividly reminded of -Matilde Valeska. At those times I am sure that something of Matilde was -in me. I was not myself. You have looked into my eyes a thousand times -with a question in your own. Your soul was striving to reach the soul -of Matilde. Ah, all these months I have known that you love Matilde, not -me. You loved Matilde that was in me. You------” - -“I have thought of her, always of her, when you were in my arms.” - -“I know how well you loved her,” she declared slowly. “I know that you -went to her tomb long after her death was revealed to you. I know that -years ago you made an effort to find Feverelli. You found his grave, -too, and you could not ask him, man to man, if you had wronged her. But -in spite of all that you brought up her boy to be sacrificed as------” - -“I--I--am I to believe you? If he should be my son!” he cried, starting -up, cold with dread. - -“He is your son. He could be no other man's son. I have her dying word -for it. She declared it in the presence of her God. Wait! Where are you -going?” - -“I am going down to him!” - -“Not yet, James. I have still more to say to you, more to confess. Here! -Take this package of letters. Read them as you sit beside his bed--not -his death-bed, for I shall restore him to health, never fear. If he -were to die I should curse myself to the end of time, for I and I alone -would have been the cause. Here are her letters, and the one Feverelli -wrote to her. This is her death-bed letter to you. And this is a letter -to her son and yours. You may some day read it to him. And here--this is -a document requiring me to share my fortune with her son. It is a pledge -that I took before my father died a few years ago. If the boy ever -appeared he was to have his mother's share of the estate, and it is not -an inconsiderable amount, James. He is independent of you. He need ask -nothing of you. I was taking him home to his own.” - -She shrank slightly as he stood over her. There was more of wonder and -pity in his face than condemnation. She looked for the anger she had -expected to arouse in him, and was dumbfounded to see that it was not -revealed in his steady, appraising eyes. - -“Your plan deserved a better fate than this, Yv--Thérèse. It was -prodigious! I--I can almost pity you.” - -“Have you no pain, no regret, no grief?” she cried weakly. - -“Yes,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty. “Yes, I know all -these and more.” He picked up the package of letters and glanced at the -superscription on the outer envelope. Suddenly he raised them to his -lips and, with his eyes closed, kissed the words that were written -there. Her head drooped and a sob came into her throat. She did not look -up until he began speaking to her again, quietly, even patiently. - -“But why should you, even in your longing for revenge, have planned to -humiliate and degrade him even more than I could have done? Was it just -to your sister's son that you should blight his life, that you should -turn him into a skulking, sneaking betrayer? What would you have gained -in the end? His loathing, his scorn. Thérèse, did you not think of all -this?” - -“I have told you that I thought of everything. I was mistaken. I did -not stop to think that I would be taking him away from happiness in the -shape of love that he might bear for someone else. I did not know that -there was a Lydia Desmond. When I came to know my heart softened and -my purpose lost most of its force. He would have been safe with me, but -would he have been happy? I could not give him the kind of love that -Lydia promised. I could only be his mother's sister to him. He was not -in love with me. He has always loved Lydia. I fascinated him, just as I -fascinated you. He would not have gone away with me, even after you had -told him that he was not your son. He would not do that to you, James, -in spite of the blow you struck him. He was loyal to Lydia and to -himself.” - -“And what did he think of _you?_” demanded Brood scornfully. - -“If you had not come upon us here he would have known me for who I am, -and he would have forgiven me. I had asked him to go away with me. He -refused. Then I was about to tell him the whole story of my life, of his -life, and of yours. Do you think he would have refused forgiveness to -me? No! He would have understood.” - -“But up to that hour he thought of you as--what shall I say?” - -“A bad woman? Perhaps. I did not care. It was part of the price I was to -pay in advance. I would have told him everything as soon as the ship on -which we sailed was outside the harbour yonder. That was my intention, -and I know you believe me when I say that there was nothing more in my -mind. Time would have straightened everything out for him. He could have -had his Lydia, even though he went away with me. Once away from here, do -you think that he would ever return? No! Even though he knew you to -be his father, he would not forget that he has never been your son. You -have hurt him since he was a babe. Would he forget? Would he forgive? -No! When you came into this room and found us, I was about to go down -on my knees to him to thank him for saving me from my own designs. I -realised then, as I had come to suspect in the past few months, that I -had not counted on my own conscience. - -“James, I--I would not have carried out my plan. I had faltered, and my -cause was lost. What have I accomplished? Am I able to gloat over you? -What have I wrought, after all? I weakened under the love she bore for -you, I permitted it to creep in and fill my heart. Do you understand? -I do not hate you now. It is something to know that you have worshipped -her all these years. You were true to her. What you did long, long ago -was not your fault. You believed that she had wronged you. But you went -on loving her. That is what weakened my resolve. You loved her to the -end, she loved you to the end. Well, in the face of that, could I go on -hating you? You must have been worthy of her love. She knew you better -than all the world. You came to me with love for her in your heart. You -took me, and you loved her all the time. I am not sure, James, that you -are not entitled to this miserable, unhappy love I have come to feel for -you--my own love, not Matilde's.” - -“You are saying this so that I may refrain from throwing you out into -the street------” - -“No!” she cried, coming to her feet. “I shall ask nothing of you. If -I am to go, it shall be because I have failed. I have been a blind, -vainglorious fool. The trap has caught me instead of you, and I shall -take the consequences. I have lost everything!” - -“You have lost _everything_,” said he steadily. - -“'You despise me?” - -“I cannot ask you to stay here after this.” - -“But I shall not go. I have a duty to perform before I leave this house. -I intend to save the life of that poor boy downstairs, so that he may -not die believing me to be an evil woman, a faithless wife. Thank God, I -have accomplished something! You know that he is your son. You know that -my sister was as pure as snow. You know that you killed her, and -that she loved you in spite of the death you brought to her. That is -something.” - -Brood dropped into the chair and buried his face on his quivering arms. -In muffled tones came the cry from his soul: - -“They've all said that he is like me. I have seen it at times, but I -would not believe. I fought against it resolutely, madly, cruelly! Now -it is too late and I _see!_ I see, I feel! You curse of mankind, you -have driven me to the killing of my own son!” - -She stood over him, silent for a long time, her hand hovering above his -head. - -“He is not going to die,” she said at last, when she was sure that she -had full command of her voice. “I can promise you that, James. I shall -not go from this house until he is well. I shall nurse him to health and -give him back to you and Matilde, for now I know that he belongs to both -of you and not to her alone. Now, James, you may go down to him. He is -not conscious. He will not hear you praying at his bedside. He------” - -A knock came at the door--a sharp, imperative knock. It was repeated -several times before either of them could summon the courage to call -out. They were petrified with the dread of something that awaited them -beyond the closed door. It was she who finally called out: - -“Come in!” - -Dr Hodder, coatless and bare-armed, came into the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -The doctor blinked for a moment. The two were leaning forward with -alarm in their eyes, their hands gripping the table. - -“Well, are we to send for an undertaker?” demanded Hodder irritably. - -Brood started forward. - -“Is--is he dead?” - -“Of course not, but he might as well be!” exclaimed the doctor. It was -plain to be seen that he was very much out of patience. “You've called -in another doctor and a priest, and now I hear that a Presbyterian -parson is in the library. Hang it all, Brood, why don't you send for the -coroner and undertaker and have done with it! I'm blessed if I------” - -Yvonne came swiftly to his side. - -“Is he conscious? Does he know?” - -“Hodder, is there any hope?” cried Brood. - -“I'll be honest with you, Jim. I don't believe there is. It went in -here, above the heart, and it's lodged back here by the spine somewhere. -We haven't located it yet, but we will. Had to let up on the ether for a -while, you see. He opened his eyes a few minutes ago, Mrs Brood, and -my assistant is certain that he whispered Lydia Desmond's name. Sounded -that way to him, but, of course------” - -“There! You see, James?” she cried, whirling upon her husband. - -“I think you'd better step in and see him now, Jim,” said the doctor, -suddenly becoming very gentle. “He may come to again, and it may be the -last time he'll ever open his eyes. Yes, it's as bad as that.” - -“I'll go,” said Brood, his face ashen. “You must revive him for a few -minutes, Hodder. There's something I've got to say to him. He must -be able to hear and understand me. It is the most important thing in -the------” He choked up suddenly. - -“You'll have to be careful, Jim. He's ready to collapse. Then it's all -off.” - -“Nevertheless, Dr Hodder, my husband has something to say to his son -that cannot be put off for an instant. I think it will mean a great deal -to him in his fight for recovery. It will make life worth living for -him.” - -Hodder stared for a second or two. - -“He'll need a lot of courage, and if anything can put it into him he'll -make a better fight. If you get a chance, say it to him, Jim. If it's -got anything to do with his mother, say it. He has moaned the word a -dozen times------” - -“It has to do with his mother!” Brood cried out. “Come! I want you to -hear it, too, Hodder.” - -“There isn't much time to lose, I'm afraid,” began Hodder, shaking his -head. His gaze suddenly rested on Mrs Brood's face. She was very erect, -and a smile such as he had never seen before was on her lips, a smile -that puzzled and yet inspired him with a positive, undeniable feeling of -encouragement. - -“He is not going to die, Dr Hodder,” she said quietly. Something went -through his body that warmed it curiously. He felt a thrill, as one who -is seized by a great, overpowering excitement. - -She preceded them into the hall. Brood came last. He closed the door -behind him after a swift glance about the room that had been his most -private retreat for years. - -He was never to set foot inside its walls again. In that single glance -he bade farewell to it for ever. -It was a hated, unlovely spot. He had spent an age in it during those -bitter morning hours, an age of imprisonment. - -On the landing below they came upon Lydia. She was seated on a -window-ledge, leaning wearily against the casement. She did not rise as -they approached, but watched them with steady, smouldering eyes in which -there was no friendliness, no compassion. They were her enemies; they -had killed the thing she loved. - -Brood's eyes met hers for an instant, and then fell before the bitter -look they encountered. His shoulders drooped as he passed close by her -motionless figure and followed the doctor down the hall to the bedroom -door. It opened and closed an instant later and he was with his son. - -For a long time Lydia's sombre, piteous gaze hung upon the door through -which he had passed and which was closed so cruelly against her, the one -who loved him best of all. At last she looked away; her attention was -caught by a queer, clicking sound near at hand. She was surprised to -find Yvonne Brood standing close beside her, her eyes closed and her -fingers telling the beads that ran through her fingers, her lips moving -in voiceless prayer. - -The girl watched her dully for a few moments, then with growing -fascination. The incomprehensible creature was praying! To Lydia this -seemed to be the most unnatural thing in all the world. She could not -associate prayer with this woman's character; she could not imagine her -having been in all her life possessed of a fervent religious thought. It -was impossible to think of her as being even hypocritically pious. - -Lydia began to experience a strange feeling of irritation. She turned -her face away, unwilling to be a witness to this shallow mockery. She -was herself innately religious. In her secret soul she resented an -appeal to Heaven by this luxurious worldling; she could not bring -herself to think of her as anything else. Prayer seemed a profanation on -her scarlet lips. - -Lydia believed that Frederic had shot himself. She put Yvonne down as -the real cause of the calamity that had fallen upon the house. But for -her, James Brood never would have had a motive for striking the blow -that crushed all desire to live out of the unhappy boy. She had made -of her husband an unfeeling monster, and now she prayed! She had played -with the emotions of two men, and now she begged to be pardoned for her -folly! An inexplicable desire to laugh at the plight of the trifler came -over the girl, but even as she checked it another and more unaccountable -force ordered her to obey the impulse to turn once more to look into the -face of her companion. - -Yvonne was looking at her. She had ceased telling the beads, and her -hands hung limply at her sides. For a full minute, perhaps, the two -regarded each other without speaking. - -“He is not going to die, Lydia,” said Yvonne gravely. - -The girl started to her feet. - -“Do you think it is your prayer, and not mine, that has reached God's -ears?'” she cried. - -“The prayer of a nobler woman than either of you or I has gone to the -throne,” said the other. - -Lydia's eyes grew dark with resentment. - -“You could have prevented all------” - -“Be good enough to remember that you have said all that to me before, -Lydia.” - -“What is your object in keeping me away from him at such a time as this, -Mrs Brood?” demanded Lydia. “You refuse to let me go in to him. Is it -because you are afraid of what------” - -“There are trying days ahead of us, Lydia,” interrupted Yvonne. “We will -have to face them together. I can promise you this: Frederic will be -saved for you. To-morrow, next day, perhaps, I may be able to explain -everything to you. You hate me to-day. Everyone in this house hates me, -even Frederic. There is a day coming when you will not hate me. That was -my prayer, Lydia. I was not praying for Frederic, but for myself.” - -“For yourself? I might have known you------” - -“You hesitate? Perhaps it is just as well.” - -“I want to say to you, Mrs Brood, that it is my purpose to remain in -this house as long as I can be------” - -“You are welcome, Lydia. You will be the one great tonic that is to -restore him to health of mind and body. Yes, I shall go further and say -that you are commanded to stay here and help me in the long fight that -is ahead of us.” - -“I thank you, Mrs Brood,” the girl was surprised into saying. - -Both of them turned quickly as the door to Frederic's room opened and -James Brood came out into the hall. His face was drawn with pain and -anxiety, but the light of exaltation was in his eyes. - -“Come, Lydia,” he said softly, after he had closed the door behind him. -“He knows me. He is conscious. Hodder can't understand it, but he seems -to have suddenly grown stronger. He------” - -“Stronger?” cried Yvonne, the ring of triumph in her voice. “I knew! -I could feel it coming--his strength--even out here, James. Yes, go -in now, Lydia. You will see a strange sight, my dear. James Brood will -kneel beside his son and tell him------” - -“Come!” said Brood, spreading out his hands in a gesture of admission. -“You must hear it, too, Lydia. Not you, Thérèse! You are not to come -in.” - -“I grant you ten minutes, James,” she said with the air of a dictator. -“After that I shall take my stand beside him and you will not be -needed.” She struck her breast sharply with her clenched hand. “His one -and only hope lies here, James. I am his salvation. I am his strength. -When you come out of that room again it will be to stay out until I give -the word for you to re-enter. Go, now, and put spirit into him. That is -all I ask of you.” - -He stared for a moment and then lowered his head. A moment later Lydia -followed him into the room and Yvonne was alone in the hall. Alone? -Ranjab was ascending the stairs. He came and stood before her and bent -his knee. - -“I forgot,” she said, looking down upon him without a vestige of the old -dread in her eyes. “I have a friend, after all.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -On a warm morning, toward the middle of June, Frederic and Lydia sat in -the quaint, old-world courtyard, almost directly beneath the balcony -of Yvonne's boudoir. He lounged comfortably, yet weakly, in the -invalid-chair that had been wheeled to the spot by Ranjab, and she sat -on a pile of cushions at his feet. - -Looking at him, one would not have thought that he had passed through -the valley of the shadow of death and was but now emerging into the -sunshine of security. His face was pale, but there was a healthy gloss -to the skin and a clear light in the eye. - -For a week or more he had been permitted to walk about the house and -into the garden, always leaning on the arm of his father or the faithful -Hindu. Each succeeding day saw his strength and vitality increase, and -each night he slept with the peace of a care-free child. He was filled -with contentment; he loved life as he had never dreamed it would be -possible for him to love it. There was a song in his heart and there was -a bright star always on the edge of his horizon. - -As for Lydia, she was radiant with happiness. The long fight was over. -She had gone through the campaign against death with loyal, unfaltering -courage; there had never been an instant when her staunch heart had -failed her; there had been distress, but never despair. If the strain -told on her it did not matter, for she was of the fighting kind. Her -love was the sustenance on which she throve, despite the beggarly -offerings that were laid before her during those weeks of famine. Her -strong, young body lost none of its vigour; her splendid spirit gloried -in the tests to which it was subjected, and now she was as serene as the -June day that found her wistfully contemplating the results of victory. - -Times there were when a pensive mood brought the touch of sadness to her -grateful heart. She was happy and Frederic was happy, but what of the -one who actually had wrought the miracle? That one alone was unhappy, -unrequited, undefended. There was no place for her in the new order -of things. When Lydia thought of her, as she often did, it was with an -indescribable craving in her soul. She longed for the hour to come when -Yvonne Brood would lay aside the mask of resignation and demand tribute; -when the strange defiance that held all of them at bay would disappear, -and they could feel that she no longer regarded them as adversaries. - -There was no longer a symptom of rancour in the heart of Lydia Desmond. -She realised that her beloved's recovery was due almost entirely to -the remarkable influence exercised by this woman at a time when mortal -agencies appeared to be of no avail. Her absolute certainty that she had -the power to thwart death, at least in this instance, had its effect not -only on the wounded man, but on those who attended him. - -Dr Hodder and the nurses were not slow to admit that her magnificent -courage, her almost scornful self-assurance, supplied them with an -incentive that otherwise might never have got beyond the form of a mere -hope. There was something positively startling in her serene conviction -that Frederic was not to die. No less a sceptic than the renowned Dr -Hodder confided to Lydia and her mother that he now believed in the -supernatural and never again would say “there is no God.” - -Hodder had gone to James Brood at the end of the third day and, with the -sweat of the haunted on his brow, had whispered hoarsely that the case -was out of his hands. He was no longer the doctor, but an agent governed -by a spirit that would not permit death to claim its own. And somehow -Brood understood far better than the man of science. - -The true story of the shooting had long been known to Lydia and her -mother. Brood confessed everything to them. He assumed all of the blame -for what had transpired on that tragic morning. He humbled himself -before them, and when they shook their heads and turned their backs upon -him he was not surprised, for he knew they were not convicting him of -assault with a deadly firearm. Later on the story of Thérèse was told -by him to Frederic and the girl. He did his wife no injustice in the -recital. - -Frederic laid his hand upon the soft brown head at his knee and voiced -the thought that was in his mind. - -“You are wondering, as I am, too, what is to become of Yvonne after -to-day,” he said. “There must be an end, and if it doesn't come now, -when will it come? To-morrow we sail. It is certain that she is not -to accompany us. She has said so herself, and father has said so. So -to-day must see the end of things.” - -“Frederic, I want you to do something for me,” said Lydia earnestly. -“There was a time when I could not have asked this of you, but now I -implore you to speak to your father in her behalf. I love her, Freddy -dear. I cannot help it. She asks nothing of any of us; she expects -nothing, and yet she loves all of us. If he only would unbend toward her -a little------” - -“Listen, Lyddy dear. I don't believe it's altogether up to him. There is -a barrier that we can't see, but they do, both of them. My mother stands -between them. You see, I've come to know my father lately, dear. He's -not a stranger to me any longer. I know what sort of a heart he's got. -He never got over loving my mother, and he'll never get over knowing -that Yvonne knows that _she_ loved him to the day she died. - -“We know what it was in Yvonne that attracted him from the first, and -she knows. He's not likely to forgive himself so easily. He didn't play -fair with either of them, that's what I'm trying to get at. I don't -believe he can forgive himself any more than he can forgive Yvonne for -the thing she set about to do. - -“You see, Lyddy, she married him without love. She debased herself, -even though she can't admit it even now. I love her, too. She's the most -wonderful woman in the world. But she did give herself to the man she -hated with all her soul and--well, there you are. He can't forget _that_, -you know, and she can't. She loves him for herself now, and that's what -hurts both of them. It hurts because they both know that he still loves -my mother.” - -“She's his wife, however,” said Lydia, with a stubborn pursing of the -lips. “She didn't wrong him, and, after all, she's only guilty of--well, -she isn't guilty of anything except being a sister of the girl _he_ -wronged.” - -“I'll have a talk with him if you think best,” said he, an eager gleam -in his eyes. - -“And I with Yvonne,” she said quickly. “You see, it's possible she is -the one to be persuaded.” - -“Of course, you've observed that they never see one another alone,” - said he. “They never meet except when someone else is about. He rather -resents the high-handed way in which she ordered him to stay away from -me until I was safely out of danger. He says she saved my life. He says -she performed a miracle. But he has never uttered a word of thanks or -gratitude or appreciation to her. I'm sure of that, for she has told me -so. And she is satisfied to go without his thanks.” - -“I see what you mean,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose we just can't -understand things.” - -“You've no idea how beautiful you are to-day, Lyddy,” he cried -suddenly, and she looked up into his glowing eyes with a smile of -ineffable happiness. Her hand found his, and her warm, red lips were -pressed to its palm in a hot, impassioned kiss. “It's great to be alive! -Great!” - -“Oh, it is,” she cried, “it is!” - -They might better have said that it is great to be young, for that is -what it all came to in the analysis. - -Later on Brood joined them in the courtyard. He stood, with his hand on -his son's shoulder, chatting carelessly about the coming voyage, all the -while smiling upon the radiant girl to whom he was promising paradise. -She adored the gentle, kindly gleam in those one-time steady, -steel-like eyes. His voice, too, of late was pitched in a softer key, -and there was the ring of happiness in its every note. It was as if -he had discovered something in life that was constantly surprising and -pleasing him. He seemed always to be venturing into fresh fields of -exploration and finding there something that was of inestimable value to -his new estate. - -Lydia left father and son after a few minutes, excusing herself on the -ground that she wished to have a good, long chat with Yvonne. She did -not delay her departure, but hurried into the house, having rather -adroitly provided Frederic with an opening for an intercession in behalf -of his lovely stepmother. Her meaning glance was not wasted on the young -man. - -He lost no time in following up the advantage. - -“See here, father, I don't like the idea of leaving Yvonne out in the -cold, so to speak. It's pretty darned rough, don't you think? Down in -your heart you don't blame her for what she started out to do, and, -after all, she's only human. Whatever happened in the past we--well, -it's all in the past. She------” - -Brood stopped him with a gesture. - -“My son, I will try to explain something to you. You may be able to -understand things better than I. I fell in love with her once because an -influence that was not her own overpowered me. There was something of -your mother in her. She admits that to be true, and I now believe it. -Well, that something, whatever it was, is gone. She is not the same. -Yvonne is Thérèse. She is not the woman I loved two months ago.” - -“Nor am I the boy you hated two months ago,” argued Frederic. “Isn't -there a parallel to be seen there, father? I am your son. She is your -wife. You------” - -“There was never a time when I really hated you, my son. I tried to, but -that is all over. We will not rake up the ashes. As for my wife--well, -I have tried to hate her. It is impossible for me to do so. She is a -wonderful woman. But you must understand, on the other hand, that I do -not love her. I did when she looked at me with your mother's eyes and -spoke to me with your mother's lips. But she is not the same.” - -“Give yourself a chance, dad. You will come to love her for herself if -only you will let go of yourself. You are trying to be hard. You------” - -Again Brood interrupted. His face was pale, his eyes grew dark with -pain. - -“You don't know what you are saying, Frederic. Let us discontinue the -subject.” - -“I want you to be happy, I want------” - -“I shall be happy. I am happy. Have I not found out the truth? Are you -not my beloved son? Are------” - -“And who convinced you of all that, sir? Who is responsible for your -present happiness, and mine?” - -“I know, I know!” exclaimed the father in some agitation. - -“You'll regret it all your life if you fail her now, dad. Why, hang it -all, you're not an old man! You are less than fifty. Your heart hasn't -dried up yet. Your blood is still hot. And she is glorious. Give -yourself a chance. You know that she's one woman in a million, and she's -yours! She has made you happy, she can make you still happier.” - -“No, I am not old. I am far younger than I was fifteen years ago. That's -what I am afraid of--this youth I really never possessed till now. If I -gave way to it now I'd--well, I would be like putty in her hands. She -could go on laughing at me, trifling with me, fooling me to------” - -“She wouldn't do that!” exclaimed his son hotly. - -“I don't blame you for defending her. It's right that you should. You -are forgetting the one important condition, however. She can never -reconcile herself to the position you would put her in if I permitted -you to persuade me that------” - -“I can tell you one thing, father, that you ought to know, if you are so -blind that you haven't discovered it for yourself. She loves you.” - -“You are very young, my boy.” Brood shook his head and smiled faintly. - -“What's to become of her? You are leaving her without a thought for her -future. You------” - -“I fancy she is quite capable of arranging her future. As a matter of -fact, she had arranged it pretty definitely before this thing happened. -Leave it to her, Frederic. It is impossible for me to take her away with -us. It is not to be considered.” - -“All right, but bear this in mind: Lydia loves Yvonne, and she's -heart-broken. Now we'll talk about her, if you like.” - -Lydia had as little success in her rather more tactful interview with -Yvonne. - -“Thank you, dear, I am satisfied,” said she. “Everything has turned out -as it should. The wicked enchantress has been foiled and virtue -triumphs. Don't be unhappy on my account, Lydia. It will not be easy to -say good-bye to you and Frederic, but--_là! là!_ What are we to do? Now -please don't speak of it again. Hearts are easily mended. Look at my -husband--_aïe!_ He has had his heart made over from top to bottom--in a -rough crucible, it's true, but it's as good as new, you'll admit. In a -way, I am made over, too. I am happier than I've ever been in my life. -I'm in love with my husband, I'm in love with you and Frederic, and I am -more than ever in love with myself. So there! Don't feel sorry for me. I -shall have the supreme joy of knowing that not one of you will ever -forget me or my deeds, good and bad. Who knows? I am still young, you -know. Time has the chance to be very kind to me before I die.” - -That last observation lingered in Lydia's mind. - -But despite her careless treatment of the situation, Yvonne awaited with -secret dread the coming of that hour when James Brood would say goodbye -to her and, instead of turning her away from his house, would go out of -it himself without a single _command_ to her. He would not tell her that -it was no longer her home, nor would he tell her that it was. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -The next day came, bright and sweet. - -The ship was to sail at noon. - -At ten o'clock the farewells were being said. There were tears and -heartaches, and there was fierce rebellion in the hearts of two of the -voyagers. Yvonne had declined to go to the pier to see them off, and -Brood was going away without a word to her about the future. That was -manifest to the anxious, soul-tried watchers. - -In silence they made their way out to the waiting automobile. As -Brood was about to pass through the broad front door a resolute figure -confronted him. For a moment master and man stared hard into each -other's eyes, and then, as if obeying an inflexible command, the former -turned to glance backward into the hallway. Yvonne was standing in the -library door. - -“_Sahib!_” said the Hindu, and there was strange authority in his voice. -“Tell her, _sahib_. It is not so cruel to tell her as it would be to go -away without a word. She is waiting to be told that you do not want her -to remain in your home.” - -Brood closed his eyes for a second, and then strode quickly toward his -wife. - -“Yvonne, they all want me to take you along with us,” he said, his voice -shaking with the pent-up emotion of weeks. - -She met his gaze calmly, almost serenely. - -“But, of course, it is quite impossible,” she said. “I understand, -James.” - -“It is not possible,” he said, steadying his voice with an effort. - -“That is why I thought it would be better to say good-bye here and not -at the pier. We must have some respect for appearances, you know.” - -He searched her eyes intently, looking for some sign of weakening on her -part. He did not know whether to feel disappointed or angry at what he -saw. - -“I don't believe you would have gone if I had----” - -“You need not say it, James. You did not ask me, and I have not asked -anything of you.” - -“Before I go,” he said nervously, “I want to say this to you: I have no -feeling of resentment toward you. I am able to look back upon what you -would have done without a single thought of anger. You have stood by -me in time of trouble. I owe a great deal to you, Yvonne. You will not -accept my gratitude--it would be a farce to offer it to you under the -circumstances. But I want you to know that I am grateful. You------” - -“Go on, please. This is the moment for you to say that your home cannot -be mine. I am expecting it.” - -His eyes hardened. - -“I shall never say that to you, Yvonne. You are my wife. I shall expect -you to remain my wife to the very end.” - -Now, for the first time, her eyes flew open with surprise. A bewildered -expression came into them almost at once. He had said the thing she -least expected. She put out her hand to steady herself against the door. - -“Do--do you mean that, James?” she said wonderingly. - -“You are my property. You are bound to me. I do not intend that you -shall ever forget that, Yvonne. I don't believe you really love me, but -that is not the point. Other women have not loved their husbands, and -yet--yet they have been true and loyal to them.” - -“You amaze me!” she cried, watching his eyes with acute wonder in her -own. “Suppose that I should refuse to abide by your--what shall I call -it?” - -“Decision is the word,” he supplied grimly. - -“Well, what then?” - -“You will abide by it, that's all. I am leaving you behind without the -slightest fear for the future. This is your home. You will not abandon -it.” - -“Have I said that I would?” - -“No.” - -She drew herself up. - -“Well, I shall now tell you what I intend to do, and have intended to -do ever since I discovered that I could think for myself and not for -Matilde. I intend to stay here until you turn me out as unworthy. I love -you, James. You may leave me here feeling very sure of that. I shall go -on caring for you all the rest of my life. I am not telling you this in -the hope that you will say that you have a spark of love in your soul -for me. I don't want you to say it now, James. But you will say it to me -one day, and I will be justified in my own heart.” - -“I _have_ loved you. There was never in this world anything like the -love I had for you. I know it now. It was not Matilde I loved when I -held you in my arms. I know it now. I loved _you_; I loved your body, -your soul------” - -“Enough!” she cried out sharply. “I was playing at love then. Now I -love in earnest. You've never known love such as I can really give. I -know you well, too. You love nobly, and without end. Of late I have come -to believe that Matilde could have won out against your folly if she had -been stronger, less conscious of the pain she felt. If she had stood her -ground, here, against you, you would have been conquered. But she did -not have the strength to stand and fight as I would have fought. To-day -I love my sister none the less, but I no longer fight to avenge her -wrongs. I am here to fight for myself. You may go away thinking that I -am a traitor to her, but you will take with you the conviction that I am -honest, and that is the foundation for my claim against you.” - -“I know you are not a traitor to her cause,” he replied. “You are its -lifelong supporter. You have done more for Matilde than------” - -“Than Matilde could have done for herself? Isn't that true? I have -forced you to confess that you loved her for twenty-five years with -all your soul. I have done my duty for her. Now I am beginning to take -myself into account. Some day we will meet again and--well, it will not -be disloyalty to Matilde that moves you to say that you love me.” - -He was silent for a long time. When at last he spoke his voice was full -of gentleness. - -“I do not love you, Yvonne. I cannot allow you to look forward to the -happy ending that you picture. You say that you love me. I shall give -you the opportunity to prove it to yourself, if not to me. I order you, -Thérèse, to remain in this house until I come to set you free.” - -She stared at him for a moment, and then an odd smile came into her -eyes. - -“A prisoner serving her time? Is that it, my husband?” - -“If you are here when I return, I shall have reason to believe that your -love is real, that it is good and true and enduring. I am afraid of you -now. I do not trust you.” - -“Is that your sentence?” - -“Call it that if you like, Thérèse.” - -“My keepers? Who are they to be? The old men of the sea----” - -“Your keeper will be the thing you call love,” said he. - -“Do you expect me to submit to this------” - -He held up his hand. - -“I did not intend to impose this condition upon you by word of mouth. I -was going away without a word, but you would have received from Mr Dawes -a sealed envelope as soon as the ship sailed. It contains this command -in writing. He will hand it to you, of course, but now that you know the -contents it will not be necessary to------” - -“And when you _do_ come back, am I to hope for something more than your -pardon and a release?” she cried. - -“I will not promise anything,” said he. - -She drew a long breath and there was the light of triumph in her eyes. -Laying her slim hand on his arm, she said: - -“I am content, James. I am sure of you now. You will find me here when -you choose to come back, be it one year or twenty. Now go; they are -waiting for you. Be kind to them, and tell to them all that you have -just told me. It will make them happy. They love me, you see.” - -“Yes, they _do_ love you,” said he, putting his hands upon her -shoulders. They smiled into each other's eyes. “Good-bye, Thérèse. I -_will_ return.” - -“Good-bye, James. No, do not kiss me. It would be mockery. Good luck, -and God speed you home again.” Their hands met in a warm, firm clasp. “I -will go with you as far as the door of my prison.” - -From the open door she smiled out upon the young people in the motor -and waved her handkerchief in gay farewell. Then she closed the door and -walked slowly down the hallway to the big library. - -“He has taken the only way to conquer himself,” she mused, half aloud. -“He is a wise man, a very wise man. I might have expected this of him.” - -She pulled the bell-cord, and Jones came at once to the room. - -“Yes, madam.” - -“When Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs return from the ship, tell them that I shall -expect them to have luncheon with me. That's all, thank you.” - -“Yes, madam.” - -“By the way, Jones, you may always set the table for three.” - -Jones blinked. He felt that he had never behaved so wonderfully in -all the years of service as he did when he succeeded in bowing in his -habitual manner, despite the fact that he was “everlawstingly bowled -over, so to speak.” - -“For three, madam. Very well.” - -A cold, blustery night in January, six months after the beginning of -Yvonne's voluntary servitude in the prison to which her husband had -committed her. In the big library, before a roaring fire, sat the two -old men, very much as they had sat on the December night that heralded -the approach of the new mistress of the house of Brood, except that on -this occasion they were eminently sober. On the corner of the table lay -a long, yellow envelope, a cablegram addressed to Mrs James Brood. - -“It's been here for two hours, and she don't even think of opening it to -see what's inside,” complained Mr Riggs, but entirely without reproach. - -“It's her business, Joe,” said Mr Dawes, pulling hard at his cigar. - -“Maybe someone's dead,” said Mr Riggs dolorously. - -“Like as not, but what of it?” - -“What of it, you infernal--but, excuse me, Danbury, I won't say it. It's -against the rules, God bless 'em. If anybody's dead, she ought to know -it.” - -“But supposing nobody is dead.” - -“There's no use arguing with you.” - -“She'll read it when she gets good and ready. At present she prefers to -read the letters from Freddy and Lyddy.” - -“Maybe it's from Jim,” said his friend, a wistful look in his old eyes. - -“I--I hope it is, by gee!” exclaimed the other, and then they got up -and went over to examine the envelope for the tenth time. “I wish he'd -telegraph or write, or do something, Dan. She's never had a line from -him. Maybe this is something at last.” - -“What puzzles me is that she always seems disappointed when there's -nothing in the post from him, and here's a cablegram that might be -the very thing she's looking for, and she pays no attention to it. It -certainly beats me.” - -“You know what puzzles me more than anything else? I've said it a -hundred times. She never goes outside this here house, except in the -garden, day or night.” - -“_Sh--h!_” - -Mrs Brood was descending the stairs, lightly, eagerly. In another -instant she entered the room. - -“How nice the fire looks!” she cried. Never had she been more -radiantly, seductively beautiful. “My cablegram, where is it?” - -The old men made a simultaneous dash for the long-neglected envelope. -Mr Dawes succeeded in being the first to clutch it in his eager fingers. - -“Better read it, Mrs Brood,” he panted, thrusting it into her hand. -“Maybe it's bad news.” - -She regarded him with one of her most mysterious smiles. - -“No, my friend, it is _not_ bad news. It is good news; it's from my -husband.” - -“But you haven't read it,” gasped Mr Riggs. - -“Ah, but I know, just the same.” She deliberately slit the envelope with -a slim finger and held it out to them. “Read it if you like.” - -They solemnly shook their heads, too amazed for words. She unfolded -the sheet and sent her eyes swiftly over the printed contents. Then, -to their further stupefaction, she pressed the bit of paper to her red -lips. Her eyes flashed like diamonds. - -“Listen! Here is what he says: 'Come by the first steamer. I want you to -come to me, Thérèse.' And see! It is signed 'Your husband.'” - -“Hurray!” shouted the two old men. - -“But,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “I shall not obey.” - -“What! You--you won't go?” gasped Mr Riggs. - -“No!” she cried, the ring of triumph in her voice. She suddenly clapped -her hands to her breast and uttered a long, deep sigh of joy. “No, I -shall not go to him.” - -The old men stared helplessly while she sank luxuriously into a big -chair and stuck her little feet out to the fire. They felt their knees -grow weak under the weight of their suddenly inert bodies. - -“He will come and unlock the door,” she went on serenely. “Ring for -Jones, please.” - -“Wha--what are you going to do?” Mr Dawes had the temerity to ask. - -“Send a cablegram to my husband saying------” - -She paused to smile at the flaming logs on the broad hearth, a sweet, -rapturous smile that neither of the old men could comprehend. - -“Saying--what?” demanded Mr Riggs anxiously. - -“That I cannot go to him,” she said, as she stretched out her arms -toward the East. - - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Black is White, by George Barr McCutcheon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK IS WHITE *** - -***** This file should be named 54097-0.txt or 54097-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/9/54097/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Black is White - -Author: George Barr McCutcheon - -Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54097] -Last Updated: August 28, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK IS WHITE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - BLACK IS WHITE - </h1> - <h2> - By George Barr Mccutcheon - </h2> - <h3> - Author Of “Graustark,” “Brewster's Millions,” “Truxton King,” “Rose In The - Ring,” “Mary Midthorne,” Etc. - </h3> - <h4> - London - </h4> - <h5> - Everett & Co., Ltd. - </h5> - <h3> - 1915 - </h3> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0005.jpg" alt="0005 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0005.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BLACK IS WHITE</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BLACK IS WHITE - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he two old men sat - in the library, eyeing the blue envelope that lay on the end of the long - table nearest the fireplace, where a merry but unnoticed blaze crackled in - the vain effort to cry down the shrieks of the bleak December wind that - whistled about the corners of the house. - </p> - <p> - Someone had come into the room—they did not know who nor when—to - poke up the fire and to throw fresh coals into the grate. No doubt it was - the parlourmaid. She was always doing something of the sort. It seemed to - be her duty. Or, it might have been the housekeeper, in case the - parlourmaid was out for the evening. Whoever it was, she certainly had - poked up the fire, and in doing so had been compelled to push two pairs of - feet out of the way to avoid trampling upon them. - </p> - <p> - Still they couldn't recall having seen her. For that matter, it wasn't of - the slightest consequence. Of course, they might have poked it up - themselves and saved her the trouble, but these ancients were not in the - habit of doing anything that could be done by menials in the employ of Mr - Brood. Their minds were centred upon the blue envelope that had arrived - shortly after dinner. The fire was an old story; the blue envelope was a - novelty. - </p> - <p> - From some shifting spot far out upon the broad Atlantic the contents of - that blue envelope had come through the air, invisible, mysterious, - uncanny. They could not understand it at all. A wireless message! It was - the first of its kind they had seen, and they were very old men, who had - seen everything else in the world—if one could believe their - boastful tales. - </p> - <p> - They had sailed the seven seas and they had traversed all the lands of the - earth, and yet here was mystery. A man had spoken out of the air a - thousand miles away, and his words were lying there on the end of a - library-table, in front of a cheerful hearthstone, within reach of their - wistful fingers; and someone had come in to poke up the fire without their - knowledge. How could they be expected to know? - </p> - <p> - There was something maddening in the fact that the envelope would have to - remain unopened until young Frederic Brood came home for the night. They - found themselves wondering if by any chance he would fail to come in at - all. Their hour for retiring was ten o'clock, day in, day out. As a rule - they went to sleep about half-past eight. They seldom retired unless - someone made the act possible by first awakening them. - </p> - <p> - The clock on the wide mantelpiece had declared some time before, in - ominous tones, that half-past ten had arrived, and yet they were not - sleepy. They had not been so thoroughly wideawake in years. - </p> - <p> - Up to half-past nine they discussed the blue envelope with every inmate of - the house, from Mrs John Desmond, the housekeeper, down to the voiceless - but eloquent decanter of port that stood between them, first on the arm of - one chair, then the other. They were very old men; they could soliloquise - without in the least disturbing each other. An observer would say, during - these periods of abstraction, that their remarks were addressed to the - decanter, and that the poor decanter had something to say in return. But, - for all that, their eyes seldom left the broad blue envelope that had lain - there since half-past eight. - </p> - <p> - They knew that it came directly or indirectly from the man to whom they - owed their present condition of comfort and security after half a century - of vicissitudes; from the man whose life they had saved more than once in - those old, evil days when comforts were so few that they passed without - recognition in the maelstrom of events. From mid-ocean James Brood was - speaking to his son. His words—perhaps his cry for help—were - lying there on the end of the table, confined in a flimsy blue envelope, - and no one dared to liberate them. - </p> - <p> - Frederic Brood deserved a thrashing for staying out so late—at - least, so the decanter had been told a dozen times or more, and the clock, - too, for that matter, to say nothing of the confidences reposed in the - coal-scuttle, the fire implements, and other patient listeners of a like - character. - </p> - <p> - It may be well to state that these bosom friends and comrades of half a - hundred years had quarrelled at seven o'clock that evening over a very - important matter—the accuracy of individual timepieces. The watch of - Mr Danbury Dawes had said it was five minutes before seven; that of Mr - Joseph Riggs three minutes after. Since then neither had spoken to the - other, but each slyly had set his watch by the big clock in the hall - before going into dinner, and was prepared to meet any argument. - </p> - <p> - Twenty years ago these two old cronies had met James Brood in one of the - blackest holes of Calcutta, a derelict being swept to perdition with the - swiftness and sureness of a tide that knows no pause. They found him when - the dregs were at his lips and the stupor of defeat in his brain. Without - meaning to be considered Samaritans, good or bad, they dragged him from - the depths and found that they had revived <i>a man</i>. Those were the - days when James Brood's life meant nothing to him, days when he was - tortured by the thought that it would be all too long for him to endure; - yet he was not the kind to murder himself as men do who lack the courage - to go on living. - </p> - <p> - Weeks after the rescue in Calcutta, these two soldiers of fortune, and - another John Desmond, learned from the lips of the man himself that he was - not such as they, but rich in this world's goods, richer than the Solomon - of their discreet imagination. Shaken, battered, but sobered, he related - portions of his life's story to them, and they guessed the rest, being men - who had lived by correctly guessing for half the years of their - adventurous lives. - </p> - <p> - Like Brood they were Americans. But, unlike him, they had spent most of - their lives in the deserts of time and had sown seeds which could never be - reaped except in the form of narrative. Ever in pursuit of the elusive - thing called luck, they had found it only in hairbreadth escapes from - death, in the cunning avoidance of catastrophe, in devil-may-care leaps in - the dark, in all the ways known to men who find the world too small. - </p> - <p> - Never had luck served them on a golden platter. For twenty-five years and - more these three men, Dawes, Riggs, and poor John Desmond, had thrashed - through the world in quest of the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow, - only to find that the rainbow was for ever lifting, for ever shifting; yet - they complained not. They throve on misfortune, they courted it along with - the other things in life, and they were unhappy only when ill luck singled - one of them out and spared the others. - </p> - <p> - What Brood told them of his life brought the grim smile of appreciation to - the lips of each. He had married a beautiful foreigner—an Austrian, - they gathered—of excellent family, and had taken her to his home in - New York City, a house in lower Fifth Avenue where his father and - grandfather had lived before him. And that was the very house in which two - of the wayfarers, after twenty years, now sat in rueful contemplation of a - blue envelope. - </p> - <p> - A baby boy came to the Broods in the second year of their wedded life, but - before that there had come a man—a music-master, dreamy-eyed, - handsome, Latin; a man who played upon the harp as only the angels are - believed to play. In his delirious ravings Brood cursed this man and the - wife he had stolen away from him; he reviled the baby boy, even denying - him; he laughed with blood-curdling glee over the manner in which he had - cast out the woman who had broken his heart and crushed his pride; he - wailed in anguish over the mistake he had made in allowing the man to live - that he might gloat in triumph. - </p> - <p> - This much the three men who lifted him from hell were able to learn from - lips that knew not what they said, and they were filled with pity. Later - on, in a rational weakness, he told them more, and without curses. A deep, - silent, steadfast bitterness succeeded the violent ravings. He became a - wayfarer with them, quiet, dogged, fatal; where they went he also went; - what they did so also did he. - </p> - <p> - Soon he led, and they followed. Into the dark places of the world they - plunged. Perils meant little to him, death even less. They no longer knew - days of privation, for he shared his wealth with them; but they knew no - rest, no peace, no safety. Life had been a whirlwind before they came upon - James Brood; it was a hurricane afterward. - </p> - <p> - Twice John Desmond, younger than Dawes and Riggs, saved the life of James - Brood by acts of unparalleled heroism: once in a South African jungle when - a lioness fought for her young, and again in upper India when, - single-handed, he held off a horde of Hindus for days while his comrade - lay wounded in a cavern. Dawes and Riggs, in the Himalayas, crept down the - wall of a precipice, with five thousand feet between them and the bottom - of the gorge, to drag him from a narrow ledge upon which he lay - unconscious after a misstep in the night. More than once—aye, more - than a dozen times—one or the other of these loyal friends stood - between him and death, and times without number he, too, turned the grim - reaper aside from them. - </p> - <p> - John Desmond, gay, handsome, and still young as men of his kind go, met - the fate that brooks no intervention. He was the first to drop out of the - ranks. In Cairo, during a curious period of inactivity some ten months - after the advent of James Brood, he met the woman who conquered his - venturesome spirit; a slim, clean, pretty English governess in the employ - of a British admiral's family. They were married inside of a fortnight. - After the quiet little ceremony, from which the sinister presence of James - Brood was missing, he shook the bronzed hands of his older comrades, and - gave up the life he had led for the new one she promised. At the pier - Brood appeared and wished him well, and he sailed away on a sea that bade - fair to remain smooth to the end of time. He was taking her home to the - little Maryland town that had not seen him in years. - </p> - <p> - Ten years passed before James Brood put his foot on the soil of his native - land. Then he came back to the home of his fathers, to the home that had - been desecrated, and with him came the two old men who now sat in his huge - library before the crackling fire. He could go on with life, but they were - no longer fit for its cruel hardships. His home became theirs. They were - to die there when the time came. - </p> - <p> - Brood's son was fifteen years of age before he knew, even by sight, the - man whom he called father. Up to the time of the death of his mother who - died heart-broken in her father's home—he had been kept in - seclusion. - </p> - <p> - There had been deliberate purpose in the methods of James Brood in so far - as this unhappy child was concerned. When he cast out the mother he set - his hand heavily upon her future. - </p> - <p> - Fearing, even feeling, the infernal certainty that this child was not his - own, he planned with diabolical cruelty to hurt her to the limit of his - powers and to the end of her days. He knew she would hunger for this baby - boy of hers, that her heart could be broken through him, that her - punishment could be made full and complete. - </p> - <p> - He sequestered the child in a place where he could not be found, and went - his own way, grimly certain that he was making her pay! She died when - Frederic was twelve years old, without having seen him again after that - dreadful hour when, protesting her innocence, she had been turned out into - the night and told to go whither she would, but never to return to the - house she had disgraced. James Brood heard of her death when in the heart - of China, and he was a haggard wreck for months thereafter. - </p> - <p> - He had worshipped this beautiful Viennese. He could not wreak vengeance - upon a dead woman; he could not hate a dead woman. He had always loved - her. It was after this that he stood on the firing-line of many a fiercely - fought battle in the Orient, inviting the bullet that would rip through - his heart. - </p> - <p> - It was not courage, but cowardice, that put him in spots where the bullets - were thickest; it was not valour that sent him among the bayonets and - sabres of a fanatical enemy. It was the thing at the bottom of his soul - that told him she would come to him once more when the strife was ended, - and that she was waiting for him somewhere beyond the border to hear his - plea for pardon! Of such flimsy shreds is man's purpose made! - </p> - <p> - Five years after his return to New York he brought her son back to the - house in lower Fifth Avenue and tried, with bitterness in his soul, to - endure the word “father” as it fell from lips to which the term was almost - strange. - </p> - <p> - The old men, they who sat by the fire on this wind-swept night and waited - for the youth of twenty-two to whom the blue missive was addressed, knew - the story of James Brood and his wife Matilde, and they knew that the - former had no love in his heart for the youth who bore his name. Their - lips were sealed. Garrulous on all other subjects, they were as silent as - the grave on this. - </p> - <p> - They, too, were constrained to hate the lad. He made not the slightest - pretence of appreciating their position in the household. To him they were - pensioners, no more, no less; to him their deeds of valour were offset by - the deeds of his father; there was nothing left over for a balance on that - score. He was politely considerate; he was even kindly disposed toward - their vagaries and whims; he endured them because there was nothing else - left for him to do. But, for all that, he despised them; justifiably, no - doubt, if one bears in mind the fact that they signified more to James - Brood than did his long-neglected son. - </p> - <p> - The cold reserve that extended to the young man did not carry beyond him - in relation to any other member of the household so far as James Brood was - concerned. The unhappy boy, early in their acquaintance, came to realise - that there was little in common between him and the man he called father. - After a while the eager light died out of his own eyes and he no longer - strove to encourage the intimate relations he had counted upon as a part - of the recompense for so many years of separation and loneliness. - </p> - <p> - It required but little effort on his part to meet his father's - indifference with a coldness quite as pronounced. He had never known the - meaning of filial love; he had been taught by word of mouth to love the - man he had never seen, and he had learned as one learns astronomy—by - calculation. He hated the two old men because his father loved them. - </p> - <p> - In a measure, this condition may serve to show how far apart they stood - from each other, James Brood and Frederic. Wanderlust and a certain - feeling of unrest that went even deeper than the old habits kept James - Brood away from his home many months out of the year. He was not an old - man; in fact, he was under fifty, and possessed of the qualities that make - for strength and virility even unto the age of fourscore years. While his - old comrades, far up in the seventies, were content to sit by the fire in - winter and in the shade in summer, he, not yet so old as they when their - long stretch of intimacy began, was not resigned to the soft things of - life. He was built of steel, and the steel within him called for the clash - with flint. He loved the spark of fire that flashed in the contact. - </p> - <p> - It was a harsh December night when the two old men sat guard over the - message from the sea, and it was on a warm June day that they had said - good-bye to him at the outset of his most recent flight. - </p> - <p> - The patient butler, Jones, had made no less than four visits to the - library since ten o'clock to awaken them and pack them off to bed. Each - time he had been ordered away, once with the joint admonition to “mind his - own business.” - </p> - <p> - “But it is nearly midnight,” protested Jones irritably, with a glance at - the almost empty decanter. - </p> - <p> - “Jones,” said Danbury Dawes with great dignity and an eye that deceived - him to such a degree that he could not for the life of him understand why - Jones was attending them in pairs, “Jones, you ought to be in—hic—bed, - damn you both of you. Wha' you mean, sir, by coming in—hic—here thish time - o' night dis-disturbing—” - </p> - <p> - “You infernal ingrate,” broke in Mr Riggs fiercely, “don't you dare to - touch that bottle, sir! Let it alone!” - </p> - <p> - “It's time you were in bed,” pronounced Jones, taking Mr Dawes by the arm. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes sagged heavily in his chair and grinned triumphantly. He was a - short, very fat old man. - </p> - <p> - “People who live in—hic—glass houses————” he began - amiably, and then suddenly was overtaken by the thought of the moment - before. “Take your hand off of me, confoun' you! D' you sup-supposh I can - go to bed with my bes' frien' out there—hic—in the mid-middle of Atlan'ic - Oc-o-shum, sinking in four miles of wa-wa'er and calling f-far help?” - </p> - <p> - “Take him to bed, Jones,” said Mr Riggs firmly. “He's drunk and-and - utterly useless at a time like this. Take him along.” - </p> - <p> - “Who the dev—hic—il are you, sir?” demanded Mr Dawes, regarding Mr Riggs - as if he had never seen him before. - </p> - <p> - “You are both drunk,” said Jones succinctly. Mr Riggs began to whimper. - </p> - <p> - “My bes' frien' is drawnin' by inches, and you come in here and tell me - I'm drunk. It's most heartless thing I ever heard of. Isn't it, Danbury, - ol' pal? Isn't it, damn you? Speak up!” - </p> - <p> - “Drawnin' by inches—hic—in four miles of wa-water,” admitted Mr Dawes - miserably. “My God, Jo-Jones, do you know how many—hic—inches there - are in four miles?” - </p> - <p> - Moved by the same impulse, the two old men struggled to their feet and - embraced each other, swayed by an emotion so honest that all sense of the - ludicrous was removed. Even Jones, though he grinned, allowed a note of - gentleness to creep into his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Come along, gentlemen, like good fellows. Let's go to bed. I'm sure the - message to Mr Frederic is not as bad as you——” - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs, who was head and shoulders taller than Mr Dawes, made a gesture - of despair with both arms, forgetting that they encircled his friend's - neck, with the result that both of his bony elbows came in violent contact - with Mr Dawes's ears, almost upsetting him. - </p> - <p> - “Don't argue, Jones,” he interrupted dismally. “I know it's bad news. So - does Mr Dawes. Don't you, Danbury?” - </p> - <p> - “What d' you mean by—hic—knockin' my hat off?” demanded Mr Dawes - furiously, shaking his fist at Mr Riggs from rather close quarters—so - close, in fact, that Mr Riggs suddenly clapped his hands to his stomach - and emitted a surprised groan. - </p> - <p> - Jones inserted his figure between them. - </p> - <p> - “Come, come, gentlemen; don't forget yourselves. What now, Mr Riggs?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm lookin' for the gentleman's hat, sir,” said Mr Riggs impressively - from a stooping posture. - </p> - <p> - “His hat is on the rack in the hall,” said Jones sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Then I shan't ex-expect an—hic—'pology,” said Mr Dawes magnanimously. - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs opened his mouth to retort, but as he did so his eyes fell upon - the blue envelope. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Jim—poor old Jim Brood!” he groaned. “We mustn't lose a - minute, Danbury. He needs us, old pal. We must start relief exp'ition' - fore mornin'. Not a minute to be lost, Jones—not a——” - </p> - <p> - The heavy front door closed with a bang at that instant, and the sound of - footsteps, came from the hall—a quick, firm tread that had decision - in it. - </p> - <p> - Jones cast a furtive, nervous glance over his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to have Mr Frederic see you like this,” he said, biting his - lip. “He hates it so.” - </p> - <p> - The two old men made a commendable effort to stand erect, but no effort to - stand alone. They linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Show him in,” said Mr Riggs magnificently. - </p> - <p> - “Now we'll fin' out wass in telegram off briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, - straddling his legs a little farther apart in order to declare a staunch - front. - </p> - <p> - “It's worth waiting up for,” said Mr Riggs. - </p> - <p> - “Abs'lutely,” said his staunch friend. - </p> - <p> - Frederic Brood appeared in the door, stopping short just inside the heavy - curtains. There was a momentary picture, such as a stage-director would - have arranged. He was still wearing his silk hat and top-coat, and one - glove had been halted in the process of removal. Young Brood stared at the - group of three, a frank stare of amazement. A crooked smile came to his - lips. - </p> - <p> - “Somewhat later than usual, I see,” he said, and the glove came off with a - jerk. “What's the matter, Jones? Rebellion?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir. It's the wireless, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Wireless?” - </p> - <p> - “Briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, vaguely pointing. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said young Brood, crossing slowly to the table. He picked up the - envelope and looked at the inscription. “Oh,” said he again in quite a - different tone on seeing that it was addressed to him. “From father, I - dare say,” he went on, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows. - </p> - <p> - The old men leaned forward, fixing their blear eyes upon the missive. - </p> - <p> - “Le's hear the worst, Freddy,” said Mr Riggs. - </p> - <p> - The young man ran his finger under the flap and deliberately drew out the - message. There ensued another picture. As he read, his eyes widened and - then contracted; his firm young jaw became set and rigid. Suddenly a - short, bitter execration fell from his lips and the paper crumpled in his - hand. Without another word he strode to the fireplace and tossed it upon - the coals. It flared for a second and was wafted up the chimney, a - charred, feathery thing. - </p> - <p> - Without deigning to notice the two old men who had sat up half the night - to learn the contents of that wonderful thing from the sea, he whirled on - his heel and left the room. One might have noticed that his lips were - drawn in a mirthless, sardonic smile, and that his eyes were angry. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Lordy!” sighed Danbury Dawes, blinking, and was on the point of - sitting down abruptly. The arm of Jones prevented. - </p> - <p> - “I never was so insulted in my——” began - Joseph Riggs feebly. - </p> - <p> - “Steady, gentlemen,” said Jones. “Lean on me, please.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ames Brood's home - was a remarkable one. That portion of the house which rightly may be - described as “public” in order to distinguish it from other parts where - privacy was enforced, was not unlike any of the richly furnished, - old-fashioned places in the lower part of the city where there are still - traces left of the Knickerbockers and their times. Dignified, stately, - almost gloomy, it was a mansion in which memories dwelt, where the past - strode unseen among sturdy things of mahogany and walnut and worn but - priceless brocades and silks. - </p> - <p> - The crystal chandelier in the long drawing-room had shed light for the - Broods since the beginning of the nineteenth century; the great old - sideboard was still covered with the massive plate of a hundred years ago; - the tables, the chairs, the high-boys, the chests of drawers, and the huge - four-posters were like satin to the eye and touch; the rugs, while older - perhaps than the city itself, alone were new to the house of Brood. They - had been installed by the present master of the house. - </p> - <p> - Age, distinction, quality attended one the instant he set foot inside the - sober portals. This was not the home of men who had been merely rich; it - was not wealth alone that stood behind these stately investments. - </p> - <p> - At the top of the house were the rooms which no one entered except by the - gracious will of the master. Here James Brood had stored the quaint, - priceless treasures of his own peculiar fancy: exquisite, curious things - from the mystic East, things that are not to be bought and sold, but come - only to the hand of him who searches in lands where peril is the price. - </p> - <p> - Worlds separated the upper and lower regions of that fine old house; a - single step took one from the sedate Occident into the very heart of the - Orient; a narrow threshold was the line between the rugged West and the - soft, languorous, seductive East. In this part of the house James Brood, - when at home for one of his brief stays, spent many of his hours in - seclusion, shut off from the rest of the establishment as completely as if - he were the inhabitant of another world. Attended by his Hindu servant, a - silent man named Ranjab, and on occasions by his secretary, he saw but - little of the remaining members of his rather extensive household. - </p> - <p> - For several years he had been engaged in the task of writing his memoirs—so-called—in - so far as they related to his experiences and researches of the past - twenty years. It was not his intention to give this long and elaborate - account of himself to the world at large, but to publish privately a very - limited edition without regard for expense, copies of which were to find - their way into exclusive collections and libraries given over to science - and travel. This work progressed slowly because of his frequent and - protracted absences. When at home, he laboured ardently and with a purpose - that more than offset the periods of indifference. - </p> - <p> - His secretary and amanuensis was Lydia Desmond, the nineteen-year-old - daughter of his one-time companion and friend, the late John Desmond, whose - death occurred when the girl was barely ten years of age. - </p> - <p> - Brood, on hearing of his old comrade's decease, immediately made inquiries - concerning the condition in which he had left his wife and child, with the - result that Mrs Desmond was installed as housekeeper in the New York house - and the daughter given every advantage in the way of an education. - </p> - <p> - Desmond had left nothing in the shape of riches except undiminished love - for his wife and a diary kept during those perilous days before he met and - married her. This diary was being incorporated in the history of James - Brood's adventures, by consent of the widow, and was to speak for Brood in - words he could not with modesty utter for himself. - </p> - <p> - In those pages John Desmond was to tell his own story in his own way, for - Brood's love for his friend was broad enough even to admit of that. He was - to share his life in retrospect with Desmond and the two old men, as he - had shared it with them in reality. - </p> - <p> - Lydia's room, adjoining her mother's, was on the third floor at the foot - of the small stairway leading up to the proscribed retreat at the top of - the house. There was a small sitting-room off the two bed-chambers, given - over entirely to Mrs Desmond and her daughter. In this little room - Frederic Brood spent many a quiet, happy hour. - </p> - <p> - The Desmonds, mother and daughter, understood and pitied the lonely boy - who came to the big house soon after they were themselves installed. His - heart, which had many sores, expanded and glowed in the warmth of their - kindness and affection; the plague of unfriendliness that was his by - absorption gave way before this unexpected kindness, not immediately, it - is true, but completely in the end. - </p> - <p> - By nature he was slow to respond to the advances of others; his life had - been such that avarice accounted for all that he received from others in - the shape of respect and consideration. He was prone to discount a - friendly attitude, for the simple reason that in his experience all - friendships were marred by the fact that their sincerity rested entirely - upon the generosity of the man who paid for them—his father. No one - had loved him for himself; no one had given him an unselfish thought in - all the years of his boyhood. - </p> - <p> - The family with whom he had lived in a curious sort of retirement up to - the time he was fifteen had no real feeling for him beyond the bounds of - duty; his tutors had taken their pay in exchange for all they gave; his - companions were men and women who dealt with him as one deals with a - precious investment. He represented ease and prosperity to them—no - more. As he grew older he understood all this. What warmth there may have - been in his little heart was chilled by contact with these sordid - influences. - </p> - <p> - At first he held himself aloof from the Desmonds; he was slow to - surrender. He suspected them of the same motives that had been the basis - of all previous attachments. When at last he realised that they were not - like the others, his cup of joy, long an empty vessel, was filled to the - brim and his happiness was without bounds. - </p> - <p> - They were amazed by the transformation. The rather sullen, unapproachable - lad became at once so friendly, so dependent, that, had they not been - acquainted with the causes behind the old state of reticence, his very joy - might have made a - nuisance of him. He followed Mrs Desmond - about in very much the same spirit that inspires a - hungry dog; he watched her with eager, half-famished eyes; he was on her - heels four-fifths of the time. - </p> - <p> - As for Lydia, pretty little Lydia, he adored her. His heart began for the - first time to sing with the joy of youth, and the sensation was a novel - one. It had seemed to him that he could never be anything but an old man. - </p> - <p> - Not a day passed during his career at Harvard that he failed to write to - one or other of these precious friends. His vacations were spent with - them; his excursions were never carried out unless they found it possible - to accompany him. He followed Mrs Desmond, met many - women, but he thought of only two. They appeared to constitute all - femininity so far as he was concerned. Through their awakening influence - he came to find pleasure in the companionship of other young men, and, be - it said for him, despite a certain unconquerable aloofness, he was one of - the most popular men in his class. - </p> - <p> - It was his custom, on coming home for the night, no matter what the hour, - to pause before Lydia's door on the way to his own room at the other end - of the long hall. There was always a tender smile on his lips as he - regarded the white panels before tapping gently with the tips of his - fingers. Then he would wait for the sleepy “Good night, Freddy,” which - invariably came from within, and he would sing out “Good night” as he made - off to bed. Usually, however, he was at home long before her bedtime, and - they spent the evenings together. That she was his father's secretary was - of no moment. To him she was Lydia—his Lydia. - </p> - <p> - For the past three months or more he had been privileged to hold her close - in his arms and to kiss her good night at parting. They were lovers now. - The slow fuse of passion had reached its end and the flame was alive and - shining with radiance that enveloped both of them. - </p> - <p> - On this night, however, he passed her door without knocking. His dark, - handsome face was flushed and his teeth were set in sullen anger. With his - hand on the knob of his own door, he suddenly remembered that he had - failed Lydia for the first time, and stopped. A pang of shame shot through - him. For a moment he hesitated and then started guiltily toward the - forgotten door. Even as he raised his hand to sound the loving signal, the - door was opened and Lydia, fully dressed, confronted him. For a moment - they regarded each other in silence, she intently, he with astonishment - not quite free from confusion. - </p> - <p> - “I'm—I'm sorry, dearest——” he began, his first desire - being to account for his oversight. - </p> - <p> - “It <i>is</i> bad news?” she demanded, anxiously watching his face. “I was - afraid, dear. I couldn't go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - “You, too?” he exclaimed bitterly. “The old chaps—but it's a shame - for you to have waited up, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what has happened. It can't be that your father is ill—or - in danger. You are angry, Frederic; so it can't be that. What is it?” - </p> - <p> - He looked away sullenly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's really nothing, I suppose. Just an unexpected jolt, that's all. - I was angry for a moment——” - </p> - <p> - “You are still angry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. She was a - tall, slender girl. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own. “Don't - you want to tell me, dear?” - </p> - <p> - “He never gives me a thought,” he said, compressing his lips. “He thinks - of no one but himself. God, what a father!” - </p> - <p> - “Freddy, dear! You must not speak——” - </p> - <p> - “Haven't I some claim on his consideration? Is it fair that I should be - ignored in everything, in every way? I won't put up with it, Lydia! I'm - not a child. I'm a man and I am his son. But I might as well be a dog in - the street for all the thought he gives to me!” - </p> - <p> - She put her finger to her lips, a scared look stealing into her dark eyes. - Jones was conducting the two old men to their room on the floor below. A - door closed softly. The voices died away. - </p> - <p> - “He is a strange man,” she said. “He is a good man, Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “To everyone else, yes. But to me? Why, Lydia, I—I believe he hates - me. You know what——” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! A man does not hate his son. I've tried for years to drive that - silly notion out of your mind. You——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know I'm a fool to speak of it, but I—I can't help feeling as - I do. You've seen enough to know that I'm not to blame for it, either. And - then—oh, what's the use whining about it? I've got to make the best - of it, so I'll try to keep my mouth closed.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is the message?” - </p> - <p> - “I threw it into the fire.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” - </p> - <p> - “I was furious.” - </p> - <p> - “Won't you tell me?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you think he has done? Can you guess what he has done to all of - us?” She did not answer. “Well, I'll tell you just what he said in that - wireless. It was from the <i>Lusitania</i>, twelve hundred miles off - Sandy Hook—relayed, I suppose, so that the whole world might know—sent - at four this afternoon. I remember every word of the cursed thing, - although I merely glanced at it. - </p> - <p> - “'Send the car to meet Mrs Brood and me at the Cunard pier Thursday. Have - Mrs Desmond put the house in order for its new mistress. By the way, you - might inform her that I was married last Wednesday in Paris.' It was - signed 'James Brood,' not even 'father.' What do you think of that for a - thunderbolt?” - </p> - <p> - “Married?” she gasped. “Your father married?” - </p> - <p> - “'Put the house in order for its new mistress,'” he almost snarled. - “'Inform her that I was married last Wednesday'! Of course he's married. - Am I not to inform your mother? Isn't the car to meet Mrs Brood and him? - Does he say anything about his son meeting him at the pier? No! Does he - cable his son that he is married? No! Does he do anything that a real, - human father would do? No! That message was a deliberate insult to me, - Lydia, a nasty, rotten slap in the face. I mean the way it was worded. - Just as if it wasn't enough that he had gone and married some cheap - show-girl or a miserable foreigner or Heaven knows——” - </p> - <p> - “Freddy! You forget yourself. Your father would not marry a cheap - show-girl. You know that. And you must not forget that your mother was a - foreigner.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry I said that,” he exclaimed hoarsely. Then fiercely: “But can't - you see what all this will come to? A new mistress of the house! It means - your mother will have to go—that maybe you'll go. Nothing will be as - it has been. All the sweetness gone—all the goodness! A woman in the - house who will also treat me as if I didn't belong here! A woman who - married him for his money, an adventuress. Oh, you can't tell me; I know! - 'You might inform Mrs Desmond that I was married'! Good Lord!” - </p> - <p> - He began to pace the floor, striking one fist viciously in the palm of the - other hand. Lydia, pale and trembling, seemed to have forgotten his - presence. She was staring fixedly at the white surface of a door down the - hall, and there was infinite pain in her wide eyes. Her lips moved once or - twice; there was a single unspoken word upon them. - </p> - <p> - “Why couldn't he have wired me last week?” the young man was muttering. - “What was his object in waiting until to-day? Wouldn't any other father in - the world have telegraphed his only son if he were going to—to bring - someone home like this? 'Have the car meet Mrs Brood and me'! If that - isn't the quintessence of scorn! He orders me to do these things. He - doesn't even honour me with a direct, personal message. He doesn't tell <i>me</i> - he is married. He asks me to inform someone else.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia, leaning rather heavily against the door, spoke to him in a low, - cautious voice. - </p> - <p> - “Did you tell Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs?” - </p> - <p> - He stopped short. - </p> - <p> - “No! And they waited up to see if they could be of any assistance to him - in an hour of peril! What a joke! Poor old beggars! I've never felt sorry - for them before, but, on my soul, I do now. What will she do to the poor - old chaps? I shudder to think of it. And she'll make short work of - everything else she doesn't like around here, too. Your mother, Lydia—why, - God help us, you know what will just have to happen in her case. It's——” - </p> - <p> - “Don't speak so loudly, dear—please, please! She is asleep. Of - course, we—we shan't stay on, Freddy. We'll have to go as soon as——” - </p> - <p> - His eyes filled with tears. He seized her in his arms and held her close. - </p> - <p> - “It's a beastly, beastly shame, darling. Oh, Lord, what a fool a man can - make of himself!” - </p> - <p> - “You must not say such things,” she murmured, stroking his cheek with - cold, trembling fingers. - </p> - <p> - “A fine trick to play on all of us!” he grated. - </p> - <p> - “Listen, Freddy darling: your father has a right to do as he chooses. He - has a right to companionship, to love, to happiness. He has done - everything for us that man could——” - </p> - <p> - “But why couldn't he have done the fine, sensible thing, Lydia? Why - couldn't he have—have fallen in love with—with your mother? - Why not have married her if he had to marry someone in——” - </p> - <p> - “Freddy!” she cried, putting her hand over his mouth. - </p> - <p> - He was not to be stopped. He gently removed her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Your mother is the finest woman in the world. Perhaps she wouldn't have - him, but that's not the point. Good Lord, how I would have loved him for - giving her to me as a mother. And here he comes, bringing some devil of a - stranger into—oh, it's sickening!” - </p> - <p> - He had lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, keeping his eyes fixed on - the door down the hall. The girl lay very still in his arms. Suddenly a - wild sob broke in her throat, and she buried her face on his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Why—why, don't cry, dearest! Don't!” he whispered miserably. “What - a rotter I am! Inflicting you with my silly imaginings! Don't cry! I dare - say everything will turn out all right. It's my beastly disposition. Kiss - me!” - </p> - <p> - She kissed him swiftly. Her wet cheek lay for a second against his own, - and then, with a stifled good night, she broke away from him. An instant - later she was gone; her door was closed. - </p> - <p> - Somewhat sobered, and not a little perturbed by her outburst, he stood - still for a moment, staring at the door. Then he turned and passed slowly - into his own room. - </p> - <p> - A fire smouldered in the grate. In this huge, old-fashioned house there - were grates in all of the spacious bedrooms, and not infrequently fires - were started in them by the capable Jones. Frederic stood for he knew not - how long above the half-dead coals, staring at them with a new and more - bitter complaint at the back of his mind. Was there anything between Mrs - Desmond and his father? What was back of that look of anguish in Lydia's - eyes? He suddenly realised that he was muttering oaths, not of anger, but - of pain. - </p> - <p> - The next morning he came down earlier than was his custom. His night had - been a troubled one. Forgetting his own woes, or belittling them, he had - thought only of what this news from the sea would mean to the dear woman - he loved so well. No one was in the library, but a huge fire was blazing. - A blizzard was raging. - </p> - <p> - Once upon a time, when he first came to the house, a piano had stood in - the drawing-room. His joy at that time knew no bounds; he loved music. For - his age he was no mean musician. But one evening his father, coming in - unexpectedly, heard the player at the instrument. For a moment he stood - transfixed in the doorway watching the eager, almost inspired face of the - lad, and then, pale as a ghost, stole away without disturbing him. Strange - to say, Frederic was playing a waltz of Ziehrer's, a Waltz that his mother - had played when the honeymoon was in the full. The following day the piano - was taken away by a storage company. The boy never knew why it was - removed. - </p> - <p> - Frederic picked up the morning paper. His eye traversed the front page - rapidly. There were reports of fearful weather at sea. Ships in touch with - wireless stations flashed news of the riotous gales far out on the - Atlantic, of tremendous seas that wreaked damage to the staunchest of - vessels. The whole seaboard was strewn with the wreckage of small craft; a - score of vessels were known to be ashore and in grave peril. The movement - of passenger-vessels, at the bottom of the page, riveted his attention. - The <i>Lusitania</i> was reported seven hundred miles out, and in the - heart of the hurricane. She would be a day late. - </p> - <p> - The newspaper was slightly crumpled, as if someone else had read it before - him. He found himself wondering how he would feel if the <i>Lusitania</i> - never reached New York! He wondered what his sensations would be if a call - for help came from the great vessel, if the dreadful news came that she - was sinking with all on board! - </p> - <p> - He looked up from the paper with what actually seemed to him to be a - guilty feeling. Someone had entered the room. Mrs Desmond was coming - toward him, a queer little smile on her lips. She was a tall, fair woman, - an English type, and still extremely handsome. Hers was an honest beauty - that had no fear of age. - </p> - <p> - “She is a staunch ship, Frederic,” she said, without any other form of - greeting. “She will be late, but there's really nothing to worry about.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not worrying,” he said confusedly. “Lydia has told you the—the - news?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Rather staggering, isn't it?” he said with a wry smile. In spite of - himself he watched her face with curious intentness. - </p> - <p> - “Rather,” she said briefly. - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I was instructed to inform you that he was married last Wednesday,” he - said, and his face hardened. “And to have the car meet them at the dock.” - </p> - <p> - “It won't be necessary, Frederic. I have given Jones his instructions. You - will not even have to carry out the orders.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you don't approve of the way.” - </p> - <p> - “I know just how you feel, poor boy. Don't try to explain. I know.” - </p> - <p> - “You always understand,” he said, lowering his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Not always,” she said quietly. There was something cryptic in the remark. - He kept his eyes averted. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's going to play hob with everything,” he said, jamming his hands - deep into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to hunch forward and to - contract. - </p> - <p> - “I am especially sorry for Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs,” she said. Her voice was - steady and full of earnestness. - </p> - <p> - “Do they know?” - </p> - <p> - “They were up and about at daybreak, poor souls. Do you know, Freddy, they - were starting off in this blizzard when I met them in the hall!” - </p> - <p> - “The deuce! I—I hope it wasn't on account of anything I may have - said to them last night,” he cried in contrition. - </p> - <p> - She smiled. “No. They had their own theory about the message. The storm - strengthened it. They were positive that your father was in great peril. I - don't like to tell you this, but they seemed to think that you couldn't be - depended upon to take a hand in—in—well, in helping him. They - were determined to charter a vessel of some sort and start off in all this - blizzard to search the sea for Mr Brood. Oh, aren't they wonderful?” - </p> - <p> - He had no feeling of resentment toward the old men for their opinion of - him. Instead, his eyes glowed with an honest admiration. - </p> - <p> - “By George, Mrs Desmond, they <i>are</i> great! They are <i>men</i>, bless - their hearts. Seventy-five years old and still ready to face anything for - a comrade! It <i>does</i> prove something, doesn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “It proves that your father has made no mistake in selecting his friends, - my dear. My husband used to say that he would cheerfully die for James - Brood, and he knew that James Brood would have died for him just as - readily. There is something in friendships of that sort that we can't - understand. We never have been able to test our friends, much less - ourselves. We——” - </p> - <p> - “I would die for you, Mrs Desmond,” cried Frederic, a deep flush - overspreading his face. “For you and Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “You come by that naturally,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm. - “Blood will tell. Thank you, Frederic.” She smiled. “I am sure it will not - be necessary for you to die for me, however. As for Lydia, you must live, - not die, for her.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll do both,” he cried impulsively. - </p> - <p> - “Before you go in to breakfast I want to say something else to you, - Frederic,” said she seriously. “Lydia has repeated everything you said to - her last night. My dear boy, my husband has been dead for twelve years. I - loved him, and he died loving me. I shall never marry another man. I am - still the wife of John Desmond; I still consider myself bound to him. Can - you understand?” - </p> - <p> - “I talked like a lunatic last night, I fear,” he confessed. “I might have - known. You, too, belong to the list of loyal ones. Forgive me.” - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing to forgive, dear,” she said simply. “And now, one more - word, Frederic. You must accept this new condition of affairs in the right - spirit. Your father has married again, after all these years. It is not - likely that he has done so without deliberation. Therefore, it is - reasonable to assume that he is bringing home with him a wife of whom he - at least is proud, and that should weigh considerably in your summing up - of the situation. She will be beautiful, accomplished, refined, and good, - Frederic. Of that you may be sure. Let me implore you to withhold judgment - until a later day.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not object to the situation, Mrs Desmond,” said he, the angry light - returning to his eyes, “so much as I resent the wording of that telegram. - It is always just that way. He loses no chance to humiliate me. He——” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! You are losing your temper again.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, who wouldn't? And here's another thing, the very worst of all. How - is this new condition going to affect you, Mrs Desmond?” She was silent - for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I shan't stay on here, Frederic. I shall not be needed now. As - soon as Mrs Brood is settled here I shall go.” - </p> - <p> - “And you expect me to be cheerful and contented!” he cried bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “You are a man, Frederic. It is for you to say yea and nay; women must say - one or the other. A man may make his own bed, but he doesn't always have - to lie in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Sounds rather like Solomon,” he said ruefully. “I suppose you mean that - if I'm not contented here I ought to get out and look for happiness - elsewhere, reserving the right to come back if I fail?” - </p> - <p> - “Something of the sort,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “My father objects to my going into business or taking up a profession. I - am dependent on him for everything. But why go into that? We've talked it - over a thousand times. I don't understand, but perhaps you do. It's a - dog's way of living.” - </p> - <p> - “Your father is making a man of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he is, eh?” with great scorn. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He will make you see some day that the kind of life you lead is not - the kind you want. Your pride, your ambition will rebel. Then you will - make something out of life for yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think that is in his mind, if you'll pardon me. I sometimes - believe he actually wants me to stay as I am, always a dependent. Why, how - can he expect me to marry and——” He stopped short, his face - paling. - </p> - <p> - “Go on, please.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it looks to me as if he means to make it impossible for me to - marry, Mrs Desmond. I've thought of it a good deal.” - </p> - <p> - “And is it impossible?” - </p> - <p> - “No. I shall marry Lydia, even though I have to dig in the streets for - her. It isn't that, however. There's some other reason back of his - attitude, but for the life of me I can't get at it.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't try to get at it, my dear,” she said. “Wait and see. Come, you - must have your coffee. I am glad you came down early. The old gentlemen - are at breakfast now. Come in.” - </p> - <p> - He followed her dejectedly, a droop to his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs were seated at the table. Lydia, a trifle pale and - distrait, was pouring their third cup of coffee. The old men showed no - sign of their midnight experience. They were very wideawake, clear-eyed, - and alert, as old men will be who do not count the years of life left in - the span appointed for them. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, Freddy,” said they, almost in one voice. - </p> - <p> - As he passed behind their chairs on his way to Lydia's side, he slapped - each of them cordially on the back. They seemed to swell with relief and - gratitude. He was not in the habit of slapping them on the back. - </p> - <p> - “Good morning, gentlemen,” said he. Then he lifted Lydia's slim fingers to - his lips. “Good morning, dear.” - </p> - <p> - She squeezed his fingers tightly and smiled. A look of relief leaped into - her eyes; she drew a long breath. She poured his coffee for him every - morning. Her hand shook a little as she lifted the tiny cream-pitcher. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't sleep very well,” she explained in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment in a gentle caress. Then he - sat down in the chair Jones had drawn out for him. - </p> - <p> - “Well, gentlemen, when does the relief boat start?” he asked, with a - forced attempt at humour. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes regarded him with great solemnity. - </p> - <p> - “Freddy, it's too late. A man can be saved from the scourge, tigers, - elephants, lions, snakes, and almost everything else in God's world, but, - blast me, he can't be protected against women! They are deadly. They can - overpower the strongest of men, sir. Your poor father is lost for ever. I - never was so sorry for anyone in my life.” - </p> - <p> - “If he had only called for help a week or so ago, we could have saved - him,” lamented Mr Riggs. “But he never even peeped. Lordy, Lordy, and just - think of it, he yelled like an Indian when that lion leaped on him at - Nairobi!” - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Jim!” sighed Mr Dawes. “He'll probably have to ask us to pull - out, too. I imagine she'll insist on making a spare bedroom out of our - room, so's she can entertain all of her infernal relations. Jones, will - you give me some more bacon and another egg?” - </p> - <p> - “And I thought it was nothing but a shipwreck,” murmured Mr Riggs - plaintively. - </p> - <p> - Frederic hurried through breakfast. Lydia followed him into the library. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going out, dear?” she asked anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I've got to do something. I can't sit still and think of what's - going to happen. I'll be back for luncheon.” - </p> - <p> - Half an hour later he was in the small bachelor apartment of two college - friends, a few blocks farther up-town, and he was doing the thing he did - nearly every day of his life in a surreptitious way. He sat at the cheap - upright piano in their disordered living-room and, unhampered by the - presence of young men who preferred music as it is rendered for the - masses, played as if his very soul was in his fingers. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next three or - four days passed slowly for those who waited. A spirit of uneasiness - pervaded the household. Among the servants, from Jones down, there was - dismay. It was not even remotely probable that Mrs Desmond would remain, - and they confessed to a certain affection for her, strange as it may - appear to those who know the traits of servants who have been well treated - by those above them. - </p> - <p> - Frederic flatly refused to meet the steamer when she docked. As if swayed - by his decision, Dawes and Riggs likewise abandoned a plan to greet the - returning master and his bride as they came down the gangplank. But for - the almost peremptory counsel of Mrs Desmond, Brood's son would have - absented himself from the house on the day of their arrival. Jones and a - footman went to the pier with the chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - It was half-past two in the afternoon when the automobile drew up in front - of the house and the fur-coated footman nimbly hopped down and threw open - the door. - </p> - <p> - James Brood, a tall, distinguished-looking man of fifty, stepped out of - the limousine. For an instant, before turning to assist his wife from the - car, he allowed his keen eyes to sweep the windows on the lower floor. In - one of them stood his son, holding the lace curtains apart and smiling a - welcome that seemed sincere. He waved his hand to the man on the - side-walk. Brood responded with a swift, almost perfunctory gesture, and - then held out his hand to the woman who was descending. - </p> - <p> - Frederic's intense gaze was fixed on the stranger who was coming into his - life. At a word from Brood she glanced up at the window. The smile still - lingered on the young man's lips, but his eyes were charged with an - expression of acute wonder. She smiled, but he was scarcely aware of the - fact. He watched them cross the side-walk and mount the steps. - </p> - <p> - He had never looked upon a more beautiful creature in all his life. A kind - of stupefaction held him motionless until he heard the door close behind - them. In that brief interval a picture had been impressed upon his senses - that was to last for ever. - </p> - <p> - She was slightly above the medium height, slender and graceful even in the - long, thick coat that enveloped her. She did not wear a veil. He had a - swift but enduring glimpse of dark, lustrous eyes; of long lashes that - drooped; of a curiously pallid, perfectly modelled face; of red lips and - very white teeth; of jet-black hair parted above a broad, clear brow to - curtain the temple and ear; of a firm, sensitive chin. Somehow he received - the extraordinary impression that the slim, lithe body was never cold; - that she expressed in some indefinable way the unvarying temperature of - youth. - </p> - <p> - He hurried into the hall, driven by the spur of duty. They were crossing - the vestibule. Jones, who had preceded them in a taxicab, was holding open - the great hall door. Dawes and Higgs, shivering quite as much with - excitement as from the chilly blast that swept in through the storm-doors, - occupied a point of vantage directly behind the butler. They suggested a - reception committee. Frederic was obliged to remain in the background. - </p> - <p> - He heard his father's warm, almost gay response to the greetings of the - old men, whose hands he wrung with fervour that was unmistakable. He heard - him present them to the new Mrs Brood as “the best old boys in all the - world,” and they were both saying, with spasmodic cackles of pleasure, - that she “mustn't believe a word the young rascal said.” - </p> - <p> - He was struck by the calm, serene manner in which she accepted these - jocular contributions to the occasion. Her smile was friendly, her - handshake cordial, and yet there was an unmistakable air of tolerance, as - of one who is accustomed to tribute. The rather noisy acclamations of the - old adventurers brought no flush of embarrassment to her cheek; not the - flicker of an eyelid, nor a protesting word or frown. She merely smiled - and thanked them in simple, commonplace phrases. - </p> - <p> - Frederic, who was given to forming swift impressions, most of which sprang - from his own varying moods and were seldom permanent, formed an instant - and rather startling opinion of the newcomer. She was either a remarkable - actress or a woman whose previous station in life had been far more - exalted than the one she now approached. He had an absurd notion that he - might be looking upon a person of noble birth. - </p> - <p> - Her voice was low-pitched and marked by huskiness that was peculiar in - that it was musical, not throaty. Frederic, on first seeing her, had - leaped to the conclusion that her English would not be perfect. He was - somewhat surprised to discover that she had but the faintest trace of an - accent. - </p> - <p> - The exchange of greetings at the door seemed to him unnecessarily - prolonged. He stood somewhat apart from the little circle, uncomfortable - and distinctly annoyed with the old men who, in their garrulous gallantry, - blocked the way in both directions. He awoke suddenly, however, to the - realisation that he had been looking into his new stepmother's eyes for a - long time and that she was returning his gaze with some intensity. - </p> - <p> - “And this?” she said, abruptly breaking in upon one of Danbury's hasty - reminiscences, effectually ending it. “This is Frederic?” - </p> - <p> - She came directly toward the young man, her small, gloved hand extended. - Her eyes were looking into his with an intentness that disconcerted him. - There was no smile on her lips. It was as if she regarded this moment as a - pronounced crisis. - </p> - <p> - Frederic mumbled something fatuous about being glad to see her, and felt - his face burn under her steady gaze. His father came forward. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; this is Frederic, my dear,” he said, without a trace of warmth in - his voice. As she withdrew her hand from Frederic's clasp James Brood - extended his. “How are you, Frederic?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite well, sir.” - </p> - <p> - They shook hands in the most perfunctory manner. - </p> - <p> - “I need not ask how you are, father,” said the son, after an instant's - hesitation. “You never looked better, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you. I <i>am</i> well. Ah, Mrs Desmond! It is good to be home again - with you all. My dear, permit me to introduce Mrs John Desmond. You have - heard me speak of my old comrade and——” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard you speak of Mr Desmond a thousand times,” said his wife. - There may have been a shade of emphasis on the prefix, but it was so - slight that no one remarked it save the widow of John Desmond, who had - joined the group. - </p> - <p> - “The best pal a man ever had,” said Mr Dawes with conviction. “Wasn't he, - Riggs?” - </p> - <p> - “He was,” said Mr Riggs loudly, as if expecting someone to dispute it. - </p> - <p> - “Will you go to your room at once, Mrs Brood?” asked Mrs Desmond. - </p> - <p> - The new mistress of the house had not offered to shake hands with her, as - James Brood had done. She had moved closer to Frederic and was smiling in - a rather shy, pleading way, in direct contrast to her manner of the moment - before. The smile was for her stepson. She barely glanced at Mrs Desmond. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, no. I see a nice big fire, and—oh, I have been so cold!” - She shivered very prettily. - </p> - <p> - “Come!” cried her husband. “That's just the thing.” No one spoke as they - moved toward the library. “We must try to thaw out,” he added dryly, with - a faint smile on his lips. - </p> - <p> - His wife laid her hand on Frederic's arm. “It is cold outside, Frederic,” - she said; “very cold. I am not accustomed to the cold.” - </p> - <p> - If anyone had told him beforehand that his convictions, or his prejudices, - could be overthrown in the twinkling of an eye, he would have laughed him - to scorn. He was prepared to dislike her. He was determined that his hand - should be against her in the conflict that was bound to come. - </p> - <p> - And now, in a flash, his incomprehensible heart proved treacherous. She - had touched some secret spring in the bottom of it, and a strange, new - emotion rushed up within him, like the flood which finds a new channel and - will not be denied by mortal ingenuity. A queer, wistful note of sympathy - in her voice had done the trick. Something in the touch of her fingers on - his arm completed the mystery. He was conscious of a mighty surge of - relief. The horizon cleared for him. - </p> - <p> - “We shall do our best to keep you warm,” he said quite gaily, and was - somewhat astonished at himself. - </p> - <p> - They had preceded the others into the library. James Brood was divesting - himself of his coat in the hall, attended by the leechlike old men. Mrs - Desmond stood in the doorway, a detached figure. - </p> - <p> - “You must love me, Frederic. You must be very, very fond of me, not for - your father's sake, but for mine. Then we shall be great friends, not - antagonists.” - </p> - <p> - He was helping her with her coat. - </p> - <p> - “I confess I looked forward to you with a good deal of animosity,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “It was quite natural,” she said simply. “A stepmother is not of one's own - choosing, as a rule.” - </p> - <p> - “She's usually resented,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “But I shall not be a stepmother,” she said quickly. Her eyes were serious - for an instant, then filled with a luminous smile. “I shall be Yvonne to - you, and you Frederic to me. Let it be a good beginning.” - </p> - <p> - “You are splendid,” he cried. “It's not going to be at all bad.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you will like me,” she said composedly. - </p> - <p> - Brood joined them at the fireside. - </p> - <p> - “My dear, Mrs Desmond will show you over the house when you are ready. You - will be interested in seeing the old place. Later on I shall take you up - to my secret hiding-place, as they say in books. Ranjab will have the - rooms in order by this evening. Where is your daughter, Mrs Desmond?” - </p> - <p> - “She is at work on the catalogue, Mr Brood, in the jade room. In your last - letter you instructed her to finish that——” - </p> - <p> - “But this is a holiday, Mrs Desmond,” said he, frowning. “Jones, will you - ask Miss Lydia to join us for tea at half-past four?” - </p> - <p> - “You will adore Lydia,” said Frederic to Mrs Brood. - </p> - <p> - Apparently she did not hear him, for she gave no sign. She was looking - about the room with eyes that seemed to take in everything. For the moment - her interest appeared to be centred on the inanimate, to the complete - exclusion of all other objects. Frederic had the odd notion that she was - appraising her new home with the most calculating of minds. - </p> - <p> - Even as he watched her he was struck by the subtle change that came into - her dark eyes. It lingered for the briefest moment, but the impression he - got was lasting. There was something like dread in the far-away look that - settled for a few seconds and then lifted. She caught him looking at her, - and smiled once more, but nervously. Then her glance went swiftly to the - face of James Brood, who was listening to something that Mrs Desmond was - saying. It rested there for a short but intense scrutiny, and the smile - began to die. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure I shall be very happy in this dear old house,” she said - quietly. “Your own mother must have loved it, Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - James Brood started. Unnoticed by the others, his fingers tightened on the - gloves he carried in his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I never knew my mother,” said the young man. “She died when I was a - baby.” - </p> - <p> - “But of course this was her home, was it not?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know,” said Frederic uncomfortably. “I suppose so. I—I came - here a few years ago, and——” - </p> - <p> - “But even though you never knew her, there must still be something here - that—that—how shall I say it? I mean, you must feel that she - and you were here together years and years ago. One may never have seen - his mother, yet he can always feel her. There is something—shall I - say spiritual, in——” - </p> - <p> - Her husband broke in upon these unwelcome reflections. His voice was - curiously harsh. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs Desmond is waiting, Yvonne.” - </p> - <p> - She drew herself up. - </p> - <p> - “Are you in such great haste, Mrs Desmond?” she asked in a voice that cut - like a knife. Instinctively she glanced at Frederic's face. She saw the - muscles of the jaw harden and an angry light leap into his eyes. Instantly - her arrogance fell away. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Desmond. I have many bad - habits. Now will you kindly show me to my room? I prefer that you and not - one of the servants should be my guide. <i>Au revoir</i>, Frederic. Till - tea-time, James.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were sparkling, her husky voice once more full of the appealing - quality that could not be denied. The flush of injured pride faded from - Mrs Desmond's brow and a faint look of surprise crept into her eyes. She - was surprised at her own inclination to overlook the affront, and not by - the change in Mrs Brood's manner. She smiled an unspoken pardon and stood - aside for the new mistress to pass in front of her. To her further - amazement the younger woman laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a gentle, - friendly pressure. - </p> - <p> - The men watched them in silence as they left the room side by side. A - moment later they heard the soft laughter of the two women as they mounted - the stairs. - </p> - <p> - Frederic drew a long breath. - </p> - <p> - “She's splendid, father,” he said impulsively. - </p> - <p> - Brood's face was still clouded. He did not respond to the eager tribute. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes cleared his throat and cast a significant glance toward the - dining-room. - </p> - <p> - “What do you say to a drink to the bride, Jim?” he said, somewhat - explosively. He had been silent for a longer period than usual. It wasn't - natural for him to be voiceless, even when quite alone. - </p> - <p> - “Good idea,” added Mr Riggs. “I was just thinking of it myself. A health - to the bride, my boy, and good luck to you both.” - </p> - <p> - “A glass to prosperity,” said Mr Dawes, with a wave of his hand. - </p> - <p> - “And two for posterity,” added Mr Riggs in an ecstasy of triumph. - </p> - <p> - A flush mounted to Brood's cheek. Young Frederic abruptly turned away. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, my friends,” said Brood, after a moment. “I'll leave the - bumpers to you, if you don't mind. It isn't meet that the groom should - drink to himself, and that's what you are suggesting. Go and have your - drinks, gentlemen, but leave me out.” - </p> - <p> - They looked disappointed, aggrieved. - </p> - <p> - “I said posterity,” expostulated Mr Riggs. “No harm in your drinking to <i>that</i>, - is there?” - </p> - <p> - “Shut up, Riggs,” hissed Mr Dawes, nudging him with some violence. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” said his friend, with a quick look at Frederic. Then, as if - inspired: “Come on, Freddy. Join us. Come and drink to the—to your—er—stepmother.” - He floundered miserably. “My God!” he gasped under his breath. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Mr Riggs. I'm not drinking,” said Frederic. - </p> - <p> - Dawes conducted Riggs to the dining-room door. There he turned and - remarked: - </p> - <p> - “Stick to that resolution, Freddy. See what old man Riggs has come to! If - it wasn't for me and your father he'd be in the gutter.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right, Freddy,” agreed Mr Riggs with rare amiability. He felt that - he owed something to Frederic in the way of apology. - </p> - <p> - Father and son faced each other after the old men had disappeared. They - were a striking pair, each in his way an example of fine, clean manhood. - The father was taller by two inches than the son, and yet Frederic was - nearly six feet in his stockings. Both were spare men, erect and - gracefully proportioned. - </p> - <p> - Brood gave out the impression of great strength, of steel sinews, of - invincible power; Frederic did not suggest physical strength, and yet he - was a clean-limbed, well-built fellow. He had a fine head, a slim body - whose every movement proclaimed nervous energy, and a face that denoted - temperament of the most pronounced character. His hair was black and - straight, growing thickly above the forehead and ears; his eyes were of a - deep gray, changeable at the dictates of his emotions. A not unhealthy - pallor lay on the surface of his skin, readily submissive to the - sensations which produce colour at the slightest provocation. His eyebrows - were rather thick, but delicately arched, and the lashes were long. It was - not a strong face, nor was it weak; it represented character without - force. - </p> - <p> - On the other hand, James Brood's lean, handsome face was full of power. - His gray eyes were keen, steady, compelling, and seldom alight with - warmth. His jaw was firm, square, resolute, and the lines that sank - heavily into the flesh in his cheeks were put there not by age but by the - very vigour of manhood. His hair was quite gray. - </p> - <p> - Frederic waited for his father to speak. He had ventured a remark before - the departure of the old men and it had been ignored. But James Brood had - nothing to say. - </p> - <p> - “She is very attractive, father,” said the young man at last, almost - wistfully. He did not realise it, but he was groping for sympathy. Brood - had been in the house for a quarter of an hour, after an absence of nearly - a year, and yet he might have been away no longer than a day for all that - he revealed in his attitude toward his son. His greeting had been cold, - casual, matter-of-fact. Frederic expected little more than that; still he - felt in a vague way that now, if never again, the ice of reserve might be - broken between them, if only for a moment. He was ready and willing to do - his part. - </p> - <p> - Brood was studying the young man's face with an intensity that for the - moment disconcerted him. He seemed bent on fixing certain features in his - mind's eye, as if his memory had once played him false and should not do - so again. It was a habit of Brood's, after prolonged separations, to look - for something in the boy's face that he wanted to see and yet dreaded, - something that might have escaped him when in daily contact with him. Now, - at the end of the rather offensive scrutiny, he seemed to shake his head - slightly, although one could not have been sure. - </p> - <p> - “And as charming as she is attractive, Frederic,” he said, with a faint - flush of the enthusiasm he suppressed. - </p> - <p> - “Who is she?” asked his son, without realising the bluntness of his - question. - </p> - <p> - “Who <i>is</i> she?” repeated his father, raising his eyebrows slightly. - “She is Mrs James Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “I—I beg your pardon,” stammered Frederic. “I didn't mean to put it - in that way. Who was she? Where did you meet her, and—oh, I want to - know all there is to tell, father. I've heard nothing. I am naturally - curious.” - </p> - <p> - Brood stopped him with a gesture. - </p> - <p> - “She was Yvonne Lestrange before we were married, Mlle Lestrange; we met - some time ago at the house of a mutual friend in Paris. I assure you her - references are all that could be desired.” His tone was sarcastic. - </p> - <p> - Frederic flushed. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry I asked the questions, sir,” he said stiffly. - </p> - <p> - Brood suddenly laughed, a quiet laugh that had some trace of humour and a - touch of compunction in it. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon, Frederic. Come up to my room and smoke a cigar with me - while I'm changing. I'll tell you about her. She is wonderful.” - </p> - <p> - To his own surprise, and to Frederic's astonishment, he linked his arm in - the young man's and started toward the hall. Afterward he was to wonder - even more than he wondered then what it was that created the sudden desire - to atone for the hurt look he had brought into the eyes of Matilde's son - and the odd longing to touch his arm gently. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ydia met Brood and - Frederic at the top of the stairs. She had received the message through - Jones and was on her way to dress for tea. The master of the house greeted - her most cordially. He was very fond of this lovely, gentle daughter of - John Desmond. - </p> - <p> - Into their association had stolen an intimate note that softened the cold - reserve of the man to a marked degree. There was something brave and - joyous in this girl that had always appealed to James Brood. He seldom - failed to experience a sense of complete relaxation when with her; his - hard eyes softened, his stern mouth took on the quiet smile of - contentment. - </p> - <p> - His chief joy was to chat with her over the work he was doing, and to - listen to her frank, honest opinions. There was no suggestion of - constraint in her manner. She was not afraid of him. That was the thing - about her, perhaps, that warmed his stone-cold heart, although he hardly - would have admitted it to be the case. - </p> - <p> - She regarded herself as his secretary, or his amanuensis, in the strict - way of speaking, but he considered her to be a friend as well, and treated - her with a freedom that was not extended to others. - </p> - <p> - A faint gleam of astonishment lurked in the girl's eyes as she stood - before the two men. Never, in her experience, had there been such an - exhibition of friendliness between father and son. A curious throb of joy - rushed up from her heart and lodged in her throat. For the first time she - found it difficult to respond with composure to Brood's lively comments. - Tears were lying close to the surface of her eyes; tears of relief and - gratitude. The buoyant expression in Frederic's told a new story. Her - heart rejoiced. - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” said Brood, when she announced that she was going in to change - her gown. “You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this instant. - I want Mrs Brood to see you for the first time just as you are. You are a - shirt-waist girl, Lydia. You couldn't be lovelier than you are now. Isn't - that true, Frederic?” - </p> - <p> - “You'll spoil her, father,” said Frederic, his face glowing. - </p> - <p> - Her prettiest frown opposed them. - </p> - <p> - “But you, after all, you are not women,” she said. “Women don't look at - each other through masculine eyes. They look at a girl not to see how - pretty she is, but to see what it is that makes her pretty.” - </p> - <p> - “But this is to be a family tea-party,” protested Brood. “It isn't a - function, as the society reporter would say. Come just as you are to - please me.” - </p> - <p> - “A tea-party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr Brood,” said she. “One - can learn a lot at either. Still, if you'd like to have Mrs Brood see me - as I really am, I'll appear <i>sans</i> plumage.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other, - Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she quaintly. - “You look very happy, Mr Brood,” she went on, her eyes bright. - </p> - <p> - “I believe I <i>am</i> happy,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder. - </p> - <p> - She returned to the jade room on the upper floor, where she had been at - work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of - rare jade. A catalogue, she knew, would have but little significance, in - view of the fact that the collection was not likely to be exhibited to - public view. Still it was his whim, and she had found considerable - pleasure in carrying out his belated orders. - </p> - <p> - The jade room, so called, was little more than a large closet off the - remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his “hiding-place,” - or, on occasions, his “retreat.” No one ventured into either of these - rooms except by special permission. - </p> - <p> - Ranjab, his Indian servant, slept in an adjoining room, and it was - whispered about the house that not even James Brood had viewed its - interior. This silent, unapproachable man from the mysterious heart of - India locked his door when he entered the room and locked it when he came - out. No one, not even the master, thought of entering. Mr Dawes in his - cups, or out of them, was responsible for the impression that the man kept - deadly serpents there. As a matter of fact, Ranjab was a peaceable fellow - and desperately afraid of snakes. - </p> - <p> - Lydia loved the feel of the cold, oily lumps of jade. There were a few - pieces of porcelain of extreme rarity and beauty as well, and several - priceless bits of cloisonné, but it was the jade she loved. There were two - or three hundred objects of various sizes and colours, and all were what - might be called museum pieces. To each was attached a tag disclosing - certain facts concerning its origin, its history, and the date of its - admission to the Brood collection. It appeared to be Lydia's task to set - down these dates and facts in chronological order. Her imagination built - quaint little stories about each of the ancient figures. She believed in - fairies. - </p> - <p> - She had been at work for half an hour or longer when a noise in the outer - room attracted her attention. She had the odd feeling that someone was - looking at her through the open door, and swiftly turned. - </p> - <p> - Except when occupied by Brood, the room was darkened by means of heavy - window-hangings; the effect was that produced by the gloaming just before - the stars appeared. Objects were shadowy, indistinct, mysterious. The - light from the jade room door threw a diverging ray across the full length - of the room. In the very centre of this bright strip sat a placid effigy - of Buddha that Brood had found in a remote corner of Siam, serenely stolid - on top of its thick base of bronze and lacquer, with a shining shrine for - a background. - </p> - <p> - In the dim edge of the shadow, near the door at the far end of the room, - Lydia made out the motionless, indistinct figure of a woman. The faint - outlines of the face were discernible, but not so the features. For a - moment the girl stared at the watcher and then advanced to the door. - </p> - <p> - “Who is it?” she inquired, peering. - </p> - <p> - A low, husky voice replied, with a suggestion of laughter in the tones. - </p> - <p> - “I am exploring the house.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia came forward at once. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is Mrs Brood. I beg your pardon. Shall I switch on the lights?” - </p> - <p> - “Are there such awful things as electric lights in this wonderful room?” - cried the other, disappointed. “I can't believe it of my husband. He - couldn't permit anything so bizarre as that.” - </p> - <p> - “They are emergency lights,” laughed Lydia. “He never uses them, of - course. They are for the servants.” - </p> - <p> - “You are Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mrs Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “I have been prowling everywhere. Your good mother deserted me when my - maid arrived with Ranjab a short time ago. Isn't this the dread <i>Bluebeard - room?</i> Shall I lose my head if I am discovered by the ogre?” - </p> - <p> - The girl felt the spell stealing over her. The low voice of the woman in - the shadow was like a sensuous caress. She experienced a sudden longing to - be closer to the speaker, to listen for the very intake of her breath. - </p> - <p> - “You have already been discovered by the ogre, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia - gaily, “and your head appears to be quite safe.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” rather curtly, as if repelling familiarity. It was like a - dash of cold water to Lydia's spirits. “You may turn on the lights. I - should like to see <i>you</i>, Miss Desmond.” - </p> - <p> - The girl crossed the room, passing close to the stranger in the house. The - fragrance of a perfume hitherto unknown to her separated itself from the - odour of sandalwood that always filled the place; it was soft, delicate, - refreshing. It was like a breath of cool, sweet air filtering into a - close, stuffy enclosure. One could not help drawing in a long, full - breath, as if the lungs demanded its revivifying qualities. - </p> - <p> - A soft, red glow began to fill the room as Lydia pulled the cord near the - door. There was no clicking sound, no sharp contact of currents; the light - came up gradually, steadily, until the whole space was drenched with its - refulgence. There were no shadows. Every nook and corner seemed to fill - with the warm, pleasant hue of the setting sun, and yet no visible means - appeared. - </p> - <p> - As the light grew brighter and brighter the eyes of the stranger swept the - room with undisguised wonder in their depths. - </p> - <p> - “How extraordinary!” she murmured, and then turned swiftly toward the - girl. “Where does it come from? I can see no lights. And see! There are no - shadows, not even beneath the table yonder. It—it is uncanny—but, - oh, how lovely!” - </p> - <p> - Lydia was staring at her with wide-open eyes, frankly astonished. The - eager, excited gleam vanished from Mrs Brood's lovely eyes. They narrowed - slightly. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you stare at me?” she demanded. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” cried the girl, blushing. - </p> - <p> - “I—I couldn't help it, Mrs Brood. Why, you are young!” The - exclamation burst from her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Young?” queried the other, frowning. - </p> - <p> - “I—I expected——” began Lydia, and stopped in pretty - confusion. - </p> - <p> - “I see. You expected a middle-aged lady? And why, pray, should James Brood - marry a middle-aged person?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I don't know. I'm sorry if I have offended you.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood smiled, a gay, pleased little smile that revealed her small, - even teeth. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't offended me, my dear,” she said. “You offend my husband by - thinking so ill of him, that's all.” She took the girl in from head to - foot with critical eyes. “He said you were very pretty and very lovable. - You are lovely. Isn't it a horrid word? Pretty! No one wants to be pretty. - Yes, you are just what I expected.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia was the taller of the two women—a matter of two inches perhaps—and - yet she had the curious feeling that she was looking upward as she gazed - into the other's eyes. It was the way Mrs Brood held herself. - </p> - <p> - “He has known me since I was a little girl,” she said, as if to account - for Brood's favourable estimate. - </p> - <p> - “And he knew your mother before you were born,” said the other. “She, too, - is—shall I say pretty?” - </p> - <p> - “My mother isn't pretty, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia, conscious of a sudden - feeling of resentment. - </p> - <p> - “She is handsome,” said Mrs Brood with finality. Sending a swift glance - around the room, she went on: “My husband delights in having beautiful - things about him. He doesn't like the ugly things of this world.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia flinched, she knew not why. There was a sting to the words, despite - the languidness with which they were uttered. - </p> - <p> - Risking more than she suspected, she said: - </p> - <p> - “He never considers the cost of a thing, Mrs Brood, if its beauty appeals - to him.” Mrs Brood gave her a quizzical, half-puzzled look. “You have only - to look about you for the proof. This one room represents a fortune.” The - last was spoken hastily. - </p> - <p> - “How old are you, Miss Desmond?” The question came abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “I am nineteen.” - </p> - <p> - “You were surprised to find me so young. Will it add to your surprise if I - tell you that I am ten years older than you?” - </p> - <p> - “I should have said not more than three or four years.” - </p> - <p> - “I am twenty-nine—seven years older than my husband's son.” - </p> - <p> - “It doesn't seem credible.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you wondering why I tell you my age?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Lydia bluntly. - </p> - <p> - “In order that you may realise that I am ten years wiser than you, and - that you may not again make the mistake of under-estimating my - intelligence.” - </p> - <p> - The colour faded from Lydia's face. She grew cold from head to foot. - Involuntarily she moved back a pace. The next instant, to her unbounded - surprise, Mrs Brood's hands were outstretched in a gesture of appeal, and - a quick, wistful smile took the place of the imperious stare. - </p> - <p> - “There! I am a nasty, horrid thing. Forgive me. Come! Don't be stubborn. - Shake hands with me and say that you're sorry I said what I did.” - </p> - <p> - It was a quaint way of putting it, and her voice was so genuinely - appealing that Lydia, after a moment's hesitation, extended her hands. Mrs - Brood grasped them in hers and gripped them tightly. - </p> - <p> - “I think I should like to know that you are my friend, Lydia. Has it - occurred to you that I am utterly without friends in this great city of - yours? I have my husband, that is all. Among all these millions of people - there is not one who knows that I exist. Isn't it appalling? Can you - imagine such a condition? There is not one to whom I can give an honest - smile. Nor am I likely to have many friends here. Indeed, I shall not lift - my finger to gain them. You will know me better one day, Lydia, and you - will understand. But now—to-day, to-morrow—now—I must - have someone to whom I may offer my friendship and have something to hope - for in return.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia could hardly credit her ears. - </p> - <p> - “I am sure you will have many friends, Mrs Brood,” she began, vaguely - uncomfortable. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want them,” cried the other sharply. “Poof! Are friends to be - made in a day? No! Admirers, yes. Enemies, yes. But friends, no. I shall - have no real friends here. It isn't possible. I am not like your people. I - cannot become like them. I shall know people and like them, no doubt, but—poof! - I shall not have them for friends.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't understand why you want me for a friend,” said Lydia stiffly. “My - position here is not what——” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood had not released the girl's hands. She interrupted her now by - dropping them as if they were of fire. - </p> - <p> - “You don't want to be my friend?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes—of course——” - </p> - <p> - “You are my husband's friend?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, Mrs Brood. He is <i>my</i> friend.” - </p> - <p> - “What is <i>your</i> position here?” - </p> - <p> - Lydia's face was flaming. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you knew. I am his secretary, if I may be allowed to - dignify my——” - </p> - <p> - “And you are Frederic's friend?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Despite your position?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand you, Mrs Brood.” - </p> - <p> - Once more the warm, enchanting smile broke over the face of the other. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it perfectly obvious, Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - The girl could no more withstand the electric charm of the woman than she - could have fought off the sunshine. She was bewildered and completely - fascinated. - </p> - <p> - “It's—it is very good of you,” she murmured, her own eyes softening - as they looked into the deep velvety ones that would not be denied. Even - as she wondered whether she could ever really like this magnetic creature, - she felt herself surrendering to the spell of her. “But perhaps you will - not like me when you know me better.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” said Mrs Brood calmly, almost indifferently, and dismissed the - subject. “What an amazing room! One can almost feel the presence of the - genii that created it at the wish of the man with the enchanted lamp. As a - rule, Oriental rooms are abominations, but this—ah, this is not an - Oriental room after all. It is a part of the East itself—of the real - East. I have sat in emperors' houses out there, my dear, and I have slept - in the palaces of kings. I have seen just such things as these, and I know - that they could not have been transported to this room except by magic. My - husband is a magician.” - </p> - <p> - “These came from the palaces of kings, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia - enthusiastically. “Kings in the days when kings were real. This rug——” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” interrupted the other. “It was woven by five generations of - royal weavers. Each of these borders represents the work of a lifetime. It - is the carpet of rubies, and a war was prolonged for years because an - emperor would not give it up to the foe who coveted it above all other - riches. His heart's blood stains it to this day. His empire was wiped out - by the relentless foe, his very name effaced, but the heart's blood still - is there, Lydia. That can never be wiped out. My husband told me the - story. It must have cost him a fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “It is worth a fortune,” said Lydia. - </p> - <p> - A calculating squint had come into Mrs Brood's eyes while she was - speaking. To Lydia it appeared as if she were trying to fix upon the value - of the wonderful carpet. - </p> - <p> - “A collector has offered him—how much? A hundred thousand dollars, - is not that it? Ah, how rich he must be!” - </p> - <p> - “The collector you refer to——” - </p> - <p> - “I was referring to my husband,” said Mrs Brood, unabashed. “He is very - rich, isn't he?” - </p> - <p> - Lydia managed to conceal her annoyance. “I think not, as - American fortunes are rated.” - </p> - <p> - “It doesn't matter,” said the other carelessly. - “I have my own fortune. And it is not my face,” she added with her quick - smile. “Now let us look farther. I must see all of these wonderful things. - We will not be missed, and it is still half an hour till tea-time. My - husband is now telling his son all there is to be told about me—who - and what I am, and how he came to marry me. Not, mind you, how I came to - marry him, but—the other way round. It's the way with men past - middle age.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia hesitated before speaking. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood does not confide - in Frederic. I am afraid they have but little in common. Oh, I shouldn't - have said that!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood regarded her with narrowing eyes. - </p> - <p> - “He doesn't confide in Frederic?” she repeated in the form of a question. - Her voice seemed lower than before. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry I spoke as I did, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, annoyed with - herself. - </p> - <p> - “Is there a reason why he should dislike his son?” asked the other, - regarding her fixedly. - </p> - <p> - “Of course not,” cried poor Lydia. - </p> - <p> - There was a moment of silence. - </p> - <p> - “Some day, Lydia, you will tell me about Mr Brood's other wife.” - </p> - <p> - “She died many years ago,” said the girl evasively. - </p> - <p> - “I know,” said Mrs Brood. “Still, I should like to hear more of the woman - he could not forget in all those years—until he met me.” - </p> - <p> - She grew silent and preoccupied, a slight frown marking her forehead as - she resumed her examination of the room and its contents. - </p> - <p> - It is quite impossible adequately to describe the place in which the two - women met for the first time. Suffice to say, it was long, narrow, and, - being next below the roof, low-ceilinged. The walls were hung with rich, - unusual tapestries whose subdued tones seemed to lure one back to the - undimmed glory of Solomon's days, to the even more remote realms of those - gods and goddesses on whom our fancy thrives despite the myths they were. - </p> - <p> - Silks of a weight and lustre that taxed credulity; golden threads - interweaving gems of the purest ray; fringe and galloons with the solemn - waste of ages in their thin, lovely sheen; over all the soft radiance of - an <i>Arabian Night</i> and the gentle touch of a <i>Scheherazade.</i> - Here hung transported the fabulous splendours of Ind, the shimmering - treasures of Ming, and the loot of the <i>Forty Thieves</i>. - </p> - <p> - The ceiling, for want of a better name, was no less than a canopy - constructed out of a single rug of enormous dimensions and incalculable - value, gleaming with the soft colours of the rainbow, shedding a serene - iridescence over the entire room to shame the light of day. - </p> - <p> - The furniture, the trappings, the ornaments throughout were of a most - unusual character. A distinctly regal atmosphere prevailed. No article - there but had come from the palace of a ruler in the East, from the - massive gold and lacquered table to the tiniest piece of bronze or the - lowliest hassock. Chairs that had served as thrones, chests that had - contained the treasures of potentates, robes that had covered the bodies - of kings and queens, couches on which had nestled the favourites of - sultans, screens and mirrors that had reflected the jewels of an empire—<i>all</i> - were here to feed the senses with dreams imperial. - </p> - <p> - Great lanterns hung suspended beside the shrine at the end of the room, - but were now unlighted. On the table at which Brood professed to work - stood a huge lamp with a lacelike screen of gold. When lighted, a soft, - mellow glow oozed through the shade to create a circle of golden - brilliance over a radius that extended but little beyond the edge of the - table, yet reached to the benign countenance of Buddha close by. - </p> - <p> - Over all this fairylike splendour reigned the serene, melting influence of - the god to whom James Brood was wont to confess himself. The spell of the - golden image dominated everything. - </p> - <p> - In the midst of this magnificence moved the two women—one absurdly - out of touch with her surroundings, yet a thing of beauty; the other - blending intimately with the warm tones that enveloped her. She was lithe, - sinuous, with the grace of the most seductive of dancers. Her dark eyes - reflected the mysteries of the Orient; her pale, smooth skin shone with - the clearness of alabaster; the crimson in her lips was like the fresh - stain of blood; the very fragrance of her person seemed to steal out of - the unknown. She was a part of the marvellous setting, a gem among gems. - </p> - <p> - She had attired herself in a dull Indian-red afternoon gown of chiffon. - The very fabric seemed to cling to her supple body with a sensuous joy of - contact. Even Lydia, who watched her with appraising eyes, experienced a - swift, unaccountable desire to hold this intoxicating creature close to - her own body. - </p> - <p> - There were two windows in the room, broad openings that ran from near the - floor almost to the edge of the canopy. They were so heavily curtained - that the light of day failed to penetrate to the interior of the - apartment. Mrs Brood approached one of these windows. Drawing the curtains - apart, she let in an ugly gray light from the outside world. The illusion - was spoiled at once. - </p> - <p> - “How cold and pallid the world really is!” she cried, a shiver passing - over her slim body. - </p> - <p> - The sky above the housetops was bleak and drab in the waning light of late - afternoon. Over the summits of loft-buildings to the south and west hung - the smoke from the river beyond, smudgy clouds that neither drifted nor - settled. - </p> - <p> - She looked down into a sort of courtyard and garden that might have been - transplanted from distant Araby. Uttering an exclamation of wonder, she - turned to Lydia. - </p> - <p> - “Is this New York or am I bewitched?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood transformed the old carriage yard into a—I think Mr Dawes - calls it a Persian garden. It is rather bleak in winter-time, Mrs Brood, - but in the summer it is really enchanting. See, across the court on the - second floor, where the windows are lighted, those are your rooms. It is - an enormous house, you'll find. Do you see the little balcony outside your - windows, and the vines creeping up to it? You can't imagine how sweet it - is of a summer night with the moon and stars——” - </p> - <p> - “But how desolate it looks to-day, with the dead vines and the colourless - stones! Ugh!” - </p> - <p> - She dropped the curtains. The soft, warm glow of the room came back, and - she sighed with relief. - </p> - <p> - “I hate things that are dead,” she said. - </p> - <p> - At the sound of a soft tread and the gentle rustle of draperies, they - turned. Ranjab, the Hindu, was crossing the room toward the small door - which gave entrance to his closet. He paused for an instant before the - image of Buddha, but did not drop to his knees, as all devout Buddhists - do. Mrs Brood's hand fell lightly upon Lydia's arm. The man turned toward - them a second or two later. - </p> - <p> - His dark, handsome face was hard set and emotionless as he bowed low to - the new mistress of the house. The fingers closed tightly on Lydia's arm. - Then he smiled upon the girl, a glad smile of devotion. His swarthy face - was transfigured. A moment later he unlocked his door and passed into the - other room. The key turned in the lock with a slight rasp. - </p> - <p> - “I do not like that man,” said Mrs Brood. Her voice was low and her eyes - were fixed steadily on the closed door. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he ensuing - fortnight brought the expected changes in the household. James Brood, to - the surprise of not only himself, but others, lapsed into a curious state - of adolescence. His infatuation was complete. The once dominant influence - of the man seemed to slink away from him as the passing days brought up - the new problems of life. Where he had lived to command he now was content - to serve. - </p> - <p> - His friends, his son, his servants viewed the transformation with wonder, - not to say apprehension. It was not difficult to understand his - infatuation for the—shall we say enchantress? He was not the only - one there to fall under the spell. But it was almost unbelievable that he - should submit to thraldom with the complacency of a weakling. - </p> - <p> - Love, which had been lying bruised and unconscious within him for twenty - years and more, arose from its stupor and became a thing to play with, as - one would play with a child. The old, ugly vistas melted into dreamy, - adolescent contemplations of a paradise in which he could walk - hand-in-hand with the future and find that the ghosts of the past no - longer attended him along the once weary way. - </p> - <p> - It would not be true to say that the remarkable personality of the man had - suffered. He was still the man of steel, but re-tempered. The rigid - broadsword was made over into the fine, flexible blade of Toledo. He could - be bent but not broken. - </p> - <p> - It pleased him to submit to Yvonne's commands, - </p> - <p> - Not that they were arduous or peremptory; on the contrary, they were - suggestions in which his own comfort and pleasure appeared to be the - inspiration. He found something like delight in being rather amiably - convinced of his own shortcomings; in learning from her that his life up - to this hour had been a sadly mismanaged affair; that there were soft, - fertile spots in his heart where things would grow in spite of him. He - enjoyed the unique spectacle of himself in the process of being made over - to fit ideals that he would have scorned a few months before. - </p> - <p> - She was too wise to demand, too clever to resort to cajolery. She was a - Latin. Diplomacy was hers as a birthright. Complaints, appeals, sulks - would have gained nothing from James Brood. It would not have occurred to - her to employ these methods. From the day she entered the house she was - its mistress. She was sure of her ground, sure of herself, fettered by no - sense of doubt as to her position there, bound by no feminine notion of - gratitude to man, as many women are who find themselves married. It might - almost be said of her that she ruled without making a business of it. - </p> - <p> - To begin with, she miraculously transferred the sleeping quarters of - Messrs Dawes and Riggs from the second floor front to the third floor back - without arousing the slightest sign of antagonism on the part of the - crusty old gentlemen who had occupied one of the choice rooms in the house - with uninterrupted security for a matter of nine or ten years. This was a - feat that James Brood himself would never have tried to accomplish. They - had selected this room at the first instant of occupation, because it - provided something of a view up and down the street from the big bow - window, and they wouldn't evacuate. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood explained the situation to them so graciously, so convincingly, - that they even assisted the servants in moving their heterogeneous - belongings to the small, remote room on the third floor, and applauded her - plan to make a large sitting-room of the chamber they were deserting. It - did not occur to them for at least three days that they had been imposed - upon, cheated, maltreated, insulted, and then it was too late. The - decorators were in the big room on the second floor. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps they would not have arrived at a sense of realisation even then if - it had not come out in the course of conversation that it was not to be a - <i>general</i> sitting-room, but one with reservations. The discovery of - what they secretly were pleased to call duplicity brought an abrupt end to - the period of abstemiousness that had lasted since the day of her arrival, - when, out of courtesy to the bride, they had turned their backs upon the - tipple. - </p> - <p> - Now, however, the situation was desperate. She had tricked them with her - wily politeness. They had been betrayed by the wife of their bosom friend. - Is it small cause for wonder, then, that the poor gentlemen as manfully - turned back to the tipple and got gloriously, garrulously drunk in the - middle of the afternoon and also in the middle of the library, where tea - was to have been served to a few friends asked in to meet the bride? - </p> - <p> - The next morning a fresh edict was issued. It came from James Brood, and - it was so staggering that the poor gentlemen were loath to believe their - ears. As a result of this new command they began to speak of Mrs Brood in - the privacy of their own room as “that woman.” Of course, it was entirely - due to her mischievous, malevolent influence that a spineless husband put - forth the order that they were to have nothing more to drink while they - remained in his house. - </p> - <p> - This command was modified to a slight extent later on. Brood felt sorry - for the victims. He loved them, and he knew that their pride was injured a - great deal more than their appetite. In its modified form the edict - allowed them a small drink in the morning and another at bedtime, but the - doses (as they sarcastically called them) were to be administered by Jones - the butler, who held the key to the situation and—the sideboard. - </p> - <p> - “Is this a dispensary?” wailed Mr Dawes in weak horror. “Are we to stand - in line and solicit the common necessities of life? Answer me, Riggs! - Confound you, don't stand there like a wax figure! Say something!” - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs shook his head bleakly. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Jim,” was all that he said, and rolled his eyes heavenward. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes reflected. After many minutes the tears started down his rubicund - cheeks. “Poor old Jim,” he sighed. And after that they looked upon Mrs - Brood as the common enemy of all three. - </p> - <p> - The case of Mrs John Desmond was disposed of in a summary but tactful - manner. - </p> - <p> - “If Mrs Desmond is willing to remain, James, as housekeeper instead of - friend, all well and good,” said Mrs Brood, discussing the matter in the - seclusion of her boudoir. “I doubt, however, whether she can descend to - that. You have spoiled her, my dear.” - </p> - <p> - Brood was manifestly pained and uncomfortable. - </p> - <p> - “She was the wife of my best friend, Yvonne. I have never permitted her to - feel——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she interrupted, “the wives of best friends! Nearly every man has - the wife of a best friend somewhere in his life's history.” She shook her - head at him with mock mournfulness. - </p> - <p> - He flushed. “I trust you do not mean to imply that——” - </p> - <p> - “I know what you would say. No, I do not mean anything of the sort. Still, - you now have a wife of your own. Is it advisable to have also the wife of - a best friend?” - </p> - <p> - “Really, Yvonne, all this sounds very suspicious and—unpleasant. Mrs - Desmond is the soul of——” - </p> - <p> - “My dear man, why should you defend her? I am not accusing her. I am - merely going into the ethics of the situation. If you can forget that Mrs - Desmond is the wife of your friend and come to regard her as a servant in - your establishment, no one will be more happy than I to have her about the - place. She is fine, she is competent, she is a lady. But she is not my - equal here. Can't you understand?” - </p> - <p> - He was thoughtful for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you are right. The conditions are peculiar. I can't go to her - and say that she must consider herself as—oh, no, that would be - impossible.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to have Mrs Desmond as my friend, not as my housekeeper,” - said his wife simply. - </p> - <p> - “By Jove, and that's just what I should like,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “There is but one way, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “She must be one or the other, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely,” she said with firmness. “In my country, James, the wives of - best friends haven't the same moral standing that they appear to have in - yours. Oh, don't scowl so! Shall I tell you again that I do not mean to - reflect on Mrs Desmond's virtue—or discretion? Far from it. If she - is to be my friend, she cannot be your housekeeper. That's the point. Has - she any means of her own? Can she——” - </p> - <p> - “She has a small income, and an annuity which I took out for her soon - after her poor husband's death. We were the closest of friends——” - </p> - <p> - “I understand, James. You are very generous and very loyal. I quite - understand. Losing her position here, then, will not be a hardship?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said he soberly. - </p> - <p> - “I am quite competent, James,” she said brightly. “You will not miss her, - I am sure.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn't that, Yvonne,” he sighed. “Mrs Desmond and Lydia have been - factors in my life for so long that—— But, of course, that is - neither here nor there. I will explain the situation to her to-morrow. She - will understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, James. You are really quite reasonable.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you laughing at me, darling?” - </p> - <p> - She gave him one of her searching, unfathomable glances, and she smiled - with roguish mirth. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it your mission in life to amuse and entertain me?” - </p> - <p> - “I love you, Yvonne. Good God, how I love you!” he cried abruptly. - </p> - <p> - His eyes burned with a sudden flame of passion as he bent over her. His - face quivered; his whole being tingled with the fierce spasm of an - uncontrollable desire to crush the warm, adorable body to his breast in - the supreme ecstasy of possession. - </p> - <p> - She surrendered herself to his passionate embrace. A little later she - withdrew herself from his arms, her lips still quivering with the - fierceness of his kisses. Her eyes, dark with wonder and perplexity, - regarded his transfigured face for a long, tense moment. - </p> - <p> - “Is this love, James?” she whispered. “Is this the real, true love?” - </p> - <p> - “What else, in Heaven's name, can it be?” he cried. He was sitting upon - the arm of her chair, looking down at the strangely pallid face. - </p> - <p> - “But should love have the power to frighten me?” - </p> - <p> - “Frighten, my darling?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is not you who are frightened,” she cried. “You are the man. But I—ah, - I am only the woman.” - </p> - <p> - He stared. “What an odd way to put it, dear.” - </p> - <p> - Then he drew back, struck by the curious gleam of mockery in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Was it like this twenty-five years ago?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne!” - </p> - <p> - “Did you love her—like this?” - </p> - <p> - He managed to smile. “Are you jealous?” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about her.” - </p> - <p> - His face hardened. “Some other time, not now.” - </p> - <p> - “But you loved her, didn't you?” - </p> - <p> - “Don't be silly, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “And she loved you. If you loved her as you love me, she could not have - helped——” - </p> - <p> - “Please, please, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, a dull red setting in his cheek. - </p> - <p> - “You have never told me her name——” - </p> - <p> - He faced her, his eyes as cold as steel. “I may as well tell you now, - Yvonne, that her name is never mentioned in this house.” - </p> - <p> - She seemed to shrink down farther in the chair. - </p> - <p> - “Why?” she asked, an insistent note in her voice. - </p> - <p> - “It isn't necessary to explain.” He walked away from her to the window and - stood looking out over the bleak little courtyard. Neither spoke for many - minutes, and yet he knew that her questioning gaze was upon him and that - when he turned to her again she would ask still another question. He tried - to think of something to say that would turn her away from this hated - subject. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it time for you to dress, dearest? The Gunnings live pretty far up - north and the going will be bad with Fifth Avenue piled up with snow——” - </p> - <p> - “Doesn't Frederic ever mention his mother's name?” came the question that - he feared before it was uttered. - </p> - <p> - “I am not certain that he knows her name,” said he levelly. The knuckles - of his hands, clenched tightly behind his back, were white. “He has never - heard me utter it.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him darkly. There was something in her eyes that caused him - to shift his own steady gaze uncomfortably. He could not have explained - what it was, but it gave him a curiously uneasy feeling, as of impending - peril. It was not unlike the queer, inexplicable, though definite, sensing - of danger that more than once he had experienced in the silent, tranquil - depths of great forests. - </p> - <p> - “But you loved her just the same, James, up to the time you met me. Is not - that true?” - </p> - <p> - “No!” he exclaimed loudly. “It is not true.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what could have happened to make you so bitter toward her,” she - went on, still watching him through half-closed eyes. “Was she unfaithful - to you? Was——” - </p> - <p> - “Good God, Yvonne!” he cried, an angry light jumping into his eyes—the - eyes that so recently had been ablaze with love. - </p> - <p> - “Don't be angry, dearest,” she cried plaintively. “We Europeans speak of - such things as if they were mere incidents. I forget that you Americans - take them seriously, as tragedies.” - </p> - <p> - He controlled himself with an effort. The pallor in his face would have - alarmed anyone but her. - </p> - <p> - “We must never speak of—of that again, Yvonne,” he said, a queer - note of hoarseness in his voice. “Never, do you understand?” He was very - much shaken. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me,” she pleaded, stretching out her hand to him. “I am foolish, - but I did not dream that I was being cruel or unkind. Perhaps, dear, it is - because I am—jealous.” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one—nothing to be jealous of,” he said, passing a hand - over his moist brow. Then he drew nearer and took her hand in his. It was - as cold as ice. - </p> - <p> - “Your hand is cold, darling,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “And yours, too,” she said, looking down at their clasped hands, a faint - smile on her lips. Suddenly she withdrew her fingers from his strong grip. - A slight shiver ran over her frame. “Ugh! I don't like cold hands!” - </p> - <p> - He laughed rather desolately. “Suppose that I were to say the same to - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I am temperamental; you are not,” she replied coolly. “Sit down, dear. - Let us be warm again.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall I have the fire replenished——” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said with her slow smile, “you don't understand.” - </p> - <p> - He lounged again on the arm of her chair. She leaned back and sighed - contentedly, the smile on her red lips growing sweeter with each breath - that she took. He felt his blood warming once more. - </p> - <p> - For a long time they sat thus, looking into each other's eyes without - speaking. He was trying to fathom the mystery that lurked at the bottom of - those smiling wells; she, on the other hand, deluded herself with the idea - that she was reading his innermost thought. - </p> - <p> - “I have been considering the advisability of sending Frederic abroad for a - year or two,” said he at last. - </p> - <p> - She started. She had been far from right in her reading. - </p> - <p> - “Now? This winter?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He has never been abroad.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed? And he is half European, too. It seems—forgive me, James. - Really, you know, I cannot always keep my thoughts from slipping out. You - shouldn't expect it, dear.” - </p> - <p> - “How did you know that his—his mother was a European?” he inquired - abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Dear me! What manner of woman do you think I am? Without curiosity? I - should be a freak. I have inquired of Mrs Desmond. There was no harm in - that.” - </p> - <p> - “What did she tell you? But no! It doesn't matter. We shan't discuss it. - We——” - </p> - <p> - “She told me little or nothing,” she broke in quickly. “You may rest quite - easy, James.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word, Yvonne, I don't understand——” - </p> - <p> - “Let us speak of Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it is only natural that you should inquire,” he said - resignedly. - </p> - <p> - “Of my servants,” she added pointedly. - </p> - <p> - He flushed slightly. “I dare say I deserve the rebuke. It will not be - necessary to pursue that line of inquiry, however. I shall tell you the - story myself some day, Yvonne. Will you not bear with me?” - </p> - <p> - She met the earnest appeal in his eyes with a slight frown of annoyance. - </p> - <p> - “Who is to tell me the wife's side of the story?” - </p> - <p> - The question was like a blow to him. He stared at her as if he had not - heard aright. Before he could speak she went on coolly. - </p> - <p> - “I dare say there are two sides to it, James. It's usually the case.” - </p> - <p> - He winced. “There is but one side to this one,” he said, a harsh note in - his voice. - </p> - <p> - “That is why I began my inquiries with Mrs Desmond,” she said - enigmatically. “But I shan't pursue them any farther. You love <i>me</i>; - that is all I care to know—or that I require.” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>do</i> love you,” he said, almost imploringly. She stroked his gaunt - cheek. “Then we may let the other woman—go hang, eh?” - </p> - <p> - He felt the cold sweat start on his brow. Her callous remark slashed his - finer sensibilities like the thrust of a dagger. He tried to laugh, but - only succeeded in producing a painful grimace. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” she went on, as if the matter were fully disposed of, “we will - discuss something tangible, eh? Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said he, rather dazedly. “Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very, very fond of your son, James,” she said. “How proud you must - be to have such a son.” - </p> - <p> - He eyed her narrowly. How much of the horrid story did she know? How much - of it had John Desmond told to his wife? - </p> - <p> - “I am surprised at your liking him, Yvonne. He is what I'd call a - difficult young man.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't found him difficult.” - </p> - <p> - “Morbid and unresponsive.” - </p> - <p> - “Not by nature, however. There is a joyousness, a light-heartedness in his - character that has never got beyond the surface until now, James.” - </p> - <p> - “Until now?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. And you talk of sending him away. Why?” - </p> - <p> - “He has wanted to go abroad for years. This is a convenient time for him - to go.” - </p> - <p> - “But I am quite sure he will not care to go at present—not for a - while, at least.” - </p> - <p> - “And why not, may I ask?” - </p> - <p> - “Because he is in love.” - </p> - <p> - “In love!” he exclaimed, his jaw setting hard. - </p> - <p> - “He is in love with Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll put a stop to that!” - </p> - <p> - “And why, may I ask?” she mimicked. - </p> - <p> - “Because—why——” he burst out, but instantly collected - himself. “He is not in a position to marry, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “Financially?” - </p> - <p> - He swallowed hard. “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Poof!” she exclaimed, dismissing the obstacle with a wave of her slim - hand. “A cigarette, please. There is another reason why he shouldn't go—an - excellent one.” - </p> - <p> - “The reason you've already given is sufficient to convince me that he - ought to go at once. What is the other one, pray?” - </p> - <p> - She lighted a cigarette from the match he held. “What would you say if I - were to tell you that I object to his going away—at present?” - </p> - <p> - “I should ask the very obvious question.” - </p> - <p> - “Because I like him, I want him to like me, and I shall be very lonely - without him,” she answered calmly. - </p> - <p> - “You are frank, to say the least,” said he, laughing. - </p> - <p> - “And serious. I don't want him to go away at present. Later on, yes; but - not now. I shall need him, James.” - </p> - <p> - “You will be lonely, you say.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. You forget that I am young.” - </p> - <p> - “I see,” said he, a sudden pain in his heart. “Perhaps it would be more to - the point if you were to say that I forget that I am old.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed. It was a soft, musical laugh that strangely stilled the - tumult in his breast. - </p> - <p> - “You are younger than Frederic,” she said. “Unless we do something to - prevent it, your son will be an old man before he is thirty. Don't send - him away now, James. Let me have him for a while. I mean it, dear. He is a - lonely boy, and I know what it is to be lonely.” - </p> - <p> - “You?” he cried. “Why, you've never known anything but——” - </p> - <p> - “One can be lonely even in the heart of a throng,” she said cryptically. - “No, James, I will not have him sent away.” - </p> - <p> - He resented the imputation. “Why do you say that I am sending him away?” - </p> - <p> - “Because you are,” she replied boldly. - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a moment. “We will leave it to Frederic,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Her face brightened. “That is all I ask. He will stay.” - </p> - <p> - There was another pause. “You two have become very good friends, Yvonne.” - </p> - <p> - “He is devoted to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't spoil him in making him over,” he said dryly. - </p> - <p> - She blew cigarette—smoke in his face and laughed. There was a knock - at the door. - </p> - <p> - “Come in!” she called. - </p> - <p> - Frederic entered. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> certain element - of gaiety invaded the staid old house in these days. The new mistress was - full of life and the joy of living. She was accustomed to adulation, she - was used to the tumult of society. Her life, since she left the convent - school, evidently had been one in which rest, except physical, was - unknown. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne Lestrange, in a way, had been born to purple and fine linen. She - had never known deprivation of any description. Neither money, position, - nor love had been denied her during the few years in which her charm and - beauty had flashed across the great European capitals, penetrating even to - the recesses of royal courts. - </p> - <p> - It is doubtful if James Brood knew very much concerning her family when he - proposed marriage to her, but it is certain that he did not care. He first - saw her at the home of a British nobleman, but did not meet her. Something - in the vivid, brilliant face of the woman made a deep and lasting - impression on him. There was an instant when their eyes met through an - opening in the throng which separated them. He was not only conscious of - the fact that he was staring at her, but that she was looking at him in a - curiously penetrating way. - </p> - <p> - There was a mocking smile on her lips at the time. He saw it fade away, - even as the crowd came between. He knew that the smile had not been - intended for him, but for someone of the eager cavaliers who surrounded - her, and yet there was something singularly direct in the look she gave - him. - </p> - <p> - Later on he made inquiries of his host, with whom he had hunted big game - in Africa, and learned that she was a guest in the home of the Russian - ambassador. He did not see her again until they met in the south of France - a few months later. On this occasion they were guests at the same house, - and he took her into dinner. He had not forgotten her, and it gratified - him immensely to discover that she remembered him. - </p> - <p> - That single glance in the duke's house proved to be a fatal one for both. - They were married inside of a month. The virile, confident American had - conquered where countless suppliants of a more or less noble character had - gone down to defeat. - </p> - <p> - He asked but one question of her; she asked none of him. The fact that she - was the intimate friend and associate of the woman in whose home he met - her was sufficient proof of her standing in society, although that would - have counted for little so far as Brood was concerned. - </p> - <p> - She was the daughter of a baron; she had spent much of her life in Paris, - coming from St Petersburg when a young girl; and she was an orphan with an - independent fortune of her own. - </p> - <p> - Her home in Paris, where she had lived with some degree of permanence for - the past four or five years, was shared with an estimable, though - impoverished, lady of rank, the Countess de Rochambert, of middle age and - undeniable qualifications as a chaperon, even among those who are prone to - laugh at locksmiths. Such common details as these came to Brood in the - natural way and were not derived from any effort on his part to secure - information concerning Mlle Lestrange. Like the burned child, he asked a - question which harked back to an unforgotten pain. - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever loved a man deeply, devotedly, Yvonne—so deeply that - there is pain in the thought of him?” - </p> - <p> - She replied without hesitation. - </p> - <p> - “There is no such man, James. You may be sure of that.” - </p> - <p> - “I am confident that I can hold your love against the future, but no man - is vital enough to compete with the past. Love doesn't really die, you - know. If a man cannot hold a woman's love against all new-comers, he - deserves to lose it. It doesn't follow, however, that he can protect - himself against the man who appears out of the past and claims his own.” - </p> - <p> - “You speak as though the past had played you an evil trick,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He did not mince words. - </p> - <p> - “Years ago a man came out of the past and took from me the woman I loved - and cherished.” - </p> - <p> - “Your—your wife?” she asked in a voice suddenly lowered. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - She was silent for a long time. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder at your courage in taking the risk again,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I think I wonder at it myself,” said he. “No, I am not afraid,” he went - on, as if convincing himself that there was no risk. “I shall make you - love me to the end, Yvonne. I am not afraid. But why do you not ask me for - all the wretched story?” - </p> - <p> - “It is not unlike all stories of its kind, my dear,” she said with an - indifference that amazed him. “They are all alike. Why should I ask? The - wife takes up with an old lover; she deceives her husband; the world - either does or does not find out about it; the home is wrecked; the - husband takes to drink; the wife pretends she is happy; the lover takes to - women; and the world goes on just the same in spite of them. Sometimes the - husband kills. It is of no moment. Sometimes the wife destroys herself. It - is a trifle. The whole business is like the magazine story that is for - ever being continued in our next. No, I do not ask you for your story, - James. Some time you may tell me, but not to-day. I shouldn't mind hearing - it if it were an original tale, but God knows it isn't. It's as old as the - Nile. But you may tell me more about your son. Is he like you, or like his - mother?” - </p> - <p> - Brood's lips were compressed. - </p> - <p> - “I can't say that he is like either of us,” he said shortly. - </p> - <p> - She raised her eyebrows slightly. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she said. “That makes quite a difference. Perhaps, after all, I - shall be interested in the story.” Her manner was so casual, so serenely, - matter-of-fact, that he could hardly restrain the sharp exclamation of - annoyance that rose to his lips. - </p> - <p> - He bit his lip and allowed the frank insinuation to go unanswered. He - consoled himself with the thought that she must have spoken in jest - without intention. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she would make - light of his story, too, when the time came for revelations. A curious - doubt took root in his mind: Would he ever be able to understand the - nature of this woman whom he loved and who appeared to love him so - unreservedly? As time went on the doubt became a conviction. She proved to - be utterly beyond Brood's comprehension. - </p> - <p> - The charm and beauty of the new mistress of James Brood's heart and home - was to become the talk of the town. Already, in the first month of her - reign, she had drawn to the old house the attention not only of the - parasites who feed on novelty, but of families that had long since given - up Brood as a representative figure in the circle into which he had been - born. - </p> - <p> - He had dropped out of their lives so completely in the passing years that - no one took the trouble to interest himself in the man's affairs. His - self-effacement had been complete. The story of his ill-fated marriage was - an almost forgotten page in the history of the town. - </p> - <p> - Old friends now cudgelled their brains to recall the details of the break - between him and the first Mrs Brood, who, they were bound to remember, was - also beautiful, fascinating, and an adornment to the rather exclusive - circle in which they moved. No one could point to the real cause of the - separation, however, for the excellent reason that the true conditions - were never revealed to anyone outside the four walls of the house from - which she was banished. - </p> - <p> - Memory merely brought to mind the fact that the young husband became a - wanderer on the face of the earth, and that his once joyous face was an - almost forgotten object. - </p> - <p> - Brood, in the full pride of possession, awoke to the astounding - realisation that he wanted people to envy him this wonderful creature. He - wanted men to covet her! He longed to have the world see her at his side, - and to feel that the world was saying: “She belongs to James Brood.” - </p> - <p> - It was not the cheap, ordinary New York society, the insufferably rich and - vulgar of the metropolis that he sought to conquer, but the fine old - families with whom rests the real verdict. He knew that those families - were not many in these days of haste and waste, but he also knew that the - rush of frivolity had not weakened their position. Their word was still - the law. Serenely confident, he revealed his wife to the few, and waited. - </p> - <p> - It cannot be said that she conquered, for that would be to imply design on - her part. Possibly she considered the game unworthy of the effort. For, in - truth, Yvonne Brood despised Americans. She made small pretence of liking - them. The rather closely knit circle of Parisian aristocracy which she - affected is known to tolerate, but not to invite, the society of even the - best of Americans. - </p> - <p> - She was no larger than her environment. Her views upon and her attitude - toward the Americans were not created by her but for her. The fact that - James Brood had reached the inner shrine of French self-worship no doubt - put him in a class apart from all other Americans, so far as she was - concerned. At least it may account for an apparent inconsistency, in that - she married him without much hesitation. - </p> - <p> - She welcomed the admiration and attention of the friends he brought to the - house by one means or another during the first few weeks. If she was - surprised to find them cultured, clever, agreeable specimens, she failed - to mention the discovery to him. They amused her and therefore served a - purpose. She charmed them in exchange for the tribute they paid to her. - </p> - <p> - Those whom she liked the least she took no pains to please; in fact, she - endured them so politely that while they may have secretly resented her - indifference, they could do no less than openly profess admiration for - her. She offended no one, yet she managed with amazing adroitness to rid - herself of the bores. It happened, however, that the so-called bores were - the very people that Brood particularly wanted her to cultivate. She found - them stupid, but respectable. - </p> - <p> - They were for ever telling her that she would like New York when she got - used to it. - </p> - <p> - Her warmest friend and admirer—one might almost say slave—was - Frederic Brood. She had transformed him. He was no longer the silent, - moody youth of other days, but an eager, impetuous playmate, whose - principal object in life was to amuse her. If anyone had tried to convince - him that he could have regarded Mrs Desmond's dethronement and departure - with equanimity he would have protested with all the force at his command. - But that would have been a month ago! - </p> - <p> - When the time came for his old friend to leave the house over which she - had presided for ten of the gentlest years of his life, his heart was sore - and his throat was tight with pain, but he accepted the inevitable with a - resignation that once would have been impossible. - </p> - <p> - From the outset he realised that Mrs Desmond would have to go. At first he - rebelled within himself against the unspoken edict. Afterward he was - surprised to find that he regarded himself as selfish in even wishing that - she might stay, when it was so palpably evident that the situation could - not long remain pleasant for either Mrs Desmond or Mrs Brood. He saw Lydia - and her mother leave without the slightest doubt in his mind that it was - all for the best. - </p> - <p> - The Desmonds took a small apartment just around the corner from Brood's - home, in a side street, and in the same block. Their windows looked down - into the courtyard in the rear of Brood's home. Frederic assisted them in - putting their new home in order. It was great fun for Lydia and him, this - building of what they were pleased to call “a nest.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia may have seen the cloud in their sky, but he did not. To him the - world was bright and gladsome, without a shadow to mar its new beauty. He - was enthusiastic, eager, excited. She fell in with his spirit, but her - pleasure was shorn of some of its keenness by the odd notion that it was - not to endure. - </p> - <p> - He even dragged Yvonne around to the little flat to expatiate upon its - cosiness with visual proof to support his somewhat exaggerated claims. Her - lazy eyes took in the apartment at a glance and she was done with it. - </p> - <p> - “It is very charming,” she said with her soft drawl. “Have you no - cigarettes, Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - The girl flushed and looked to Frederic for relief. He promptly produced - his own cigarettes. Yvonne lighted one and then stretched herself in the - Morris chair. - </p> - <p> - “You should learn to smoke,” she went on. - </p> - <p> - “Mother wouldn't like me to smoke,” said Lydia rather bluntly. - </p> - <p> - A faint frown appeared on Frederic's brow, only to disappear with Yvonne's - low, infectious laugh. - </p> - <p> - “And Freddy doesn't like you to smoke either, <i>aïe?</i>” she said. - </p> - <p> - “He may have changed his mind recently, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, smiling - so frankly that the edge was taken off of a rather direct implication. - </p> - <p> - “I don't mind women smoking,” put in Frederic hastily. “In fact, I rather - like it, the way Yvonne does it. It's a very graceful accomplishment.” - </p> - <p> - “But I am too clumsy to——” began Lydia. - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” interrupted the Parisienne, carelessly flicking the ash into a - <i>jardinière</i> at her elbow, “it is very naughty to smoke, and clumsy - women never should be naughty. If you really feel clumsy, don't, for my - sake, ever try to do anything wicked. There is nothing so distressing as - an awkward woman trying to be devilish.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Lydia couldn't be devilish if she tried!” cried Frederic, with a - quick glance at the girl's half-averted face. - </p> - <p> - “Don't say that, Frederic,” she cried. “That's as much as to say that I <i>am</i> - clumsy and awkward.” - </p> - <p> - “And you are not,” said Yvonne decisively. “You are very pretty and - graceful and adorable, and I am sure you could be very wicked if you set - about to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Lydia dryly. - </p> - <p> - “By the way, this window looks almost directly down into our courtyard,” - said Yvonne abruptly. She was leaning on her elbow, looking out upon the - housetops below. “There is my balcony, Freddy. And one can almost look - into your father's lair from where I sit.” - </p> - <p> - She drew back from the window suddenly, a passing look of fear in her - eyes. It was gone in a second, and would have passed unnoticed but for the - fact that Frederic was, as usual, watching her face with rapt interest. He - caught the curious transition and involuntarily glanced below. - </p> - <p> - The heavy curtains in the window of his father's retreat were drawn apart, - and the dark face of Ranjab, the Hindu, was plainly distinguishable. - </p> - <p> - He was looking up at the window in which Mrs Brood was sitting. Although - Frederic was far above, he could see the gleaming white of the man's eyes. - The curtains fell quickly together and the gaunt, brown face was gone. - </p> - <p> - An odd feeling of uneasiness came over the young man. It was the feeling - of one who suddenly realises that he is being spied upon. He could not - account for the faint chill that ran through his body, leaving him - strangely cold and drear. - </p> - <p> - What was the meaning of that intense scrutiny from his father's window? - Was Ranjab alone in the room? How did he happen to expose himself at the - very instant Yvonne appeared in the window above? These and other - questions raced through Frederic's puzzled brain. Out of them grew a - queer, almost uncanny feeling that the Hindu had called to her in the - still, mysterious voice of the East, and, although no sound had been - uttered, she had heard as plainly as if he actually had shouted to her - across the intervening space. - </p> - <p> - He recalled the tales of the old men, in which they spoke of the - unaccountable swiftness with which news leaped across the unpopulated - deserts, far in advance of any material means of transmission. Along the - reaches of the Nile and in the jungles of India, weird instances of the - astonishing projection of thought across vast spaces were constantly being - reported. There was magic in the air. News travelled faster than the - swiftest steed, even faster than the engines of man, into the most remote - places, and yet there was no visible, tangible force behind the remarkable - achievement. - </p> - <p> - His father had said more than once that the Hindu and the Egyptian - possessed the power to be in two distinct places at the same time. He was - wont to establish his theory by reciting the single instance of a sick - dragoman who had been left behind in a village on the edge of the desert, - with no means of crossing the vast stretch. And yet, when the caravan - reached its destination after a long but record-breaking march, the man - himself met them on the outskirts of the town with the astonishing report - that he was quite well and strong after a two weeks' rest in his own house - just inside of the city gates. - </p> - <p> - How he had passed them on the desert, and how he had reached his home a - fortnight ahead of them, was one of the greatest mysteries James Brood had - ever sought to unravel. The man's presence there created no surprise among - the native members of the caravan. To them it was a most ordinary thing. - </p> - <p> - Again, in the depths of an Indian jungle Brood expressed the wish that he - had brought with him a certain rifle he had left at home. Not a man left - the camp, and yet at the end of the week a strange Hindu appeared with the - rifle, having traversed several hundred miles of practically unexplored - country in the time that would have been required to get the message to - Lahore by horse alone. - </p> - <p> - James Brood, a sensible man, was a firm believer in magic. - </p> - <p> - This much Frederic knew of Ranjab: if James Brood needed him, no matter - what the hour or the conditions, the man appeared before him as if out of - nowhere and in response to no audible summons. - </p> - <p> - Was there, then, between these two, the beautiful Yvonne and the silent - Hindu, a voiceless pact that defied the will or understanding of either? - </p> - <p> - He had not failed to note a tendency on her part to avoid the Hindu as - much as possible. She even confessed to an uncanny dread of the man, but - could not explain the feeling. Once she requested her husband to dismiss - the faithful fellow. When he demanded the reason, however, she could only - reply that she did not like the man and would feel happier if he were sent - away. Brood refused, and from that hour her fear of the Hindu increased. - </p> - <p> - Now she was speaking in a nervous hurried manner to Lydia, her back toward - the window. In the middle of a sentence she suddenly got up from the chair - and moved swiftly to the opposite side of the room, where she sat down - again as far as possible from the window. - </p> - <p> - Frederic found himself watching her face with curious interest. All the - time she was speaking her eyes were fixed on the window. It was as if she - expected something to appear there. There was no mistaking the expression. - After studying her face in silence for a few minutes, Frederic himself - experienced an irresistible impulse to turn toward the window. He half - expected to see the Hindu's face there, looking in upon them, a perfectly - absurd notion when he remembered that they were at least one hundred feet - above the ground. - </p> - <p> - Presently she arose to go. No, she could not wait for Mrs Desmond's - return. - </p> - <p> - “It is charming here, Lydia,” she said, surveying the little sitting-room - with eyes that sought the window again and again in furtive darts. - “Frederic must bring me here often. We shall have cosy times here, we - three. It is so convenient, too, for you, my dear. You have only to walk - around the corner, and there you are—at your place of business, as - the men would say.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia was to continue as Brood's amanuensis. He would not listen to any - other arrangement. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I do hope you will come, Mrs Brood!” cried the girl earnestly. “My - piano will be here to-morrow, and you shall hear Frederic play. He is - really wonderful.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm the rankest duffer going, Yvonne,” broke in Frederic, but his eyes - were alight with pleasure. - </p> - <p> - “You play?” asked Mrs Brood, regarding him rather fixedly. - </p> - <p> - “He disappears for hours at a time,” said Lydia, speaking for him, “and - comes home humming fragments from—oh, but I am not supposed to tell! - Forgive me, Frederic. Dear me! What have I done?” She was plainly - distressed. - </p> - <p> - “No harm in telling Yvonne,” said he, but uneasily. “You see, it's this - way: father doesn't like the idea of my going in for music. He is really - very much opposed to it. So I've been sort of stealing a march on him—going - up to a chum's apartment and banging away to my heart's content. It's - rather fun, too, doing it on the sly. Of course, if father heard of it - he'd—he'd—well, he'd be nasty about it, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “Nasty?” - </p> - <p> - “He got rid of our own piano a long time ago, just because he doesn't like - music.” - </p> - <p> - “But he does like music,” said Yvonne, her voice a little huskier than - usual. “In Paris we attended the opera, the concerts. I am sure he likes - music.” - </p> - <p> - “I fancy it must have been my fault, then,” said Frederic wryly. “I was - pretty bad at it in those days.” - </p> - <p> - “He will not let you have a piano in the house?” - </p> - <p> - “I should say not!” - </p> - <p> - She gave them a queer little smile. “We shall see,” she said, and that was - all. - </p> - <p> - “I say, it would be great if you could get him to——” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure he would like Frederic's music now, Mrs Brood,” Lydia broke in - eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “What do you play—what do you like best, Frederic?” inquired Yvonne. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, those wonderful little Hungarian things most of all; the plaintive - little melodies——” - </p> - <p> - He stopped as she began to hum lightly the strains of one of Ziehrer's - jaunty waltzes. - </p> - <p> - “By Jove, how did you guess? Why, it's my favourite. I love it, Yvonne!” - </p> - <p> - “You shall play it for me—to-morrow, Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. The piano will be here in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “But how did you guess——” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind! I am a witch, <i>aïe?</i> Come! I must be off now, Frederic. - There are people coming to have tea with me.” - </p> - <p> - As they descended in the elevator Frederic, unable to contain himself, - burst out rapturously: - </p> - <p> - “By Jove, Yvonne, it will be fun, coming over here every day or so for a - little music, won't it? I can't tell you how happy I shall be.” - </p> - <p> - “It is time you were happy,” said she, looking straight ahead, and many - days passed before he had an inkling of all that lay behind her remark. - </p> - <p> - As they entered the house Jones met them in the hall. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood telephoned that he would be late, madam. He is at the customs - office about the boxes.” - </p> - <p> - She paused at the foot of the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “How long has he been out, Jones?” - </p> - <p> - “Since two o'clock, madam. It is now half-past four.” - </p> - <p> - “There will be five or six in for tea, Jones. You may serve it in Mr - Brood's study.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madam.” - </p> - <p> - A look of surprise flitted across the butler's impassive face. For a - moment he had doubted his hearing. - </p> - <p> - “And ask Ranjab to put away Mr Brood's writing materials and - reference-books.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall attend to it myself, madam. Ranjab went out with Mr Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “Went out!” exclaimed Yvonne. - </p> - <p> - Frederic turned upon the butler. - </p> - <p> - “You must be mistaken, Jones,” he said sharply. - </p> - <p> - “I think not, sir. They went away together in the automobile. He has not - returned.” - </p> - <p> - A long look of wonder and perplexity passed between young Brood and his - stepmother. - </p> - <p> - She laughed suddenly and unnaturally. Without a word she started up the - stairs. He followed more slowly, his puzzled eyes fixed on the graceful - figure ahead. At the upper landing she stopped. Her hand grasped the - railing with rigid intensity. - </p> - <p> - Ranjab emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He bowed very - deeply. - </p> - <p> - “The master's books and papers 'ave been removed, madam. The study is in - order.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he two old men, - long since relegated to a somewhat self-imposed oblivion, on a certain - night discussed, as usual, the affairs of the household in the privacy of - their room on the third floor. Not, however, without first convincing - themselves that the shadowy Ranjab was nowhere within range of their - croaking undertones. From the proscribed regions downstairs came the faint - sounds of a piano and the intermittent chatter of many voices. Someone was - playing “La Paloma.” - </p> - <p> - These new days were not like the old ones. Once they had enjoyed, even - commanded, the full freedom of the house. It had been their privilege, - their prerogative, to enter into every social undertaking that was - planned. They had come to regard themselves as hosts, or, at the very - least, guests of honour on such occasions. - </p> - <p> - Not that the occasions were many where guests came to be entertained by - James Brood of old, but it seemed to be an accepted and quite agreeable - duty of theirs to convince the infrequent visitors that Brood's house was - really quite a jolly place, and that it would pay them to drop in oftener. - They had a joyous way of lifting the responsibility of conversation from - everyone else; and, be it said to their credit, there was no subject on - which they couldn't talk with decision and fluency, whether they knew - anything about it or not. - </p> - <p> - And nowadays it was different. They were not permitted to appear when - guests were in the house. The sumptuous dinners, of which they heard - something from the servants, were no longer graced by their presence. They - were amazed, and not a little irritated, to learn, by listening at the - head of the stairs, that the unfortunate guests, whoever they were, always - seemed to be enjoying themselves. They couldn't understand how such a - condition was possible. - </p> - <p> - They dined, to dignify the function somewhat, at least an hour before the - guests arrived, and then shuffled off to their little back room, where - they affected cribbage but indulged in something a great deal more - acrimonious. They said many harsh things about the new mistress of the - house. They could not understand what had come over James Brood. There was - a time, said they, when no one could have led him around by the nose, and - now he was as spineless as an angleworm. - </p> - <p> - On nights when guests were expected they were not permitted to have a drop - of anything to drink, Mrs Brood declaring that she could not afford to run - the risk of having them appear in the drawing-room despite the edict. They - also had a habit of singing rather boisterously when intoxicated, - something about a girl in Bombay; or, when especially happy, about a - couple of ladies in Hottentot land who didn't mind the heat. - </p> - <p> - It was a matter of discretion, therefore, to lock up the spirits, and, - after a fashion, to lock up the old gentlemen as well. - </p> - <p> - As a concession they were at liberty to invade the “retreat,” and to make - themselves at home among the relics. Guests were seldom, if ever, taken up - to Brood's room. Only the most intimate of friends were admitted. Even the - jade room, with all of its priceless treasures, was closed to “outsiders,” - for Brood had the idea that people as a rule did not possess a great - amount of intelligence. So it was usually quite safe to allow Mr Dawes and - Mr Riggs to run loose in the study, with the understanding, of course, - that they were not to venture beyond the top of the stairs, and were not - to smoke pipes. - </p> - <p> - Brood had been working rather steadily at his journal during the past two - or three weeks. He had reached a point in the history where his own memory - was somewhat vague, and had been obliged to call upon his old comrades to - supply the facts. For several nights they had sat with him, going over the - scenes connected with their earliest acquaintance; those black days in - Calcutta. - </p> - <p> - Lydia had brought over her father's notes and certain transcripts of - letters he had written to her mother before their marriage. The four of - them were putting these notes and narratives into chronological order. - Brood, after three months of married life and frivolity, suddenly had - decided to devote himself almost entirely to the completion of the - journal. - </p> - <p> - He denied himself the theatre, the opera, and kindred features of the - passing show, and, as he preferred to entertain rather than to be - entertained, seldom found it necessary to go into the homes of other - people. Yvonne made no protest. She merely pressed Frederic into service - as an escort when she desired to go about, and thought nothing of it. - Whatever James Brood's views of this arrangement were, he appeared to - accept it good-naturedly. - </p> - <p> - But the lines had returned to the corners of his mouth and the old, hard - look to his eyes. And there were times when he spoke harshly to his son; - times when he purposely humbled him in the presence of others without - apparent reason. - </p> - <p> - On this particular night Yvonne had asked a few people in for dinner. They - were people whom Brood liked especially well, but who did not appeal to - her at all. As a matter of fact, they bored her. Yet she was happy in - pleasing him. When she told him that they were coming he favoured her with - a dry, rather impersonal smile and asked, with whimsical good humour, why - she chose to punish herself for the sins of <i>his</i> youth. - </p> - <p> - She laid her cheek against his and purred. For a moment he held his - breath. Then the fire in his blood leaped into flame. He clasped the slim, - adorable body in his strong arms and crushed her against his breast. She - kissed him, and he was again the fierce, eager, unsated lover. It was one - of their wonderful, imperishable moments, moments that brought oblivion. - </p> - <p> - Then, as he frequently did of late, he held her off at arm's length and - searched her velvety eyes with a gaze that seemed to drag the very secrets - out of her soul. She went deathly white and shivered. He took his hands - from her shoulders and smiled. She came back into his arms like a dumb - thing seeking protection, and continued to tremble as if frightened. - </p> - <p> - When company was being entertained downstairs Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs, with - a fidelity to convention that was almost pitiful, invariably donned their - evening clothes. They considered themselves remotely connected with the - festivities, and, that being the case, the least they could do was to - “dress up.” - </p> - <p> - Moreover, they dressed with great care and deliberation. There was always - the chance that they might be asked to come down; or, what was even more - important, Mrs Brood might happen to encounter them in the upper hall, and - in that event it was imperative that she should be made to realise how - stupid she had been. - </p> - <p> - Usually at nine o'clock they strolled into the study and smoked one of - Brood's cigars with the gusto of real guests. It was their habit to - saunter about the room, inspecting the treasures with critical, appraising - eyes, very much as if they had never seen them before. They even handled - some of the familiar objects with an air of bewilderment that would have - done credit to a Cook's tourist. - </p> - <p> - It was also a habit of theirs to try the doors of a large teakwood cabinet - in one corner of the room. The doors were always locked, and they sighed - with patient doggedness. Some time, they told themselves, Ranjab would - forget to lock those doors, and then—— - </p> - <p> - “Joe,” said Mr Dawes, after he had tried the doors on this particular - occasion, “I made a terrible mistake in letting poor Jim get married - again. I'll never forgive myself.” He had said this at least a hundred - times during the past three months. Sometimes he cried over it. - </p> - <p> - “Danbury, old pal, you must not take all the blame for that. I am as much - at fault as you, blast you!” Mr Riggs always ended his confession with an - explosion that fairly withered his friend and gave the lie to his attempt - at humility. - </p> - <p> - “That's right,” snapped Mr Dawes; “curse me for it!” - </p> - <p> - “Don't make so much noise.” - </p> - <p> - “If you were ten years younger I'd—I'd——” blustered - Dawes. - </p> - <p> - “I wish Jack Desmond had lived,” mused the other, paying no attention to - the belligerent. “He would have put a stop to this fool marriage.” - </p> - <p> - They sat down and pondered. - </p> - <p> - “If Jim had to marry someone, why didn't he marry right here at home?” - demanded Dawes, turning fiercely on his friend. - </p> - <p> - “Because,” said Riggs, with significant solemnity, “he is in the habit of - marrying away from home. Look at the first one. He married her, didn't he? - And see what came of it. He ought to have had more sense the second time. - But marrying men never do get any sense. They just marry, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “Jim's getting mighty cranky of late,” ruminated Dawes, puffing away at - his unlighted cigar. “It's a caution the way he snaps Freddy off these - days. He—he hates that boy, Joe.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sh—h!</i> Not so loud!” - </p> - <p> - “Confound you, don't you know a whisper when you hear it?” demanded Dawes, - who, in truth, had whispered. - </p> - <p> - Another potential silence. - </p> - <p> - “Freddy goes about with her a good deal more than he ought to,” said Riggs - at last. “They're together two-thirds of the time. Why—why, he heels - her like a trained dog. Playing the pianner morning, noon, and night, and - out driving, and going to the theatre, and——” - </p> - <p> - “I've a notion to tell Jim he ought to put a stop to it,” said the other. - “It makes me sick.” - </p> - <p> - “Jim'll do it without being told one o' these days, so you keep out of it. - Say, have you noticed how piqued Lydia's looking these times? She's not - the same girl, Dan; not the same girl. Something's wrong.” He shook his - head gloomily. - </p> - <p> - “It's that dog-goned woman,” announced Dawes explosively, and then looked - over his shoulder with apprehension. A sigh of relief escaped him. - </p> - <p> - “She's got no business coming in between Lydia and Freddy,” said Riggs. - “Looks as though she's just set on busting it up. What can she possibly - have against poor little Lydia? She's good enough for Freddy. Too good, by - hokey! 'Specially when you stop to think.” - </p> - <p> - “Now don't begin gossiping,” warned Dawes, glaring at him. “You're as bad - as an old woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Thinking ain't gossiping, confound you! If I wanted to gossip I'd up and - say flatly that Jim Brood knows down in his soul that Freddy is no son of - his. He——” - </p> - <p> - “You've never heard him say so, Joe.” - </p> - <p> - “No; but I can put two and two together. I'm no fool.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd advise you to shut up.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you would, would you?” with vast scorn. “I'd like to know who it was - that talked to Mrs Desmond about it. Who put it into her head that Jim - doubts——” - </p> - <p> - “Well, didn't she say I was a lying old busybody?” snapped Danbury - triumphantly. “Didn't she call me down, eh? I'd like to know what more you - could expect than that. Didn't she make me take back everything I said?” - </p> - <p> - “She did,” said Riggs with conviction. “And I believe she would have - thrashed you if she'd been a man, just as she said she would. And didn't I - advise her to do it, anyway, on the ground that you're an old woman and——” - </p> - <p> - “That's got nothing to do with the present case,” interrupted Dawes - hastily. “What we ought to be thinking about now is how to get rid of this - woman that's come in here to wreck our home. She's an interloper. She's a - foreigner. She——” - </p> - <p> - “You must admit she treats us very politely,” said Riggs weakly. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly she does. She has to. If she tried to come any of her - high-and-mighty—ahem! Yes, Joseph, I consider Mrs Brood the - loveliest, most charming——” - </p> - <p> - “It was the wind blowing the curtain, Danbury,” said Riggs, reassuringly. - </p> - <p> - “As I was saying,” resumed his friend, “I'd tell her what I thought of her - almighty quick if she got uppish with me. The trouble is, she's so darned - careful what she says to my face. I've never seen anybody as sweet as she - is when she's with a feller. That all goes to prove that she's sly and - unnatural. No woman ever lived who could be sweet all the time and still - be as God made her. Why, she even comes up here and tries to be sweet on - that 'Great Gawd Budd' thing over there. I heard her ask Ranjab one day - why he never prostrated himself before the image.” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” demanded Riggs, as the other paused. - </p> - <p> - “She didn't have sense enough to know that Ranjab is a Brahmin, a - worshipper of Vishnu and Shiva. I also heard her say that you had been so - drunk up here one night that a lady fainted when she saw you sprawled out - on the couch. She thought you were dead.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't been drunk in ten years! What's more, I don't remember ever - having seen a strange woman in this room since I came here to visit Jim - Brood, twelve years ago. She must be crazy.” - </p> - <p> - “She didn't say you saw the woman. She said the woman saw you,” said Dawes - witheringly. - </p> - <p> - “No one ever thought of locking that cupboard until she came,” said Riggs, - abruptly altering the trend of speech but not of thought. His gaze shifted - to the cabinet. “Jim is like wax in her hands.” - </p> - <p> - “He has no right to forget those days in Calcutta, when we shared our grog - with him. No, Joe, we're not good enough for him in these days. She has - bewitched him, poor devil. I've stuck to him like a brother for twenty - years—both of us have for that matter——” - </p> - <p> - “Like twin brothers,” amended Joseph. - </p> - <p> - “Exactly. We don't forget those old days in Tibet, Turkestan, the Congo, - the Sahara——” - </p> - <p> - “I should say we don't! Who is really writing this book of his? Who - supplies all the most important facts? Who—who—well, that's - all. Who?” - </p> - <p> - “We do, old chap. But you'll find that we shan't have our names on the - title-page. She'll see to that. She'll have us shunted off like a couple - of deck-hands. Lydia can tell you how much of the material I have - supplied. She knows, bless her heart. You furnished a lot, too, Joe, and - John Desmond the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jim has done his share.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll admit he has done all of the writing. I don't pose as a literary - man.” - </p> - <p> - “Seems to me he's sticking closer to the work than ever before,” mused - Riggs. “We ought to finish it by spring, the way we're going now.” - </p> - <p> - “I still say, however, that he ought to put a stop to it.” - </p> - <p> - “Stop to what?” - </p> - <p> - “Her running around with Freddy. What else?” - </p> - <p> - “No harm in it, is there?” - </p> - <p> - “No; I suppose not,” the other reflected. “Still they're pretty young, you - know. Besides, she's French.” - </p> - <p> - “So was Joan of Arc,” said his friend in rebuttal. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes leaned a little closer. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder how Mrs Desmond likes having her over there playing the piano - every afternoon with Freddy, while Lydia's over here copying things for - Jim and working her poor little head off. Ever stop to think about that?” - </p> - <p> - “I think about it all the time. And, by thunder, I'm not the only one who - does, either. Jim thinks a good deal, and so does Lydia. It's a darned——” - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs happened to look up at that instant. Ranjab was standing in front - of him, his arms folded across his breast, in the habitual pose of the - Hindu who waits. The man was dressed in the costume of a high-caste - Brahmin; the commonplace garments of the Occident had been laid aside, and - in their place were the vivid, dazzling colours of Ind, from the - bejewelled sandals to the turban which crowned his swarthy brow and - gleamed with rubies and sapphires uncounted. - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs's mouth remained open as he stared blankly at this ghost of - another day. Not since the old days in India had he seen Ranjab in native - garb, and even then he was far from being the resplendent creature of - to-night, for Ranjab in his home land was a poor man and without - distinction. - </p> - <p> - “Am I awake?” exclaimed Mr Riggs in such an awful voice that Mr Dawes gave - over staring at the cabinet and favoured him with an impatient kick on the - ankle. - </p> - <p> - “I guess that'll wake you up if——” and then he saw the Hindu. - “The Ranjab!” - </p> - <p> - Ranjab was smiling, and when he smiled his dark face was a joy to behold. - His white teeth gleamed and his sometime unfeeling eyes sparkled with - delight. He liked the two old men. They had stood, with Brood, between him - and grave peril far back in the old days when even the faintest gleam of - hope apparently had been blotted out. - </p> - <p> - “Behold!” he cried, magnificently spreading his arms. “I am made glorious! - See before you the prince of magic! See!” - </p> - <p> - With a swift, deft movement he snatched the half-smoked cigar from the - limp fingers of Mr Riggs and, first holding it before their blinking eyes, - tossed it into the air. It disappeared! - </p> - <p> - “Well, of all the——” began Mr Riggs, sitting up very straight. - His eyes were following the rapid actions of the Hindu. Unlocking a drawer - in the big table, the latter peered into it and then beckoned the old men - to his side. There lay the cigar and beside it a much-needed match. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to smoke it,” said Mr Riggs, vigorously declining his - property. “The darned thing's bewitched.” Whereupon Ranjab took it out of - the drawer and again threw it into the air. Then he calmly reached above - his head and plucked a fresh cigar out of space, obsequiously tendering it - to the amazed old man, who accepted it with a sheepish grin. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't lost any of your old skill,” said Mr Dawes, involuntarily - glancing at his own cigar to make sure that he had it firmly gripped in - his stubby fingers. “You ought to be in a sideshow, Ranjab.” - </p> - <p> - Ranjab paused, before responding, to extract a couple of billiard balls - and a small paper-knife from the lapel of Dawes's coat. - </p> - <p> - “I am to perform to-night, <i>sahib</i>, for the mistress's guests. It is - to be—what you call him? A side-show? Ranjab is to do his tricks for - her, as the dog performs for his master.” - </p> - <p> - The smile had disappeared. His face was an impenetrable mask once more. - Had their eyes been young and keen, however, they might have caught the - flash of anger in his. - </p> - <p> - “Going to do all the old tricks?” cried Mr Riggs eagerly. “By George, I'd - like to see 'em again; wouldn't you, Dan? I'm glad we've got our good - clothes on. Now you see what comes of always being prepared for——” - </p> - <p> - “Sorry, <i>sahib</i>, but the master has request me to entertain you - before the guests come up. Coffee is to be served here.” - </p> - <p> - “That means we'll have to clear out?” said Riggs slowly. - </p> - <p> - “But see!” cried Ranjab, genuinely sorry for them. He became enthusiastic - once more. “See! I shall do them all—and better, too, for you.” - </p> - <p> - For ten minutes he astonished the old men with the mysterious feats of the - Indian fakir. They waxed enthusiastic. He grinned over the pleasure he was - giving them. Suddenly he whipped out a short, thin sword from its scabbard - in his sash. The amazing, incomprehensible sword-swallowing act followed. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Ranjab has not forgot,” he cried in triumph. “He have not lost - the touch of the wizard, <i>aih</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “You'll lose your gizzard some day, doing that,” said Dawes grimly. “It - gives me the shivers.” - </p> - <p> - Then, before their startled, horror-struck eyes, the Hindu coolly plunged - the glittering blade into his breast, driving it in to the hilt! - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord!” shouted the two old men. - </p> - <p> - Ranjab serenely replaced the sword in its scabbard. - </p> - <p> - “It is not always the knife that finds the heart,” said he, so slowly, so - full of meaning, that even the old men grasped the significance of the - cryptic remark. - </p> - <p> - “A feller can be fooled, no matter how closely he watches,” said Mr Dawes, - and he was not referring to the amazing sword trick. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” said Mr Riggs, with gloomy irrelevance, “I don't like that - woman.” - </p> - <p> - The old spell of the Orient had fallen upon the ancients. They were - hearing the vague whisperings of voices that came from nowhere, as they - had heard them years ago in the mystic silences of the East. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sh—h!</i> One comes,” said Ranjab softly. “It will be the - master's son.” - </p> - <p> - An instant later his closet door closed noiselessly behind him and the old - men were alone, blinking at each other. There was no sound from the hall. - They waited, watching the curtained door. At last they heard footsteps on - the stairs, quick footsteps of the young. - </p> - <p> - Frederic strode rapidly into the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is face was livid - with rage. For a moment he glowered upon the two old men, his fingers - working spasmodically, his chest heaving with the volcanic emotions he was - trying so hard to subdue. Then he whirled about to glare into the hall. - </p> - <p> - “In God's name, Freddy, what's happened?” cried Mr Riggs, all a-tremble. - </p> - <p> - They had never seen him in a rage before. There had been occasions when - they had secretly criticised James Brood's treatment of the unhappy boy, - but from the youth himself there had come no complaint, only the hurt, - puzzled look of one who endures because an alternative does not suggest - itself. Intuitively the old men knew that his present condition was due to - something his father had said or done, and that it must have been - unusually severe to have provoked the wrath that he made no effort to - conceal. - </p> - <p> - It was not in their honest old hearts to hold grievance against the lad, - notwithstanding his frequent periods of impatience where they were - concerned, periods when they were admittedly as much at fault as he, by - the way. Usually he made up for these lapses by a protracted season of - sweetness and consideration that won back not only their sympathy, but the - affection they had felt for him since his lonely boyhood days. - </p> - <p> - Some minutes passed before he could trust himself to speak. Ugly veins - stood out on his pale temples as he paced the floor in front of them. - Eventually Mr Dawes ventured the vital question in a somewhat hushed - voice: - </p> - <p> - “Have you—quarrelled with your father, Freddy?” - </p> - <p> - The young man threw up his arms in a gesture of despair. There was a wail - of misery in his voice as he answered: - </p> - <p> - “In the name of God, why should he hate me as he does? What have I done? - Am I not a good son to him?” - </p> - <p> - “Hush!” implored Mr Dawes nervously. “He'll hear you.” - </p> - <p> - “Hear me!” cried Frederic, and laughed aloud in his recklessness. “Why - shouldn't he hear me? I'll not stand it a day longer. He wouldn't think of - treating a dog as he treats me. I—I—why, he is actually - forcing me to hate him. I <i>do</i> hate him! I swear to Heaven it was in - my heart to kill him down there just now. I———” He could - not go on. He choked up and the tears rushed to his eyes. Abruptly turning - away, he threw himself upon the couch and buried his face on his arms, - sobbing like a little child. - </p> - <p> - The old men, distressed beyond the power of speech, mumbled incoherent - words of comfort as they slowly edged toward the door. They tiptoed into - the hall, and neither spoke until their bedroom door was closed behind - them. Mr Dawes even tried it to see that it was safely latched. - </p> - <p> - “It's got to come,” said Mr Riggs, wiping his eyes but neglecting to blow - his nose—recollecting in good time the vociferous noise that always - attended the performance. “Yes, sir; it's bound to come. There's going to - be a smash, mark my words. It can't go on.” He sat down heavily and stared - rather pathetically at his friend, who was the picture of lugubrious - concern. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said Mr Dawes bleakly, “as sure as you're alive, Joey. That - boy's spunk is going to assert itself some day, and then—good Lord, - what then? He'll curse Jim to his teeth and—and Jim'll up and tell - him the truth. I—I don't know what will happen then.” - </p> - <p> - Riggs swallowed hard—a gulping sound. - </p> - <p> - “Freddy's the kind of a feller who'll kill himself, Danny. He's as high - strung as a harp. Something will snap. I hate to think of it. Poor lad! It—it - ain't his fault that things are not as they ought to be.” - </p> - <p> - “If Jim Brood ever tells him he's no son of his, he'll break the boy's - heart.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not so sure of that,” said Riggs sagely. “Sometimes I think Freddy - would be darned glad to know it.” - </p> - <p> - The curtains parted and Yvonne looked in upon the wretched Frederic. There - was a look of mingled pain and commiseration in her wide-open eyes. For a - moment she stood there regarding him in silence. Then she swiftly crossed - the room to the couch in the corner, where he sat huddled up, his - shoulders still shaking with the misery that racked him. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes darkened into the hungry, yearning look of one who would gladly - share or assume all of the suffering of another whose happiness was dear - to her—the look of a gentle mother. The mocking, seductive gleam was - gone, and in its place was the glow of infinite pity. Her hand went out to - touch the tousled hair, but stopped before contact. Slowly she drew back, - with a glance of apprehension toward the door of the Hindu's closet. An - odd expression of alarm crept into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Frederic,” she said softly, almost timorously. - </p> - <p> - He lifted his head quickly and then sprang to his feet. His eyes were wet - and his lips were drawn. Shame possessed him. He tried to smile, but it - was a pitiful failure. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so ashamed of—of——” he began in a choked voice. - </p> - <p> - “Ashamed because you have cried?” she said quickly. “But no! It is good to - cry; it is good for men to cry. But when a strong man breaks down and - sheds tears, I am—oh, I am heartbroken. A woman's tears mean - nothing, but a man's? Oh, they are terrible! But come! You must compose - yourself. The others will be here in a few minutes. I ran away from them - on the pretext that I—but it is of no consequence. It is enough that - I am here. You must go to your room and bathe your face. Go at once. - Your father must not know that you have cried. He———” - </p> - <p> - “Curse him!” came from between Frederic's clenched teeth. - </p> - <p> - “Hush!” she cried, with another glance at Ranjab's door. She would have - given much to know whether the Hindu was there or still below-stairs. “You - must not say such——” - </p> - <p> - “I will say it, Yvonne—I'll say it to his face! I don't care if the - others do see that I have been crying. I want them to know how he hurts - me, and I want them to hate him for it.” - </p> - <p> - “For my sake, Frederic, calm yourself. I implore you to go to your room. - Come back later, but go now.” - </p> - <p> - He was struck by the seriousness in her voice and manner. An ugly, crooked - smile writhed about the corners of his mouth. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you're trying to smooth it over so that they won't consider him - a brute. Is that it?” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! Please, please! You know that my heart aches for you, <i>mon ami</i>. - It was cruel of him, it was cowardly—yes, cowardly! Now I have said - it!” She drew herself up and turned deliberately toward the little door - across the room. - </p> - <p> - His eyes brightened. The crooked sneer turned into an imploring smile. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me, Yvonne! You must see that I'm beside myself. I—I———” - </p> - <p> - “But you must be sensible. Remember he is your father. He is a strange - man. There has been a great deal of bitterness in his life. He———” - </p> - <p> - “Have I been the cause of a moment's bitterness to him?” cried Frederic. - “Why should he hate me? Why———” - </p> - <p> - “You are losing control of yourself again, Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “But I can't go on the way things are now. He's getting to be worse than - ever. I never have a kind word from him, seldom a word of any description. - Never a kind look. Can't you understand how it goads me to———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes! You've said all this before, and I have listened to you when I - should have reminded you that he is my husband,” she said impatiently. - </p> - <p> - “By Heaven, I don't see how you can love him!” he cried boldly. “Sometimes - I wonder if you do love him. He is as selfish, as unfeeling as oh, there's - no word for it. Why, in the name of God, did you ever marry such a man? - You couldn't have loved him.” Something in her expression brought him up - sharply. Her eyes had narrowed; they had the look of a wary, hunted thing - that has been driven into a corner. He stared. “Forgive me, Yvonne. I—I———” - </p> - <p> - “You don't know what you are saying,” she panted. “Are you accusing me?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no! What a coward, what a dog I am!” he cried abjectly. - </p> - <p> - A queer little smile stole into her face. It was even more baffling than - the expression it displaced. - </p> - <p> - “I am your friend,” she said slowly. “Is this the way to reward me?” - </p> - <p> - He dropped to his knees and covered her hands with kisses, mumbling his - plea for forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - “I am so terribly unhappy,” he said over and over again. “I'd leave this - house to-night if it were not that I can't bear the thought of leaving - you, Yvonne. I adore you. You are everything in the world to me. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Get up!” she cried out sharply. He lifted his eyes in dumb wonder and - adoration, but not in time to catch the look of triumph that swept across - her face. - </p> - <p> - “You will forgive me?” he cried, coming to his feet. “I—I couldn't - help saying it. It was wrong—wrong! But you <i>will</i> forgive me, - Yvonne?” - </p> - <p> - She turned away, walking slowly toward the door. He remained rooted to the - spot, blushing with shame and dismay. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going? To tell <i>him?</i>” he gasped. - </p> - <p> - She did not reply at once, but drew the <i>portières</i> apart and peered - down the stairs beyond, her attitude one of tense anxiety. As she faced - him a smile of security was on her lips. She leaned gracefully against the - jamb of the door, her arms dropping to her sides. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will forgive you,” she said calmly, and he realised in a flash - that the verdict would have been different if there had been the remotest - chance that his declaration was overheard. She would have denied him. - </p> - <p> - “I adore you, Yvonne,” he cried in low tones, striding swiftly toward her, - only to halt as he caught the smile of derision in her eyes. “I don't mean - it in the way you think. You are so good to me. You have given me so much - joy and happiness, and—and you understand me so well. I could die - for you, Yvonne. I <i>would</i> die for you. It's not the kind of love you - are in the habit of commanding, you who are so glorious and so beautiful. - It's the love of a dog for his master.” - </p> - <p> - She waited an instant, and then came toward him. He never could have - explained the unaccountable impulse that forced him to fall back a few - steps as she approached. Her eyes were gazing steadily into his, and her - red lips were parted. - </p> - <p> - “That is as it should be,” she was saying, but he was never sure that he - heard the words. His knees grew weak. He was in the toils! “Now you must - pull yourself together,” she went on, in such a matter-of-fact tone that - he straightened up involuntarily. “Come! Wipe the tear-stains from your - cheeks.” - </p> - <p> - He obeyed, but his lip still quivered with the rage that had been checked - by the ascendancy of another and even more devastating emotion. She was - standing quite close to him now, her slender figure swaying slightly as if - moved by some strange, rhythmic melody to which the heart beat time. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were soft and velvety again, her smile tender and appealing. The - vivid white of her arms and shoulders seemed to shed a soft light about - her, so radiant was the sheen of the satin skin. Her gown was of black - velvet, cut very low, and with scarcely any ornamentation save the great - cluster of rubies at the top of her corsage. They gleamed like coals of - fire against the skin, which appeared to absorb and reflect their warmth. - </p> - <p> - There was a full red rose in her dark hair. She wore no ear-rings, no - finger-rings except the narrow gold band on her left hand. A wide, - exquisitely designed gold bracelet fitted tightly about her right forearm, - as if it had been welded to the soft white flesh. Yvonne's ears were - lovely; she knew better than to disfigure them. Her hands were - incomparably beautiful; she knew their full value unadorned. - </p> - <p> - She moved closer to him and with deft fingers applied her tiny lace - handkerchief to his flushed cheeks and eyes, laughing audibly as she did - so; a low gurgle of infinite sweetness and concern. - </p> - <p> - He stood like a statue, scarcely breathing, the veins in his throat - throbbing violently. - </p> - <p> - “There!” she said, and deliberately touched the <i>mouchoir</i> to her own - smiling lips before replacing it in her bodice next to the warm, soft - skin. “Lydia must not see that her big baby sweetheart has been crying,” - she went on, and if there was mockery in her voice it was lost on him. He - could only stare as if bereft of all his senses. - </p> - <p> - “I have been thinking, Frederic,” she said, suddenly serious, “perhaps it - would be better if we were not alone when the others come up. Go at once - and fetch the two old men. Tell them I expect them here to witness the - magic. It appears to be a family party, so why exclude them? Be quick!” - </p> - <p> - He dashed off to obey her command. She lighted a cigarette at the table, - her unsmiling eyes fixed on the door to the Hindu's closet. Then, with a - little sigh, she sank down on the broad couch and stretched her supple - body in the ecstasy of complete relaxation. - </p> - <p> - The scene at the dinner-table had been most distressing. Up to the instant - of the outburst her husband had been in singularly gay spirits, a - circumstance so unusual that the whole party wondered not a little. If the - others were vaguely puzzled by his high humour, not so Yvonne. She - understood him better than anyone else in the world; she read his mind as - she would have read an open book. - </p> - <p> - There was riot, not joy, in the heart of the brilliant talker at the head - of the table. He was talking against the savagery that strained so hard at - its leash. - </p> - <p> - At her right sat Frederic, at her left the renowned Dr Hodder, whose feats - at the operating table were vastly more successful than his efforts at the - dinner-table. He was a very wonderful surgeon, but equally famous as a - bore of the first rank. Yvonne could not endure him. His jokes were - antediluvian, and his laughter over them an abomination. - </p> - <p> - He had an impression, as many famous men have, that the sole duty of a - dinner guest is to be funny in the loudest voice possible, drowning out - all competition, and to talk glowingly about the soup, as if nothing else - was required to convince the hostess that he considered her dinner - irreproachable and her cook a jewel. Still, it was agreed Dr Hodder was a - wonderful surgeon. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond and Lydia were there. (This was an excellent opportunity to - entertain them on an occasion of more or less magnitude.) There were also - present Bertie Gunning and his pretty wife, Maisie, both of whom Yvonne - liked; and the Followed sisters, with two middle-aged gentlemen from one - of the clubs. - </p> - <p> - Miss Followed was forty, and proved it by cheerfully discussing events - that happened at least that far back in her life. Her sister Janey was - much younger, quite pretty, and acutely ingenuous. The middle-aged - gentlemen ate very little. They were going to a supper at the - Knickerbocker later on for someone whose name was Lilly. Occasionally it - was Lil. It rather gratified them to be chided about the lady. - </p> - <p> - Frederic, deceived by his father's sprightly mood, entered rather - recklessly into the lively discussion. He seldom took his eyes from the - face of his beautiful stepmother, and many of his remarks were uttered <i>sotto - voce</i> for her ear alone. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly James Brood called out his name in a sharp, commanding tone. - Frederic, at the moment engaged in a low exchange of words with Yvonne, - did not hear him. Brood spoke again, loudly, harshly. There was dead - silence at the table. - </p> - <p> - “We will excuse you, Frederic,” said he, a deadly calm in his voice. The - puzzled expression in the young man's face slowly gave way to a steady - glare of fury. He could not trust himself to speak. “I regret exceedingly - that you cannot take wine in moderation. A breath of fresh air will be of - benefit to you. You may join us upstairs later on.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't drunk a full glass of champagne,” began the young man in amazed - protest. - </p> - <p> - Brood smiled indulgently, but there was a sinister gleam in his gray eyes. - “I think you had better take my advice,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Very well, sir,” said Frederic in a low, suppressed voice, his face - paling. Without another word he got up from the table and walked out of - the room. - </p> - <p> - He spoke the truth later on when he told Yvonne that he could not - understand. But she understood. She knew that James Brood had endured the - situation as long as it was in his power to endure, and she knew that it - was her fault entirely that poor Frederic had been exposed to this - crowning bit of humiliation. - </p> - <p> - As she sat in the dim study awaiting her stepson's reappearance with the - two old men, her active, far-seeing mind was striving to estimate the cost - of that tragic clash. Not the cost to herself or to Frederic, but to James - Brood! - </p> - <p> - The Messrs Dawes and Riggs, inordinately pleased over the rehabitation, - were barely through delivering themselves of their protestations of - undying fealty when the sound of voices came up from the lower hall. - Frederic started to leave the room, not caring to face those who had - witnessed his unwarranted degradation. Yvonne hurried to his side. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going?” she cried sharply. - </p> - <p> - “You cannot expect me to stay here——” - </p> - <p> - “But certainly!” she exclaimed. “Listen! I will tell you what to do.” - </p> - <p> - Her voice sank to an imperative whisper. He listened in sheer amazement, - his face growing dark with rebellion as she proceeded to unfold her plan - for a present victory over his father. - </p> - <p> - “No, no! I can't do that! Never, Yvonne,” he protested. - </p> - <p> - “For my sake, Freddy. Don't forget that you owe something to me. I command - you to do as I tell you. It is the only way. Make haste! Open the window, - get the breath of air he prescribed, and when they are all here, <i>apologise - for your condition!</i>” - </p> - <p> - When Dr Hodder and Mrs Gunning entered the room a few minutes later young - Brood was standing in the open window, drinking in the cold night air, and - she was blithely regaling the blinking old men with an account of her - stepson's unhappy efforts to drink all the wine in sight! As she told it, - it was a most amusing experiment. - </p> - <p> - James Brood was the last to enter, with Miss Followed. He took in the - situation at a glance. Was it relief that sprang into his eyes as he saw - the two old men? - </p> - <p> - Frederic came down from the window, somewhat too swiftly for one who is - moved by shame and contrition, and faced the group with a well-assumed - look of mortification in his pale, twitching face. He spoke in low, - repressed tones, but not once did he permit his gaze to encounter that of - his father. - </p> - <p> - “I'm awfully sorry to have made a nuisance of myself. It does go to my - head, and I—I dare say the heat of the room helped to do the work. - I'm all right now, however. The fresh air did me a lot of good. Hope - you'll all overlook my foolish attempt to be a devil of a fellow.” He - hesitated a moment and then went on, more clearly. “I'm all right now, - father. It shall not happen again, I can promise you that.” - </p> - <p> - A close observer might have seen the muscles of his jaw harden as he - uttered the final sentence. He intended that his father should take it as - a threat, not as an apology. - </p> - <p> - Brood was watching him closely, a puzzled expression in his eyes; - gradually it developed into something like admiration. In the clamour of - voices that ensued the older man detected the presence of an underlying - note of censure for his own behaviour. For the first time in many years he - experienced a feeling of shame. - </p> - <p> - Someone was speaking at his elbow. Janey, in her young, - enthusiastic voice, shrilled something into his ear that caused him to - look at her in utter amazement. It was so astounding that he could not - believe he heard aright. He mumbled in a questioning tone, “I beg your - pardon,” and she repeated her remark. - </p> - <p> - “How wonderfully like you Frederic is, Mr Brood.” Then she added: “Do you - know, I've never noticed it until to-night? It's really remarkable.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed,” Brood responded somewhat icily. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you think so, Mr Brood?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I do not, Miss Janey,” said he distinctly. - </p> - <p> - “Maisie Gunning was speaking of it just a few minutes ago,” went on the - girl, unimpressed. “She says you are very much alike when you are—are———” - here she foundered in sudden confusion. - </p> - <p> - “Intoxicated?” he inquired, without a smile. - </p> - <p> - She blushed painfully. “No, no! When you are angry. There, I suppose I - shouldn't have said it, but———” - </p> - <p> - “It is a most gratifying discovery,” said he, and turned to speak to Mrs - Desmond. He did not take his gaze from Frederic's white, set face, - however; and, despite the fact that he knew the girl had uttered an idle - commonplace, he was annoyed to find himself studying the features of - Matilde's boy with an interest that seemed almost laughable when he - considered it later on. - </p> - <p> - His guests found much to talk about in the room. He was soon being dragged - from one object to another and ordered to reveal the history, the use, and - the nature of countless things that obviously were intended to be just - what they seemed; such as rugs, shields, lamps, and so forth. He was ably - assisted by Messrs Riggs and Dawes, who lied prodigiously in a frenzy of - rivalry. - </p> - <p> - “What a perfectly delightful Buddha!” cried Miss Janey, stopping in front - of the idol. “How perfectly lovely he is—or is it a she, Mr Brood?” - </p> - <p> - He did not reply at once. His eyes were on Frederic and Yvonne, who had - come together at last and were conversing earnestly apart from the rest of - the group. He observed that Lydia was standing quite alone near the table, - idly handling a magazine. To the best of his recollection, Frederic had - scarcely spoken to the girl during the evening. - </p> - <p> - “This is where I work and play and dream, Miss Janey, and practise the - ogre's art. It is a forbidden chamber, my sanctuary,”—with a glance - at the idol—“and here is where I sometimes chop off pretty young - women's heads and hang them from the window-ledge as a warning to all - other birds of prey.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Janey laughed gleefully, attracting Yvonne's attention. Then she sang - out across the room: - </p> - <p> - “Your husband says he is an ogre. Is he?” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne came languidly toward them. - </p> - <p> - “My husband manages to keep me in his enchanted castle without chains and - padlocks, and that is saying a great deal in this day and age, my dear. - Would you call him an ogre after that?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it is the old story of the fairy queen and the ogre.” - </p> - <p> - “You may be sure I'd be an ogre if there was no other way of keeping you, - my dear,” said Brood. There was something in his voice that caused her to - look up into his face quickly. - </p> - <p> - Dr Hodder, being a wonderful surgeon, managed to cut his finger with a - razor-edged kris at that instant, drawing a little shriek from Miss - Followed, to whom he was jocularly explaining that scientific Malays used - the thing in removing one another's appendices, the surgeon being the one - who survived the operation. - </p> - <p> - During the excitement incident to the bloodletting the middle-aged - gentlemen glanced furtively at their watches and indulged in a mental - calculation from which they emerged somewhat easier in their minds. It - still wanted an hour before the theatres were out. - </p> - <p> - “Dreadful bore,” yawned one of them behind his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Stupidest woman I ever sat next to,” said the other, - </p> - <p> - Then both looked at their watches again. - </p> - <p> - Frederic joined Lydia at the table. - </p> - <p> - “A delicious scene, wasn't it?” he asked bitterly in lowered tones. - </p> - <p> - Her fingers touched his. - </p> - <p> - “What did he mean, Freddy? Oh, I felt so sorry for you. It was dreadful.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't take it so seriously, Lyddy,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. - Both of them realised that it was the nearest thing to a caress that had - passed between them in a fortnight or longer. A wave of shame swept - through him. “Dear old girl—my dear old girl,” he whispered - brokenly. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes radiated joy, her lips parted in a wan, tremulous smile of - surprise, and a soft sigh escaped them. - </p> - <p> - “My dear, dear boy,” she murmured, and was happier than she had been in - weeks. - </p> - <p> - “See here, old chap,” said one of the middle-aged gentlemen, again - consulting his watch as he loudly addressed his host, “can't you hurry - this performance of yours along a bit? It is after ten, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “A quarter after,” said the other middle-aged gentleman. - </p> - <p> - “I will summon the magician,” said Brood. “Be prepared, ladies and - gentlemen, to meet the devil. Ranjab is the prince of darkness.” - </p> - <p> - He lifted his hand to strike the gong that stood near the edge of the - table. - </p> - <p> - Involuntarily four pairs of eyes fastened their gaze upon the door to the - Hindu's closet. Three mellow, softly reverberating “booms” filled the - room. Almost instantly the voice of the Hindu was heard. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Aih, sahib!</i>” - </p> - <p> - He came swiftly into the room from the hall, and not from his closet. The - look of relief in Yvonne's eyes was short-lived. She saw amazement in the - faces of the two old men—and knew! - </p> - <p> - “After we have had the feats of magic,” Brood was saying, “Miss Desmond - will read to you, ladies and gentlemen, that chapter of our journal——” - </p> - <p> - “My word!” groaned both of the middle-aged gentlemen, looking at their - watches. - </p> - <p> - “Relating to——” - </p> - <p> - “You'll have to excuse me, Brood, really, you know. Important engagement - up-town——” - </p> - <p> - “Sit down, Cruger,” exclaimed Hodder. “The lady won't miss you.” - </p> - <p> - “Relating to our first encounter with the great and only Ranjab,” pursued - Brood oracularly. “We found him in a little village far up in the - mountains. He was under the sentence of death for murder. By the way, - Yvonne, the kris you have in your hand is the very weapon the good fellow - used in the commission of his crime. He was in prison and was to die - within a fortnight after our arrival in the town. I heard of his unhappy - plight and all that had led up to it. His case interested me tremendously. - One night, a week before the proposed execution, my friends and I stormed - the little prison and rescued him. We were just getting over the cholera - and needed excitement. That was fifteen years ago. He has been my trusted - body-servant ever since. I am sure you will be interested in what I have - written about that thrilling adventure.” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne had dropped the ugly knife upon the table as if it were a thing - that scorched her fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Did he—really kill a man?” whispered Miss Janey with horror in her - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “He killed a woman. His wife, Miss Janey. She had been faithless, you see. - He cut her heart out. And now, Ranjab, are you ready?” - </p> - <p> - The Hindu salaamed. - </p> - <p> - “Ranjab is always ready, <i>sahib</i>,” said he. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day, after - a sleepless night, Frederic announced to his stepmother that he could no - longer remain under his father's roof. He would find something to do in - order to support himself. It was impossible to go on pretending that he - loved or respected his father, and the sooner the farce was ended the - better it would be for both of them. - </p> - <p> - She, too, had passed a restless night. She slept but little. It was a - night filled with waking dreams as well as those which came in sleep. - There was always an ugly, wriggly kris in those dreams of hers, and a - brown hand that was for ever fascinating her with its uncanny deftness. - </p> - <p> - Twice in the night she had clutched her husband's shoulder in the terror - of a dream, and he had soothed her with the comfort of his strong arms. - She crept close to him and slept again, secure for the moment against the - sorcery that haunted her. He had been surprised, even gratified, when she - came into his room long after midnight, to creep shivering into his bed. - She was like a little child “afraid of the dark.” - </p> - <p> - Her influence alone prevented the young man from carrying out his threat. - At first he was as firm as a rock in his determination. He was getting his - few possessions together in his room when she tapped on his door. After a - while he abandoned the task and followed her rather dazedly to the - boudoir, promising to listen to reason. For an hour she argued and pleaded - with him, and in the end he agreed to give up what she was pleased to call - his preposterous plan. - </p> - <p> - “Now, that being settled,” she said with a sigh of relief, “let us go and - talk it all over with Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd—I'd rather not, Yvonne,” he said, starting guiltily. “There's - no use worrying her with the thing now. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer - that she—well, somehow I don't like the idea of explaining matters to - her.” - </p> - <p> - “There's nothing to explain.” - </p> - <p> - He looked away. He realised that he could not explain the thing even to - himself. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, I don't want her to know that I thought of leaving,” he - supplemented. “She wouldn't understand.” - </p> - <p> - “No?” - </p> - <p> - “She's so open and above-board about everything,” he explained nervously. - </p> - <p> - “It has seemed to me of late, Frederic, that you and Lydia are not quite - so—what shall I say?—so enamoured of each other. What has happened?” - she inquired so innocently, so naïvely, that he looked at her in - astonishment. She was watching him narrowly. “I am sure you fairly live at - her house. You are there nearly every day, and yet—well, I can feel - rather than see the change in both of you. I hope———” - </p> - <p> - “I've been behaving like an infernal sneak, Yvonne!” cried he, - conscience-stricken. “She's the finest, noblest girl in all this world, - and I've been treating her shamefully.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear me! In what way, may I inquire?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, we used to—oh, but why go into all that? It would only amuse - you. You'd laugh at us for silly fools. But I can't help saying this much: - she doesn't deserve to be treated as I'm treating her now, Yvonne. It's - hurting her dreadfully, and——” - </p> - <p> - “What have you been doing that she should be so dreadfully afflicted?” she - cried ironically. - </p> - <p> - “I've been neglecting her, ignoring her, humiliating - her, if you will force me to say it,” he said firmly. “Good Lord, if - anyone had told me three months ago that I'd ever be guilty of giving - Lydia an instant's pain, I'd—I'd———” - </p> - <p> - “You would do what?” - </p> - <p> - “Don't laugh at me, Yvonne,” he cried miserably. - </p> - <p> - She became serious at once. “Do you still love her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes! Yes!” he shouted, as if there was some necessity for convincing - himself as well as his listener. - </p> - <p> - “And she loves you?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I—certainly! At least I think she does,” he floundered. His - forehead was moist and cold. - </p> - <p> - “Then why this sudden misgiving, this feeling of doubt, this - self-abasement?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand it myself,” he said rather bleakly. “I—I give - you my word, I don't know what has come over me. I'm not as I used to be. - I'm———” - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly. “I'm afraid you are seeing too much of your poor - stepmother,” she said. - </p> - <p> - His eyes narrowed. - </p> - <p> - “You've made me over, that's true. You've made all of us over—the - house as well. I am not happy unless I am with you. It used to make me - happy to be with Lydia—and we were always together. But I—I - don't care now—at least, I am not unhappy when we are apart. You've - done it, Yvonne. You've made life worth living. You've made me see - everything differently. You———” - </p> - <p> - She stood up, facing him. She appeared to be frightened. - </p> - <p> - “Are you trying to tell me that you are in love with me?” she demanded, - and there was no longer mockery or raillery in her voice. - </p> - <p> - His eyes swept her from head to foot. He was deathly white. - </p> - <p> - “If you were not my father's wife I would say yes,” said he hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what it is that you have said?” she asked, suddenly putting - her hands to her temples. Her eyes were glowing like coals. - </p> - <p> - He was silent. - </p> - <p> - “You are a dear boy, Frederic, but you are a foolish one,” she went on, - the smile struggling back to her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you'll send me away after—what I've said,” he muttered - dully. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all!” she laughed. “I shall pay no attention to such nonsense. You - are an honest fool, and I don't blame you. Wiser men than you have fallen - in love with me, so why not you? I like you, Freddy; I like you very, very - much. I———” - </p> - <p> - “You like me because I am his son!” he cried hotly. - </p> - <p> - “If you were not his son I should despise you,” she said deliberately, - cruelly. He winced. “There, now; we've said enough. You must be sensible. - You will discover that I am <i>very, very</i> sensible. I have been sorry - for you. It may hurt you to have me say that I pity you; but I do. You do - not love me, Freddy. You are fooling yourself. You are like all boys when - they lose their heads and not their hearts. It is Lydia whom you love, not - I. You have just told me so.” - </p> - <p> - “Before Heaven, Yvonne, I <i>do</i> love her. That's what I cannot - understand about myself.” He was pacing the floor. - </p> - <p> - “But <i>I</i> understand,” she said quietly. “Now go away, please. And - don't let me hear another word about your leaving your father's house. You - are not to take that step until I command you to go. Do you understand?” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her in utter bewilderment for a moment, and slowly nodded his - head. Then he turned abruptly toward the door, shamed and humiliated - beyond words. - </p> - <p> - As he went swiftly down the stairs his father came out upon the landing - above and leaned over the railing to watch his descent. A moment later - Brood was knocking at Yvonne's door. He did not wait for an invitation to - enter, but strode into the room without ceremony. - </p> - <p> - She was standing at the window that opened out upon the little stone - balcony, and had turned swiftly at the sound of the rapping. Surprise gave - way to an expression of displeasure. - </p> - <p> - “What has Frederic been saying to you?” demanded her husband curtly, after - he had closed the door. - </p> - <p> - A faint sneer came to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, my dear James, that you would care to know,” she said, - smouldering anger in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You mean something that I <i>shouldn't</i> know,” he said sternly. - </p> - <p> - “Are you not forgetting yourself, James?” - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon. I suppose the implication was offensive.” - </p> - <p> - “It was. You have no right to pry into my affairs, James, and I shall be - grateful to you if you will refrain from doing so again.” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! Are you trying to tell me what I shall do or say———” - </p> - <p> - “I am merely reminding you that I am your wife, not your———” - She did not deem it necessary to complete the sentence. - </p> - <p> - “You are content to leave a good deal to my imagination, I see.” He - flushed angrily. - </p> - <p> - She came up to him slowly. - </p> - <p> - “James, we must both be careful. We must not quarrel.” Her hands grasped - the lapels of his long lounging robe. There was an appealing look in her - eyes that checked the harsh words even as they rose to his lips. He found - himself looking into those dark eyes with the same curious wonder in his - own that had become so common of late. Time and again he had been puzzled - by something he saw in their liquid depths, something that he could not - fathom, no matter how deeply he probed. - </p> - <p> - “What is there about you, Yvonne, that hurts me—yes actually hurts - me—when you look at me as you're looking now?” he cried almost - roughly. - </p> - <p> - “We have been married a scant four months,” she said gently. “Would you - expect a woman to shed her mystery in so short a time as that?” - </p> - <p> - “There is something in your eyes———” he began, and shook - his head in utter perplexity. “You startle me once in a while. There are - times when you seem to be looking at me through eyes that are not your - own. It's—it's—quite uncanny. If you———” - </p> - <p> - “I assure you my eyes are all my own,” she cried flippantly, and yet there - was a slight trace of nervousness in her manner. “Do you intend to be nice - and good and reasonable, James? I mean about poor Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - His face clouded again. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what you are doing to that boy?” he asked bluntly. - </p> - <p> - “Quite as well as I know what you are doing to him,” she replied quickly. - </p> - <p> - He stiffened. “Can't you see what it is coming to?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He was on the point of leaving your house, never to come back to it - again. That's what it is coming to,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to say———” - </p> - <p> - “He was packing his things to go away to-day———” - </p> - <p> - “Why—why, he'd starve!” cried the man, shaken in spite of himself. - “He has never done a day's labour; he doesn't know how to earn a living. - He———” - </p> - <p> - “And who is to blame? You, James; you! You have tied his hands, you have - penned him up in———” - </p> - <p> - “We will not go into that,” he interrupted coldly. - </p> - <p> - “Very well. As you please. I said that he was going away, perhaps to - starve, but he has changed his mind. He has taken my advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Your advice?” - </p> - <p> - “I have advised him to bide his time.” - </p> - <p> - “It sounds rather ominous.” - </p> - <p> - “If he waits long enough you may discover that you love him and his going - would give you infinite pain. Then is the time for him to go.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Heaven!” he cried in astonishment. “What a remarkable notion of the - fitness———” - </p> - <p> - “That will be his chance to repay you for all that you have done for him, - James,” said she, as calm as a May morning. - </p> - <p> - “Have I ever said that I do not love him?” he demanded shortly. - </p> - <p> - “For that matter, have you ever said that you do not hate him?” - </p> - <p> - “By Jove, you are a puzzle to me!” he exclaimed, and a fine moisture came - out on his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “Let the boy alone, James,” she went on earnestly. “He is———” - </p> - <p> - “See here, Yvonne,” he broke in sternly, “that is a matter we can't - discuss. You do not understand, and I cannot explain certain things to - you. I came here just now to ask you to be fair to him, even though I may - not appear to be. You are———” - </p> - <p> - “That is also a matter we cannot discuss,” said she calmly. - </p> - <p> - “But it is a thing we are going to discuss, just the same,” said he. “Sit - down, my dear, and listen to what I have to say. Sit down!” - </p> - <p> - For a moment she faced him defiantly. He was no longer angry, and therein - lay the strength that opposed her. She could have held her own with him if - he had maintained the angry attitude that marked the beginning of their - interview. As it was, her eyes fell after a brief struggle against the - dominant power in his, and she obeyed, but not without a significant - tribute to his superiority in the shape of an indignant shrug. - </p> - <p> - “No one has ever lectured me before, James,” she said, affecting a yawn. - “It will be a new and interesting experience.” - </p> - <p> - “And I trust a profitable one,” said he rather grimly. “I shouldn't call - it a lecture, however. A warning is better.” - </p> - <p> - “That should be more thrilling, in any event.” - </p> - <p> - He took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently, even patiently. - </p> - <p> - “I will come straight to the point. Frederic is falling in love with you. - Wait! I do not blame him. He cannot help himself. No more could I, for - that matter, and he has youth, which is a spur that I have lost. I have - watched him, Yvonne. He is—to put it cold-bloodedly—losing his - head. Leaving me out of the question altogether, if you choose, do you - think you are quite fair to him? I am not disturbed on your account or my - own, but—well, can't you see what a cruel position we are likely to find - ourselves———” - </p> - <p> - “Just a moment, James,” she interrupted, sitting up very straight in the - chair and meeting his gaze steadfastly. “Will you spare me the conjectures - and come straight to the point as you have said? The warning, if you - please.” - </p> - <p> - He turned a shade paler. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he began deliberately, “it comes to this, my dear: one or the - other of you will have to leave my house if this thing goes on.” - </p> - <p> - She shot a glance of incredulity at his set face. Her body became rigid. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what you are saying?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “You would serve me as you served his real mother more than twenty years - ago?” - </p> - <p> - “The cases are not parallel,” said he, wincing. - </p> - <p> - “You drove her out of your house, James.” - </p> - <p> - “I have said that we cannot discuss———” - </p> - <p> - “But I choose to discuss it,” she said firmly. “The truth, please. You - drove her out?” - </p> - <p> - “She made her bed, Yvonne,” said he huskily. - </p> - <p> - “Did you warn her - beforehand?” - </p> - <p> - “It—it wasn't necessary.” - </p> - <p> - “What was her crime?” - </p> - <p> - “Good God, Yvonne! I can't allow———” - </p> - <p> - “Was it as great as mine?” she persisted. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, this is ridiculous. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Did she leave you cheerfully, gladly, as I would go if I loved another, - or did she plead with you—oh, I know it hurts! Did she plead with - you to give her a chance to explain? Did she?” - </p> - <p> - “She was on her knees to me,” he said, the veins standing out on his - temples. - </p> - <p> - “On her knees to you? Begging? For what? Forgiveness?” - </p> - <p> - “No! She was like all of her kind. She was innocent! Ha, ha!” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne arose. She stood over him like an accusing angel. - </p> - <p> - “And to this day, James Brood, to this very hour, you are not certain that - you did right in casting her off!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I say!” He sprang to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “You have never really convinced yourself that she was untrue to you, in - spite of all that you said and did at the time.” - </p> - <p> - “You are going too far! I———” - </p> - <p> - “All these years you have been trying to close your ears to the voice of - that wretched woman, and all these years you have been wondering—wondering—wondering! - You have been mortally afraid, my husband.” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you, I was certain—I was sure of———” - </p> - <p> - “Then why do you still love her?” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her open-mouthed, speechless. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you still love her?” - </p> - <p> - “Are you mad?” he gasped. “Good God, woman, how can you ask that question - of me, knowing that I love you with all my heart and soul? How———” - </p> - <p> - “With all your heart, yes! But with your soul? No! That other woman has - your soul. I have heard your soul speak, and it speaks of her—yes, - to her!” - </p> - <p> - “In God's name, what———” - </p> - <p> - “Night after night, in your sleep, James Brood, you have cried out to - 'Matilde.' You have sobbed out your love for her, as you have been doing - for twenty years or more. In your sleep your soul has been with her. With - me at your side, you have cried on 'Matilde'! You have passed your hand - over my face and murmured 'Matilde'! Not once have you uttered the word - 'Yvonne'! And now you come to me and say: 'We will come straight to the - point'! Well, now you may come straight to the point. But do not forget, - in blaming me, that you love another woman!” - </p> - <p> - He was petrified. Not a drop of blood remained in his face. - </p> - <p> - “Is this true, this that you are telling me?” he cried, dazed and shaken. - </p> - <p> - “You need not ask. Call upon your dreams for the answer, if you must have - one.” - </p> - <p> - “It is some horrible, ghastly delusion. It cannot be true. Her name has - not passed my lips in twenty years. It is not mentioned in my presence. I - have not uttered that woman's name———” - </p> - <p> - “Then how should I know her name? Her own son does not know it, I firmly - believe. No one appears to know it except the man who says he despises - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Dreams! Dreams!” he cried scornfully. “Shall I be held responsible for - the unthinkable things that happen in dreams?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she replied significantly; “you should not be held accountable. She - must be held accountable. You drove out her body, James, but not her - spirit. It stands beside you every instant of the day and night. By day - you do not see her; by night—ah, you tremble! Well, she is dead, - they say. If she were still alive I myself might tremble, and with cause.” - </p> - <p> - “Before God, I love you, Yvonne. I implore you to think nothing of my - maunderings in sleep. They—they may come from a disordered brain. - God knows there was a time when I felt that I was mad, raving mad. These - dreams are——” - </p> - <p> - To his surprise she laid her hand gently on his arm. - </p> - <p> - “I pity you sometimes, James. My heart aches for you. You are a man—a - strong, brave man, and yet you shrink and cringe when a voice whispers to - you in the night. You sleep with your doubts awake. Yes, yes, I believe - you when you say that you love me. I am sure that you do; but let me tell - you what it is that I have divined. It is Matilde that you are loving - through me. When you kiss me there is in the back of your mind somewhere - the thought of kisses that were given long ago. When you hold me close to - you it is the body of Matilde that you feel, it is her breath that warms - your cheeks. I am Matilde, not Yvonne, to you. I am the flesh on which - that starved love of yours feeds; I represent the memory of all that you - have lost; I am the bodily instrument.” - </p> - <p> - “This is—madness!” he exclaimed, and it was not only wonder that - filled his eyes. There was a strange fear in them, too. - </p> - <p> - “I do not expect you to admit that all this is true, James,” she went on - patiently. “You will confess one day that I am right, however; to - yourself, if not to me. If the time should ever come when I give to you a - child———” She shivered and turned her eyes away from - his. - </p> - <p> - He laid an unsteady hand upon the dark head. “There, there,” he murmured - brokenly. - </p> - <p> - “It would be Matilde's child to you,” she concluded, facing him again - without so much as a quaver in her voice, she spoke calmly, as if the - statement were the most commonplace remark in the world. - </p> - <p> - “Good Heaven, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, drawing back in utter dismay. “You - must compose yourself. This is———” - </p> - <p> - “I am quite myself, James,” she said coolly. “Can you deny that you think - of her when you hold me in your arms? Can you———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes!” he almost shouted. “I can and do deny!” - </p> - <p> - “Then you are lying to yourself, my husband,” she said quietly. - </p> - <p> - He fairly gasped. - </p> - <p> - “Good God! What manner of woman are you?” he cried hoarsely. “A sorceress? - A—but no, it is not true!” - </p> - <p> - She smiled. “All women are sorceresses. They feel. Men only think. Poor - Frederic! You try to hate him, James, but I have watched you when you were - not aware. You search his face intently, almost in agony—for what? - For the look that was his mother's—for the expression you loved in———” - </p> - <p> - He burst out violently. - </p> - <p> - “No! By Heaven, you are wrong there! I am not looking for Matilde in - Frederic's face.” - </p> - <p> - “For his father, then?” she inquired slowly. - </p> - <p> - The perspiration stood out on his brow. He made no response. His lips were - compressed. - </p> - <p> - “You have uttered her name at last,” she said wonderingly, after a long - wait for him to speak. - </p> - <p> - Brood started. “I—I—oh, this is torture!” - </p> - <p> - “We must mend our ways, James. It may please you to know that I shall - overlook your mental faithlessness to me. You may go on loving Matilde. - She is dead. I am alive. I have the better of her there, <i>aïe?</i> The - day will come when she will be dead in every sense of the word. In the - meantime, I am content to enjoy life. Frederic is quite safe with me, - James; very much safer than he is with you. And now let us have peace. - Will you ring for tea?” - </p> - <p> - He sat down abruptly, staring at her with heavy eyes. She waited for a - moment and then crossed over to pull the old-fashioned bell-cord. - </p> - <p> - “We will ask Lydia and Frederic to join us, too,” she said. “It shall be a - family party, the five of us.” - </p> - <p> - “Five?” he muttered. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, without a smile. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> fortnight passed. - Yvonne held the destiny of three persons in her hand. They were like - figures on a chess-board, and she moved them with the sureness, the - unerring instinct of any skilled disciple of the philosopher's game. They - were puppets; she ranged them about her stage in swift-changing pictures, - and applauded her own effectiveness. There were no rehearsals. The play - was going on all the time, whether tragedy, comedy, or chess. - </p> - <p> - Brood's uneasiness increased. His moody eyes were seldom lifted to meet - the question that he knew lurked in hers. She had given him a tremendous - shock. There was seldom a moment in which he was not making strange - inquiries of himself. - </p> - <p> - Was it possible that she had spoken the truth about him? Could such a - condition of mind exist without his knowledge? Was this love he professed - to feel for her but the flame springing into life from those despised - embers of long ago? Was it true that his inner self, his subconscious - being, recognised no other claim to his love than the one held so - insecurely by its original possessor? Was it true that his soul went back - to her the instant slumber came to close up the gap of years? - </p> - <p> - This strange, new wife of his had uttered amazing words; she had spoken - without rancour; she had called his dreams to life; she had told him how - he lived while asleep! - </p> - <p> - He arose in the mornings, haggard from lack of reposeful sleep. In a way, - he slept with one ear open, constantly striving to catch himself with the - dream-name on his lips. He would awake with a start many times in the - night, and always there seemed to be the vague, ghostlike whisper of a - name dying away in the stillness that greeted his return to wakefulness. - </p> - <p> - Now he confessed to himself that his dreams were of Matilde, as they had - been during all the years. Heretofore they had been mere impressions upon - his intelligence, and seldom remembered. They did not represent pictures - or incidents in which she appeared as a potent factor, but brief monodies, - with her name as the single note, her face a passing, yet impressive, - vision. He had not realised how frequent, how real these dreams were until - now. - </p> - <p> - He sometimes lay perfectly still after these awakenings, wondering if - Yvonne was listening at his closed door, straining his ears for the sound - of a creaking board that would betray her presence as she stole back to - her own bed. - </p> - <p> - What surprised and puzzled him most was her serenity in the face of these - involuntary revelations. She did not appear to be disturbed by the fact - that his dreams, his most secret thoughts, were of another woman. There - was nothing in her manner to indicate that she suffered any of the pangs - of jealousy, humiliation, dismay, or doubt that might reasonably have been - expected under the circumstances. She seemed to put the matter entirely - out of her mind as trivial, unimportant, unvexing. He found himself - wondering what his own state of mind would be if the conditions were - reversed and it was she who cried out in her sleep. - </p> - <p> - Frederic was alert, shifty, secretive. He knew himself to be the link in - the chain that would offer the least resistance of any if it came to the - question of endurance. He realised that the slightest tug at the chain - would cause it to snap, and that the break would never be repaired. His - stepmother for the present fortified the weak spot in the chain; but would - her strength be sufficient to support the strain that was to be imposed - upon both links in the end? - </p> - <p> - He watched her like a hawk, ever on the lookout for the slightest signs of - commendation, reproof, warning, encouragement. She alone stood between him - and what appeared to be the inevitable. The truce was a mask that hid none - of the real features of the situation. When would it be discarded? - </p> - <p> - After that illuminating hour in her boudoir he saw himself in a far from - noble position. The situation was no longer indefinite. He had taken a - step that could not be recalled. His loyalty to Lydia had been tested, and - the sickening truth came out—he was a traitor! He knew in his soul - that he loved the girl. His conscience told him so. But his conscience - suddenly had become an elastic thing that stretched over a pretty wide - scope of emotions. These he tried to analyse and, failing to do so with - credit to himself, settled back into a state of apathy better described as - sullen self-pity. He even went so far as to blame his father for the new - blight that had been put upon him. - </p> - <p> - Of the three, Lydia alone faced the situation with courage. She was young, - she was good, she was inexperienced, but she saw what was going on beneath - the surface with a clarity of vision that would have surprised an older - and more practised person; and, seeing, was favoured with the strength to - endure pain that otherwise would have been insupportable. - </p> - <p> - She knew that Frederic was infatuated. She did not try to hide the truth - from herself. The boy she loved was slipping away from her, and only - chance could set his feet back in the old path from which he blindly - strayed. Her woman's heart told her that it was not love he felt for - Yvonne. The strange mentor that guides her sex out of the ignorance of - youth into an understanding of hitherto unpresented questions revealed to - her the nature of his feeling for this woman. - </p> - <p> - He would come back to her in time, she knew, chastened; the same instinct - that revealed his frailties to her also defended his sense of honour. The - unthinkable could never happen! - </p> - <p> - She judged Yvonne, too, in a spirit of fairness that was amazing, - considering the lack of perspective that must have been hers to contend - with. Despite a natural feeling of antagonism, present even before she saw - the new wife of James Brood, and long before her influence affected - Brood's son, Lydia found herself confronted by a curious faith in Yvonne's - goodness of heart. It never entered the girl's mind to question the honour - of this woman—no more than she would have questioned her own. - </p> - <p> - Vanity, love of admiration, the inherent fear of retrogression, greed for - attention—any one of these might have been responsible for her - conduct covering the past three months. There was certainly a reckless - disregard for consequences on her part so far as others—notably - Frederic—were concerned. She could not be blind to his plight, and - yet it was her pleasure to drag him out beyond his depth where he might - struggle or drown while she, sirenlike, looked on for the moment and then - turned calmly to the more serious business of combing her hair. - </p> - <p> - Her mother saw the suffering in the girl's eyes, but saw also the proud - spirit that would have resented sympathy from one even so close as she. - Down in the heart of that quiet, reserved mother smouldered a hatred for - Yvonne Brood that would have stopped at nothing had it been in her power - to inflict punishment for the wrong that was being done. She, too, saw - tragedy ahead, but her vision was broader than Lydia's. It included the - figure of James Brood. - </p> - <p> - Lydia worked steadily, almost doggedly, at the task she had undertaken to - complete for the elder Brood. Every afternoon found her seated at the desk - in the study opposite the stern-faced man who laboured with her over the - seemingly endless story of his life. Something told her that there were - secret chapters which she was not to write. She wrote those that were to - endure; the others were to die with him. - </p> - <p> - He watched her as she wrote, and his eyes were often hard. He saw the - growing haggardness in her gentle, girlish face; the wistful, puzzled - expression in her dark eyes. A note of tenderness crept into his voice and - remained there through all the hours they spent together. The old-time - brusqueness disappeared from his speech; the sharp, authoritative tone was - gone. He watched her with pity in his heart, for he knew it was ordained - that one day he, too, was to hurt this loyal, pure-hearted creature even - as the others were wounding her now. - </p> - <p> - He frequently went out of his way to perform quaint little acts of - courtesy and kindness that would have surprised him only a short time - before. He sent theatre and opera tickets to Lydia and her mother. He - placed bouquets of flowers at the girl's end of the desk, obviously for - her alone. He sent her home—just around the corner—in the - automobile on rainy or blizzardy days. - </p> - <p> - But he never allowed her an instant's rest when it came to the work in - hand, and therein lay the gentle shrewdness of the man. She was better off - busy. There were times when he studied the face of Lydia's mother for - signs that might show how her thoughts ran in relation to the conditions - that were confronting all of them. But more often he searched the features - of the boy who called him father. - </p> - <p> - Not one of them knew that there were solemn hours in all the days when - Yvonne sat shivering in her room and stared, dry-eyed and bleak, at the - walls which surrounded her, seeing not them, but something far beyond. - Often she sat before her long cheval-glass, either with lowering eyes or - in a sort of wistful wonder, never removing her steady gaze from the face - reflected there. There were other times when she stood before the striking - photograph of her husband on the dressing-table, studying the face through - narrowed lids, as if she searched for something that baffled, yet - impressed her. - </p> - <p> - Always, always there was music in the house. Behind the closed doors of - his distant study James Brood listened in spite of himself to the - persistent thrumming of the piano downstairs. Always were the airs light - and seductive; the dreamy, plaintive compositions of Strauss, Ziehrer, and - others of their kind and place. - </p> - <p> - Frederic, with uncanny fidelity to the preferences of the mother he had - never seen, but whose influence directed him, affected the same general - class of music that had appealed to her moods and temperament. Times there - were, and often, when he played the very airs that she had loved, and - then, despite his profound antipathy, James Brood's thoughts leaped back a - quarter of a century and fixed themselves on love-scenes and love-times - that would not be denied. - </p> - <p> - And again there were the wild, riotous airs that she had played with - Feverelli, her soft-eyed music-master! Accursed airs—accursed and - accusing! - </p> - <p> - He gave orders that these airs were not to be played, but failed to make - his command convincing for the reason that he could not bring himself to - the point of explaining why they were distasteful to him. When Frederic - thoughtlessly whistled or hummed fragments of those proscribed airs he - considered himself justified in commanding him to stop on the pretext that - they were disturbing, but he could not use the same excuse for checking - the song on the lips of his gay and impulsive wife. Sometimes he wondered - why she persisted when she knew that he was annoyed. Her airy little - apologies for her forgetfulness were of no consequence, for within the - hour her memory was almost sure to be at fault again. - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes fell ill. He ventured out one day when the winds of March were - fierce and sharp, and, being an adventurer, caught the most dangerous sort - of a cold. He came in shivering and considerably annoyed because Jones or - Ranjab or some other incompetent servant had failed to advise him to wear - an overcoat and galoshes. To his surprise Mrs Brood ordered a huge, hot - drink of whisky and commanded him to drink it—“like a good boy.” Then she - had him stowed away in bed with loads of blankets about him. - </p> - <p> - Just before dinner she came up to see him. He was still shivering. So was - Mr Riggs, for that matter, but Mr Riggs failed to shiver convincingly and - did not receive the treatment he desired. Their unexpected visitor felt - the pulse and forehead of the sick man, uttered a husky little cry of - dismay, and announced that he had a fever. Whereupon Mr Dawes said, rather - shamefacedly, that he would be all right in the morning and that it was - nothing at all. - </p> - <p> - “We will have the doctor at once, Mr Dawes,” said she, and instructed Mr - Riggs to call Jones. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want a doctor,” said Mr Dawes stoutly. - </p> - <p> - “I know you don't,” said she, with her rarest smile; “but I <i>do</i>, you - see.” - </p> - <p> - “They're no good,” said Mr Dawes. - </p> - <p> - “Better have one,” advised Mr Riggs with sudden solemnity. - </p> - <p> - “Never had one in my life,” said Mr Dawes. “Don't believe in 'em. I'll - take a couple of stiff drinks before I go to bed and———” - </p> - <p> - “But you've gone to bed, you old dear,” cried she, stroking his burning - hand gently. - </p> - <p> - He was too astonished to say a word. - </p> - <p> - “Jumping Jees——” began Mr Riggs, completely staggered. “I - mean, what doctor, Mrs Brood?” - </p> - <p> - “Jones will know. Now, Mr Dawes, you must do just as I tell you to do. You - are nothing but a child, you know. If———” - </p> - <p> - “Hey, Joe!” called out the sick man desperately, but his comrade was gone. - “Don't let him call a—doctor, Mrs Brood; please don't!” he implored. - </p> - <p> - She sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his hand between her soft, - cool palms, and smiled at him so tenderly that he stared for a moment in - utter bewilderment and then gulped mightily. “Hush!” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I—I don't want to be sick here, bothering you and upsetting - everything———” he blubbered. - </p> - <p> - “We will have you up and about in a day or two,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “But it's such an infernal nuisance. You oughtn't to be sitting here, - either. It may be catching.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense! I'm not afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “It's—it's mighty good of you,” he muttered, his eyes blinking. - </p> - <p> - “What are friends for, Mr Dawes, if they can't be depended upon in times - of sickness?” - </p> - <p> - “Friends?” he gasped. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. Am I not your friend?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I—well, by gosh!” he exploded. “I—I must tell this to - Joe. He'll—I beg your pardon, I guess I'm a little flighty. Maybe - I'm worse than I think. Delirious or something like that. Say, you don't - think it's—it's serious, do you?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not. A heavy cold, that's all. The doctor will break it up - immediately.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe it's the grippe, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Possibly.” - </p> - <p> - “What's my temperature?” - </p> - <p> - “You mustn't worry, Mr Dawes. It's all right.” - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a moment, steadfastly regarding the hand that stroked - his wrinkled old paw so gently. - </p> - <p> - “If—if it should turn out to be pneumonia or lung fever, I wish you - wouldn't let on to Joe,” said he anxiously. “It would worry him almost to - death. He's not very strong, you see. Nothing like me. I'm as strong as a - bull. Never been sick in my———” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” she said quietly. “He isn't half so strong as you, Mr Dawes. You - are so strong you will be able to throw off this cold in a jiffy, as Jones - would say. It won't amount to anything.” - </p> - <p> - “If I get much worse you'd better send me to a hospital. Awful nuisance - having a sick man about the place. Spoils everything. Don't hesitate about - sending me off, Mrs Brood. I wouldn't be a trouble to you or Jim for———” - </p> - <p> - “You poor old dear! You shall stay right where you are, no matter what - comes to pass, and I shall take charge of you myself.” - </p> - <p> - “You?” She nodded her head briskly. “Well, by jiggers, I—I don't - know what Joe'll say when I tell him this. Blast him; I'll bet my head he - calls me a liar. If he does, blast him, I'll—oh, I beg your pardon! I - don't seem to be able to get over the habit of———” - </p> - <p> - “Here is Mr Riggs—and my husband,” she interrupted, as the door - opened and the two men strode into the room. “Is Jones telephoning?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Brood. “Why, what's gone wrong, old man?” - </p> - <p> - “It's all my fault,” groaned Mr Riggs, sitting down heavily on the - opposite side of the bed. “I let him go out without his overcoat. He's not - a strong man, Jim. Least breath of air goes right through——” - </p> - <p> - “See here, Riggs, you know better than that,” roared the sick man - wrathfully. “I can stand more———” - </p> - <p> - “There, there!” cried Mrs Brood reprovingly. “It isn't fair to quarrel - with Mr Riggs. He can't very well abuse you in return, Mr Dawes, can he?” - </p> - <p> - “You may be on your death-bed,” said Mr Riggs mournfully, as if that were - reason enough for not abusing him. - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense,” said Brood; but it was an anxious look that he shot at Yvonne. - Mr Dawes's face was fiery hot. - </p> - <p> - “I shall come back to see you immediately after dinner, Mr Dawes,” said - she, and again stroked his hand. - </p> - <p> - The two old men stared after her rather blankly as she left the room. They - couldn't believe their ears. - </p> - <p> - “She says she'll look after me herself,” murmured Mr Dawes hazily. Mr - Riggs tucked the covers about his chin. “Don't do that, Joe! Leave things - alone, darn you. She fixed 'em as they ought to be.” Mr Riggs obediently - undid his work. “That's right. Now don't you do anything without askin' - her, d'ye hear?” - </p> - <p> - “I was only trying to make you———” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't do it. Leave everything to her.” The upshot of it all was - that Mr Dawes came near to dying. Pneumonia set in at once, and for many - days he fought what appeared to be a losing fight. Then came the splendid - days of convalescence, the happiest days of his life. The amazing Mrs - Brood did “look after him.” Nurses there were, of course, and doctors in - consultation, but it was the much-berated mistress of the house who - “pulled him through,” as he afterward and always declared in acrimonious - disputes with Mr Riggs who, while secretly blessing the wife of Brood, - could not be driven into an open admission that she had done “anything - more than anybody else would have done under the circumstances,”—and - not “half as much, for that matter, as he could have done had he been - given a chance.” - </p> - <p> - It may be well to observe here that Mr Riggs was of no earthly use - whatever during the trying days. Indeed, he gave up hope the instant the - doctor said “pneumonia,” and went about the house saying “My God” to - himself and everybody else in sepulchral whispers, all the while urging - Heaven to “please do something.” He was too pathetic for words. - </p> - <p> - A new and totally unsuspected element in Yvonne's make-up came to light at - this troublous period. She forsook many pleasures, many comforts in her - eagerness to help the suffering old man who, she must have known, in his - heart had long despised her. She did not interfere with the nurses, yet - made herself so indispensable to old Mr Dawes in the capacity of “visiting - angel” that his heart overflowed with gratitude and love. Even when death - hung directly above his almost sightless eyes he saw her smile of - encouragement in the shadows, and his spirit responded with what might - justly have been called the battle-cry of life. - </p> - <p> - To Brood this new side to Yvonne's far from understandable character was - most gratifying. Seeing her in the rôle of good Samaritan was not so - surprising to him as the real, unaffected sincerity with which she - ministered to the wants of the querulous old man. - </p> - <p> - Even the nurses, habitually opposed to the good offices of “the family,” - were won over by this woman whose unparalleled sweetness levelled them - into a condition of respect and love that surprised not only themselves - but the doctors. They were quite docile from the start, and seldom, if - ever, spoke of Mr Dawes as “the patient” or of his state as “the case.” - They got into the habit of alluding to him as the “dear old man,” and - somehow envied each other the hours “on duty.” They were never sour. - </p> - <p> - And so, when it came time for Mr Dawes to thank the Lord for his escape, - he refused to commit himself to anything so ridiculous! He even went so - far as to declare that the doctor had nothing to do with it, a statement - which rather staggered the nurses. - </p> - <p> - For hours Yvonne read to the blissful old chap. Sometimes she read to him - in French, again in Russian, and occasionally in German. It was all one to - him. He did not understand a word of it, but he was happy. He felt - surprisingly young. - </p> - <p> - She gave up a month to him and he was prepared to give up his life to her. - To his utter amazement, however, she did not exact anything so valuable as - that. Indeed, when his recovery was quite complete, she calmly forgot his - existence and he sank back into the oblivion from which calamity had - dragged him; sank back to the unhappy level of Mr Riggs and all the others - who failed to interest her; and there he dreamed of exalted days when she - wanted him to live, contrasting them with these days in which he might - just as well be dead for all she seemed to care! He was one of the “old - men” again. - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs, writhing with jealousy, repeatedly remarked, “I told you so,” - and somehow felt revenged for the insolent orders she had given to Jones, - depriving him of the right to even approach the door of the room in which - his lifelong friend was dying. It had been a hard week for Mr Riggs. He - hated her as he had never hated anyone in his life before. And yet he - thanked God for her, and would have died for her! Nothing, nothing in the - world would have given him more pleasure than to be critically ill for - her! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p> - “Is there anything wrong with my hair, Mr Brood?” asked Lydia, with a - nervous little laugh. - </p> - <p> - They were in the study, and it was ten o'clock of a wet night in April. Of - late he had required her to spend the evenings with him in a strenuous - effort to complete the final chapters of the journal. The illness of Mr - Dawes had interrupted the work, and he was now in a fever of impatience to - make up for the lost time. He had declared his intention to go abroad with - his wife as soon as the manuscript was completed. The editor of a - magazine, a personal friend, had signified his willingness to edit the - journal and to put it into shape for publication during the summer months, - against Brood's return in the fall of the year. - </p> - <p> - The master of the house spared neither himself nor Lydia in these last few - weeks. He wanted to clear up everything before he went away. Lydia's - willingness to devote the extra hours to his enterprise would have pleased - him vastly if he had not been afflicted by the same sense of unrest and - uneasiness that made incessant labour a boon to her as well as to him. - </p> - <p> - Her query followed a long period of silence on his part. He had been - suggesting alterations in her notes as she read them to him, and there - were frequent lulls when she made the changes as directed. Without looking - at him she felt, rather than knew, that he was regarding her fixedly from - his position opposite. The scrutiny was disturbing to her. She hazarded - the question for want of a better means of breaking the spell. Of late he - had taken to watching her with moody interest. She knew that he was - mentally commenting on the changes he could not help observing in her - appearance and her manners. This intense, though perhaps unconscious, - scrutiny annoyed her. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, her heart - was beating with undue rapidity. - </p> - <p> - Brood started guiltily. - </p> - <p> - “Your hair?” he exclaimed. “Oh, I see. You women always feel that - something is wrong with it. I was thinking of something else, however. - Forgive my stupidity. We can't afford to waste time in thinking, you know, - and I am a pretty bad offender. It's nearly half-past ten. We've been hard - at it since eight o'clock. Time to knock off. I will walk around to your - apartment with you, my dear. It looks like an all-night rain.” - </p> - <p> - He went up to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes followed - him. - </p> - <p> - “It's such a short distance, Mr Brood,” she said. “I am not afraid to go - alone.” - </p> - <p> - He was staring down into the court, his fingers grasping the curtains in a - rigid grip. He did not reply. - </p> - <p> - There was a light in the windows opening out upon Yvonne's balcony. - </p> - <p> - “I fancy Frederic has come in from the concert,” he said slowly. “He will - take you home, Lydia. You'd like that better, eh?” - </p> - <p> - He turned toward her, and she paused in the nervous collecting of her - papers. His eyes were as hard as steel, his lips were set. - </p> - <p> - “Please don't ask Frederic to———” she began hurriedly. - </p> - <p> - “They must have left early,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. Returning - to the table he struck the big, melodious gong a couple of sharp blows. - For the first time in her recollection it sounded a jangling, discordant - note, as of impatience. - </p> - <p> - She felt her heart sink; an oppressing sense of alarm came over her. - </p> - <p> - “Good night, Mr Brood. Don't think of coming home with———” - </p> - <p> - “Wait, Frederic will go with you.” It was a command. Ranjab appeared in - the doorway. “Have Mrs Brood and Mr Frederic returned, Ranjab?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, <i>sahib</i>. At ten o'clock.” - </p> - <p> - “If Mr Frederic is in his room, send him to me.” - </p> - <p> - “He is not in his room, <i>sahib</i>.” - </p> - <p> - The two, master and man, looked at each other steadily for a moment. - Something passed between them. - </p> - <p> - “Tell him that Miss Desmond is ready to go home.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, <i>sahib</i>.” The curtains fell. - </p> - <p> - “I prefer to go home alone, Mr Brood,” said Lydia, her eyes flashing. “Why - did you send———” - </p> - <p> - “And why not?” he demanded harshly. She winced, and he was at once sorry. - “Forgive me. I am tired and—a bit nervous. And you, too, are tired. - You've been working too steadily at this miserable job, my dear child. - Thank Heaven, it will soon be over. Pray sit down. Frederic will soon be - here.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not tired,” she protested stubbornly. “I love the work. You don't - know how proud I shall be when it comes out, and—and I realise that - I helped in its making. No one has ever been in a position to tell the - story of Tibet as you have told it, Mr Brood. Those chapters will make - history. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Your poor father's share in those explorations is what really makes the - work valuable, my dear. Without his notes and letters I should have been - feeble indeed.” He looked at his watch. “They were at the concert, you - know—the Hungarian orchestra. A recent importation, 'Tzigane's' - music. Gipsies.” His sentences as well as his thoughts were staccato, - disconnected. - </p> - <p> - Lydia turned very cold. She dreaded the scene that now seemed unavoidable. - Frederic would come in response to his father's command, and then——— - </p> - <p> - Someone began to play upon the piano downstairs. She knew, and he knew, - that it was Frederic who played. For a long time they listened. The air, - no doubt, was one he had heard during the evening, a soft, sensuous waltz - that she had never heard before. The girl's eyes were upon Brood's face. - It was like a graven image. - </p> - <p> - “God!” fell from his stiff lips. Suddenly he turned upon the girl. “Do you - know what he is playing?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “It was played in this house by its composer before Frederic was born. It - was played here on the night of his birth, as it had been played many - times before. It was written by a man named Feverelli. Have you heard of - him?” - </p> - <p> - “Never,” she murmured, and shrank, frightened by the deathlike pallor in - the man's face, by the strange calm in his voice. The gates were being - opened at last! She saw the thing that was to stalk forth. She would have - closed her ears against the revelations it carried. “Mother will be - worried if I am not at home———” - </p> - <p> - “Guido Feverelli. An Italian born in Hungary. Budapest, that was his home, - but he professed to be a gipsy. Yes, he wrote the devilish thing. He - played it a thousand times in that room down——— And now - Frederic plays it, after all these years. It is his heritage. God, how I - hate the thing! Ranjab! Where is the fellow? He must stop the accursed - thing. He———” - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood! Mr Brood!” cried Lydia, appalled. She began to edge toward the - door. - </p> - <p> - By a mighty effort Brood regained control of himself. He sank into a - chair, motioning for her to remain. The music had ceased abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “He will be here in a moment,” said Brood. “Don't go.” - </p> - <p> - They waited, listening. Ranjab entered the room; so noiseless was his - approach that neither heard his footsteps. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” demanded Brood, looking beyond. - </p> - <p> - “Master Frederic begs a few minutes' time, <i>sahib</i>. He is putting - down on paper the music, so that he may not forget. He writes the notes, - <i>sahib. Madame</i> assists.” - </p> - <p> - Brood's shoulders sagged. His head was bent, but his gaze never left the - face of the Hindu. - </p> - <p> - “You may go, Ranjab,” he said slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Ten minutes he asks for, <i>sahib</i>, that is all.” The curtains fell - behind him once more. - </p> - <p> - “So that he may not forget!” fell from Brood's lips. He was looking at the - girl, but did not address his words to her. “So that he may not forget! So - that I, too, may not forget!” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he arose and confronted the serene image of the Buddha. For a - full minute he stood there with his hands clasped, his lips moving as if - in prayer. No sound came from them. - </p> - <p> - The girl remained transfixed, powerless to move. Not until he turned - toward her and spoke was the spell broken. Then she came quickly to his - side. He had pronounced her name. - </p> - <p> - “You are about to tell me something, Mr Brood,” she cried in great - agitation. “I do not care to listen. I feel that it is something I should - not know. Please let me go now. I———” - </p> - <p> - He laid his hands upon her shoulders, holding her off at arm's length. - </p> - <p> - “I am very fond of you, Lydia. I do not want to hurt you. Sooner would I - have my tongue cut out than it should wound you by a single word. Yet I - must speak. You love Frederic. Is not that true?” - </p> - <p> - She returned his gaze unwaveringly. Her face was very white. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mr Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “I have known it for some time, although I was the last to see. You love - him, and you are just beginning to realise that he is not worthy.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood!” - </p> - <p> - “Your eyes have been opened.” She stared, speechless. “My poor girl, he - was born to prove that honest love is the rarest thing in all this world.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I beg of you, Mr Brood, don't———” - </p> - <p> - “It is better that we should talk it over. We have ten minutes. No doubt - he has told you that he loves you. He is a lovable boy, he is the kind one - <i>must</i> love. But it is not in his power to love nobly. He loves - lightly as”—he hesitated, and then went on harshly—“as his - father before him loved.” - </p> - <p> - Anger dulled her understanding; she did not grasp the full meaning of his - declaration. Her honest heart rose to the defence of Frederic. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood, I do care for Frederic,” she flamed, standing very erect before - him. “He is not himself, he has not been himself since she came here. Oh, - I am fully aware of what I am saying. He is not to be blamed for this - thing that has happened to him. No one is to blame. It had to be. I can - wait, Mr Brood. Frederic loves me. I know he does. He will come back to - me. You have no right to say that he loves lightly, ignobly. You do not - know him as I know him. You have never tried to know him, never wanted to - know him. You—oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Brood. I—I am - forgetting myself.” - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you do not understand yourself, Lydia,” said he levelly. “You - are young, you are trusting. Your lesson will cost you a great deal, my - dear.” - </p> - <p> - “You are mistaken. I do understand myself,” she said gravely. “May I speak - plainly, Mr Brood?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. I intend to speak plainly to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Frederic loves me. He does not love Yvonne. He is fascinated, as I also - am fascinated by her, and you, too, Mr Brood. The spell has fallen over - all of us. Let me go on, please. You say that Frederic loves like his - father before him. That is true. He loves but one woman. You love but one - woman, and she is dead. You will always love her. Frederic is like you. He - loves Yvonne as you do—oh, I know it hurts! She cast her spell over you, - why not over him? Is he stronger than you? Is it strange that she should - attract him as she attracted you? You glory in her beauty, her charm, her - perfect loveliness, and yet you love—yes, <i>love</i>, Mr Brood—the - woman who was Frederic's mother. Do I make my meaning plain? Well, so it - is that Frederic loves me. I am content to wait. I know he loves me.” - </p> - <p> - Through all this Brood stared at her in sheer astonishment. He had no - feeling of anger, no resentment, no thought of protest. - </p> - <p> - “You—you astound me, Lydia. Is this your own impression, or has it - been suggested to you by—by another?” - </p> - <p> - “I am only agreeing with you when you say that he loves as his father - loved before him—but not lightly. Ah, not lightly, Mr Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't know what you are saying,” he muttered. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I do,” she cried earnestly. “You invite my opinion; I trust you - will accept it for what it is worth. Before you utter another word against - Frederic, let me remind you that I have known both of you for a long, long - time. In all the years I have been in this house I have never known you to - grant him a tender, loving word. My heart has ached for him. There have - been times when I almost hated you. He feels your neglect, your harshness, - your—your cruelty. He———” - </p> - <p> - “Cruelty!” - </p> - <p> - “It is nothing less. You do not like him. I cannot understand why you - should treat him as you do. He shrinks from you. Is it right, Mr Brood, - that a son should shrink from his father as a dog cringes at the voice of - an unkind master? I might be able to understand your attitude toward him - if your unkindness was of recent origin, but———” - </p> - <p> - “Recent origin?” he demanded quickly. - </p> - <p> - “If it had begun with the advent of Mrs Brood,” she explained frankly, - undismayed by his scowl. “I do not understand all that has gone before. Is - it surprising, Mr Brood, that your son finds it difficult to love you? Do - you deserve———” - </p> - <p> - Brood stopped her with a gesture of his hand. - </p> - <p> - “The time has come for frankness on my part. You set me an example, Lydia. - You have the courage of your father. For months I have had it in my mind - to tell you the truth about Frederic, but my courage has always failed me. - Perhaps I use the wrong word. It may be something very unlike cowardice - that has held me back. I am going to put a direct question to you first of - all, and I ask you to answer truthfully. Would you say that Frederic is - like—that is, resembles his father?” He was leaning forward, his - manner intense. - </p> - <p> - Lydia was surprised. - </p> - <p> - “What an odd thing to say! Of course he resembles his father. I have never - seen a portrait of his mother, but———” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that he looks like me?” demanded Brood. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - Brood laughed, a short, ugly laugh—and then fingered his chin - nervously. - </p> - <p> - “He resembles his mother,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “When he is angry he is very much like you, Mr Brood. I have often - wondered why he is unlike you at other times. Now I know. He is like his - mother. She must have been lovely, gentle, patient———” - </p> - <p> - “Wait! Suppose I were to tell you that Frederic is not my son?” - </p> - <p> - “I should not believe you, Mr Brood,” she replied flatly. “What is it that - you are trying to say to me?” - </p> - <p> - He turned away abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “I will not go on with it. The subject is closed. There is nothing to tell—at - present.” - </p> - <p> - She placed herself in front of him, resolute and determined. - </p> - <p> - “I insist, Mr Brood. The time <i>has</i> come for you to be frank. You - must tell me what you meant by that remark.” - </p> - <p> - “Has your mother never told you anything concerning my past life?” he - demanded. - </p> - <p> - “What has my mother to do with your past life?” she inquired, suddenly - afraid. - </p> - <p> - “I refer only to what she may have heard from your father. He knew more - than any of them. I confided in him to a great extent. I had to unburden - myself to someone. He was my best friend. It is not improbable that he - repeated certain parts of my story to your mother.” - </p> - <p> - “She has told me that you—you were not happy, Mr Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I think so.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all?” he insisted. - </p> - <p> - “When I was a little girl I heard my father say to her that your life had - been ruined by—well, that your marriage had turned out badly,” she - confessed haltingly. - </p> - <p> - “What more did he say?” - </p> - <p> - “He said—I remember feeling terribly about it—he said you had - driven your wife out of this very house.” - </p> - <p> - “Did he speak of another man?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Her music-master.” - </p> - <p> - “You were too young to know what that meant, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you never saw her after—after she left this house.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you understand how horrible it all was if I say to you now that—Frederic - is not my son?” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes filled with horror. - </p> - <p> - “How can you say such a thing, Mr Brood? He is your son. How can you say———” - </p> - <p> - “His father is the man who wrote the accursed waltz he has just been - playing! Could there be anything more devilish than the conviction it - carries? After all these years, he———” - </p> - <p> - “Stop, Mr Brood!” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry if I hurt you, Lydia. You have asked me why I hate him. Need I - say anything more?” - </p> - <p> - “You have only made me love him more than ever before. You cannot hurt me - through Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry that it has come to such a pass as this. It is not right that - you should be made to suffer, too.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not believe all that you have told me. He <i>is</i> your son. He <i>is</i>, - Mr Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “I would to God I could believe that!” he cried in a voice of agony. “I - would to God it were true!” - </p> - <p> - “You could believe it if you chose to believe your own eyes, your own - heart.” She lowered her voice to a half whisper. “Does—does Frederic - know? Does he know that his mother—oh, I can't believe it!” - </p> - <p> - “He does not know.” - </p> - <p> - “And you did drive her out of this house?” Brood did not answer. “You sent - her away and and kept her boy, the boy who was nothing to you? Nothing!” - </p> - <p> - “I kept him,” he said, with a queer smile on his lips. - </p> - <p> - “All these years? He never knew his mother?” - </p> - <p> - “He has never heard her name spoken.” - </p> - <p> - “And she?” - </p> - <p> - “I only know that she is dead. She never saw him after—after that - day.” - </p> - <p> - “And now, Mr Brood, may I ask why you have always intended to tell me this - dreadful thing?” she demanded, her eyes gleaming with a fierce, accusing - light. - </p> - <p> - He stared. “Doesn't—doesn't it put a different light on your - estimate of him? Doesn't it convince you that he is not worthy of———” - </p> - <p> - “No! A thousand times no!” she cried. “I love him. If he were to ask me to - be his wife tonight I would rejoice—oh, I would rejoice! Someone is - coming. Let me say this to you, Mr Brood: you have brought Frederic up as - a butcher fattens the calves and swine he prepares for slaughter. You are - waiting for the hour to come when you can kill his very soul with the - weapon you have held over him for so long, waiting, waiting, waiting! In - God's name, what has <i>he</i> done that you should want to strike him - down after all these years? It is in my heart to curse you, but somehow I - feel that you are a curse to yourself. I will not say that I cannot - understand how you feel about everything. You have suffered. I know you - have, and I—I am sorry for you. And knowing how bitter life has been - for you, I implore you to be merciful to him who is innocent.” - </p> - <p> - The man listened without the slightest change of expression. The lines - seemed deeper about his eyes, that was all. But the eyes were bright and - as hard as the steel they resembled. - </p> - <p> - “You would marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes!” - </p> - <p> - “Knowing that he is a scoundrel?” - </p> - <p> - “How dare you say that, Mr Brood?” - </p> - <p> - “Because,” said he levelly, “he <i>thinks</i> he is my son.” Voices were - heard on the stairs, Frederic's and Yvonne's. “He is coming now, my dear,” - he went on, and then, after a pause fraught with significance, “and my - wife is with him.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia closed her eyes, as if in dire pain. A dry sob was in her throat. - </p> - <p> - A strange thing happened to Brood, the man of iron. Tears suddenly rushed - to his eyes. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>vonne stopped in - the doorway. Ranjab was holding the curtains aside for her to enter. The - tall figure of Frederic loomed up behind her, his dark face glowing in the - warm light that came from the room. She had changed her dress for an - exquisite orchid-coloured tea-gown of chiffon under the rarest and most - delicate of lace. For an instant her gaze rested on Lydia, and then went - questioningly to Brood's face. The girl's confusion had not escaped her - notice. Her husband's manner was but little less convicting. Her eyes - narrowed. - </p> - <p> - “Ranjab said you were expecting us,” she said slowly, with marked emphasis - on the participle. She came forward haltingly, as if in doubt as to her - welcome. “Are we interrupting?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not,” said Brood, a flush of annoyance on his cheek. “Lydia is - tired. I sent Ranjab down to ask Frederic to——” - </p> - <p> - Frederic interrupted, a trifle too eagerly. “I'll walk around with you, - Lydia. It's raining, however. Shall I get the car out, father?” - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” cried Lydia, painfully conscious of the rather awkward - situation. “And please don't bother, Freddy. I can go home alone. It's - only a step.” She moved toward the door, eager to be away. - </p> - <p> - “I'll go with you,” said Frederic decisively. He stood between her and the - door, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “I've got something to say to you, - Lydia,” he went on, lowering his voice. - </p> - <p> - “James dear,” said Mrs Brood, shaking her finger at her husband, and with - an exasperating smile on her lips, “you are working the poor girl too - hard. See how late it is! And how nervous she is. Why, you are trembling, - Lydia! For shame, James.” - </p> - <p> - “I am a little tired,” stammered Lydia. “We are working so hard, you know, - in order to finish the———” - </p> - <p> - Brood interrupted, his tone sharp and incisive. - </p> - <p> - “The end is in sight. We're a bit feverish over it, I suppose. You see, my - dear, we have just escaped captivity in Thassa. It was a bit thrilling, I - fancy. But we've stopped for the night.” - </p> - <p> - “So I perceive,” said Yvonne, a touch of insolence in her voice. “You - stopped, I dare say, when you heard the tread of the vulgar world - approaching the inner temple. That is what you broke into and desecrated, - wasn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “The inner temple at Thassa,” he said coldly. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. The place you were escaping from when we came in.” - </p> - <p> - It was clear to all of them that Yvonne was piqued, even angry. She - deliberately crossed the room and threw herself upon the couch, an act so - childish, so disdainful, that for a full minute no one spoke, but stared - at her, each with a different emotion. - </p> - <p> - Lydia's eyes were flashing. Her lips parted, but she withheld the angry - words that rose to them. - </p> - <p> - Brood's expression changed slowly from dull anger to one of incredulity, - which swiftly gave way to positive joy. His wife was jealous! - </p> - <p> - Frederic was biting his lips nervously. He allowed Lydia to pass him on - her way out, scarcely noticing her, so intently was his gaze fixed upon - Yvonne. When Brood followed Lydia into the hall to remonstrate, the young - man sprang eagerly to his stepmother's side. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, Yvonne!” he whispered, “that was a nasty thing to say. What - will Lydia think? By gad, is it possible that you are jealous? Of Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - “Jealous?” cried she, struggling with her fury. “Jealous of that girl? - Poof! Why should I be jealous of her? She hasn't the blood of a potato!” - </p> - <p> - “I can't understand you,” he said in great perplexity. “You—you told - me to-night that you are not sure that you really love him. You———” - </p> - <p> - She stopped him with a quick gesture. Her eyes were smouldering. “Where is - he? Gone away with her? Go and look; do.” - </p> - <p> - “They're in the hall. I shall take her home, never fear. I fancy he's - trying to explain your insinuating———” - </p> - <p> - She turned on him furiously. “Are you lecturing me? What a tempest in a - teapot!” - </p> - <p> - “Lydia's as good as gold. She———” - </p> - <p> - “Then take her home at once,” sneered Yvonne. “This is no place for her.” - </p> - <p> - Frederic paled. “You're not trying to say my father would—good Lord, - Yvonne, you must be crazy! Why, that is impossible! If—if I thought———” - He clenched his fists and glared over his shoulder, missing the queer - little smile that flitted across her face. - </p> - <p> - “You do love her then,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and caressing. - </p> - <p> - He stared at her in complete bewilderment. - </p> - <p> - “I—I—Lord, you gave me a shock!” He passed his hand across his - moist forehead. “It can't be so. Why, the very thought of it———” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I shall have to apologise to Lydia,” said she calmly. “Your - father will exact it of me, and I shall obey. How does it sound, coming - from me? 'I am sorry, Lydia.' Do I say it prettily?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand you at all, Yvonne. I adore you, and yet, by Heaven, I—I - actually believe I hated you just now. Listen to me. I've been treating - Lydia vilely for a long, long time, but—she's the finest, best, - dearest girl in the world. You—even you, Yvonne—shall not - utter a word against———” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Aïe!</i> What heroics!” she cried ironically. - “You are splendid when you are angry, my son. Yes, you are almost as - splendid as your father. He, too, has been angry with me. He, too, has - made me shudder. But he, too, has forgiven me, as you shall this instant. - Say it, Freddy. You do forgive me? I was mean, nasty, ugly, vile—oh, - everything that's horrid. I take it all back. Now be nice to me!” - </p> - <p> - She laid her hand on his arm, an appealing little caress that conquered - him in a flash. He clasped her fingers fiercely in his and mumbled - incoherently as he leaned forward, drawn resistlessly nearer by the - strange magic that was hers. - </p> - <p> - “You—you are wonderful,” he murmured. “I knew you'd regret what you - said. You couldn't have meant it.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled, patted his hand gently, and allowed her swimming eyes to rest - on his for an instant to complete the conquest. Then she motioned him - away. Brood's voice was heard in the doorway. She had, however, planted an - insidious thing in Frederic's mind, and it would grow. - </p> - <p> - Her husband re-entered the room, his arm linked in Lydia's. Frederic was - at the table lighting a cigarette. - </p> - <p> - “You did not mean all that you said a moment ago, Yvonne,” said Brood - levelly. “Lydia misinterpreted your jest. You meant nothing unkind, I am - sure.” - </p> - <p> - He was looking straight into her rebellious eyes. The last gleam of - defiance died out of them as he spoke. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry, Lydia darling,” she said, and reached out her hand to the - girl who approached reluctantly, uncertainly. “I confess that I was - jealous. Why shouldn't I be jealous? You are so beautiful, so splendid.” - She drew the girl down beside her. “Forgive me, dear.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia, whose honest heart had been so full of resentment the moment - before, could not withstand the humble appeal in the voice of the - penitent. - </p> - <p> - She smiled, first at Yvonne, then at Brood, and never quite understood the - impulse that ordered her to kiss the warm, red lips that so recently had - offended. - </p> - <p> - “James dear,” fell softly, alluringly, from Yvonne's now tremulous lips. - He sprang to her side. She kissed him passionately. “Now we are all - ourselves once more,” she gasped a moment later, her eyes still fixed - inquiringly on those of the man beside her. “Let us be gay! Let us forget! - Come, Frederic! Sit here at my feet. Lydia is not going home yet. Ranjab, - the cigarettes!” - </p> - <p> - Frederic, white-faced and scowling, remained at the window, glaring out - into the rain-swept night. A steady sheet of raindrops thrashed against - the window-panes. - </p> - <p> - “Hear the wind!” cried Yvonne, after a single sharp glance at his tall, - motionless figure. “One can almost imagine that ghosts from every - graveyard in the world are whistling past our windows. Should we not - rejoice? We have them safely locked outside. There are no ghosts in - here to make us shiver—and—shake.” - </p> - <p> - The sentence that began so glibly trailed off in a slow crescendo, ending - abruptly. Ranjab was holding the lighted taper for her cigarette. As she - spoke her eyes were lifted to his dark, saturnine face. She was saying - there were no ghosts when his eyes suddenly fastened on hers. In spite of - herself her voice rose in response to the curious dread that chilled her - heart as she looked into the shining mirrors above her. She shivered as if - in the presence of death! For an incalculably brief period their gaze - remained fixed and steady, each reading a mystery. Then the Hindu lowered - his heavy lashes and moved away. The little by-scene did not go unnoticed - by the others, although its meaning was lost. - </p> - <p> - “There's nothing to be afraid of, Yvonne,” said Brood, pressing the hand - which trembled in his. - “Your imagination carries you a long way. Are you really afraid of - ghosts?” - </p> - <p> - She answered in a deep, solemn voice that carried conviction. - </p> - <p> - “I believe in ghosts. I believe the dead come back to us, not to flit - about as we are told by superstition, but to lodge—actually to dwell—inside - these warm, living bodies of ours. They come and go at will. Sometimes we - feel that they are there, but—oh, who knows? Their souls may conquer ours - and go on inhabiting———” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense!” cried her husband. “Once dead, always dead, my dear.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really believe that, James?” she demanded seriously. “Have you - never felt that something that was not you was living, breathing, speaking - in this earthly shell of yours? Something that was not you, I say. - Something that———” - </p> - <p> - “Never!” he exclaimed quickly, but his eyes were full of the wonder that - he felt. - </p> - <p> - “Frederic,” she called imperatively, “come away from that window!” - </p> - <p> - The young man joined the group. The sullen look in his face had given way - to one of acute inquiry. The new note in her voice produced a strange - effect upon him. It seemed like a call for help, a cry out of the - darkness. - </p> - <p> - “It is raining pitchforks,” he said, as if to explain his failure to - respond at the first call. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear,” sighed Lydia uncomfortably. - </p> - <p> - “You can't go out in the storm, my dear,” cried Yvonne, tightening her - grip on the girl's arm. “Draw up a chair, Freddy. Let's be cosy. - </p> - <p> - “Really, Mrs Brood, I should go at once. Mother———” - </p> - <p> - “Your mother is in bed and asleep,” protested Yvonne. - </p> - <p> - “We should all be in bed,” said Frederic. - </p> - <p> - “A bed is a sepulchre. We bury half our lives in it, Frederic. We spend - too much time in bed. Why live in our dreams when we should be enjoying - to-day and not our yesterdays? Do you want to hear about the concert, - James? It was wonderful. The———” - </p> - <p> - “If it was so wonderful, why did you leave before it was over?” demanded - her husband, his lips straightening. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him curiously. - </p> - <p> - “How do you know that we left before it was over?” - </p> - <p> - “You have been at home since ten.” - </p> - <p> - They were all playing for time. They all realised that something sinister - was attending their little conclave, unseen but vital. Each one knew that - united they were safe, each against the other! Lydia was afraid because - of Brood's revelations. Yvonne had sensed peril with the message delivered - by Ranjab to Frederic. Frederic had come upstairs prepared for rebellion - against the caustic remarks that were almost certain to come from his - father. Brood was afraid of—himself! He was holding himself in check - with the greatest difficulty. He knew that the smallest spark would create - the explosion he dreaded and yet courted. Restraint lay heavily, yet - shiftingly, upon all of them. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said Yvonne easily, “there were still two numbers to be played, and - I loathe both of them. Frederic was ready to come away, too.” - </p> - <p> - “And Dr Hodder? Did he come away with you?” inquired Brood. - </p> - <p> - “No. He insisted on staying to the bitter end. We left him there.” - </p> - <p> - Brood laughed shortly. “I see.” - </p> - <p> - “He said he would come down with the Gunnings,” explained Yvonne, her eyes - flickering. “Besides, I always feel as though I were riding in an - ambulance when he is in the car. He dissected every bit of music they - played to-night. Now, James dear, you know he is quite dreadful.” She said - it pleadingly, poutingly. - </p> - <p> - “I offered to send the car back for him,” said Frederic, speaking for the - first time. - </p> - <p> - Brood drew a long breath. His glance met Lydia's and recognised the mute - appeal that lay in her eyes. He smiled faintly, and hope rose in her - troubled breast. - </p> - <p> - “The Gunnings were there,” put in Yvonne, puffing more rapidly than usual - at her cigarette. “They came to the box with Mr and Mrs Harbison during - the intermission.” - </p> - <p> - “What spiteful things did Mrs Harbison say about me?” demanded Brood, - affecting a certain lightness of manner. “A cigarette, Ranjab. She - despises me, I'm sure. Didn't she ask why I was not there to look after my - beautiful and much-coveted wife?” - </p> - <p> - “She said that you interested her more than any man she knew, and, of - course, I considered that particularly spiteful. Her husband declared he - would rather shoot with you than with any man in the world. He's very - tiresome.” - </p> - <p> - “We've hunted a good bit together,” said Brood. - </p> - <p> - “Harbison says you are the most deadly shot he's ever seen,” said - Frederic, relaxing slightly. - </p> - <p> - “What was it he said about your wonderful accuracy with a revolver? What - was it, Frederic? Hitting a shilling at some dreadful distance—thirty - yards, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Thirty paces,” said Frederic. - </p> - <p> - “My father often spoke of your shooting with a revolver, Mr Brood,” said - Lydia. “He said it was really marvellous.” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne laughed. “How interesting to have a husband who can even see as far - as thirty paces. But revolver shooting is a doubtful accomplishment in - these days of peace, isn't it? What is there to shoot at?” - </p> - <p> - “Mad dogs and—men,” said Brood. Lydia's look required an answer. - “No, I've never shot a mad dog, Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “Who was the young woman with the lisp, Freddy?” asked Yvonne abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Dangerfield. Isn't she amusing? I love that soft Virginia drawl of - hers. She's pretty, too. Old Hodder was quite taken with her.” - </p> - <p> - A long, reverberating roll of thunder, ending in an ear-splitting crash - that seemed no farther away than the window casement behind them, brought - sharp exclamations of terror from the lips of the two women. The men, - appalled, started to their feet. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord, that <i>was</i> close!” cried Frederic. “There was no sign of - a storm when we came in—just a steady, gentle spring rain.” - </p> - <p> - “I am frightened,” shuddered Yvonne, wide-eyed with fear. “Do you think———” - </p> - <p> - “It struck near by, that's all,” said Brood. “Lightning bolts are - deceptive. One may think they strike at one's very elbow, and yet the spot - is really miles away. I hope your mother is not distressed, my dear,” - turning to Lydia. “She is afraid of the lightning, I know.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia sprang to her feet. “I must go home at once, Mr Brood. She will be - dreadfully frightened. I——” - </p> - <p> - There came another deafening crash. The glare filled the room with a - brilliant, greenish hue. Ranjab was standing at the window, holding the - curtains apart while he peered upward across the space that separated them - from the apartment building beyond the court. - </p> - <p> - “Take me home, Frederic!” cried Lydia frantically. She ran toward the - door. - </p> - <p> - “Let me telephone to your mother, Lyddy,” he cried, hurrying after her - into the hall. - </p> - <p> - “No! no! no!” she gasped as she ran. “Don't come with me if you——” - </p> - <p> - “I will come!” he exclaimed, as they raced down the stairs. “Don't be - frightened, darling. It's all right. Listen to me! Mrs Desmond is as safe - as———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Freddy, Freddy!” she wailed, breaking under a strain that he was not - by way of comprehending. “Oh, Freddy dear!” Her nerves gave way. She was - sobbing convulsively when they came to the lower hall. - </p> - <p> - In great distress he clasped her in his arms, mumbling incoherent words of - love, encouragement—even ridicule for the fear she betrayed. Far - from his mind was the real cause of her unhappy plight. - </p> - <p> - He held her close to his breast, and there she sobbed and trembled as with - a mighty, racking chill. Her fingers clutched his arm with the grip of one - who clings to the edge of a precipice with death below. Her face was - buried against his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “There! There!” he murmured, appalled by this wild display of fear. “Don't - worry, darling. Everything is all right. Oh, you dear, dear girlie! - Please, please! My little Lyddy!” - </p> - <p> - “Take me home, Freddy—take me home,” she whispered brokenly. “I - cannot stay here another second. Come, dearest—come home with me.” - </p> - <p> - Still they stood there in the dark hall, clasped in each other's arms—stood - there for many minutes without realising the lapse of time, thinking not - of Mrs Desmond nor the storm that raged outside, but of the storm they - were weathering together with the lightning racing through their veins, - thunder in their heart-beats. - </p> - <p> - A footstep in the hall. Frederic looked up, dazed, bewildered. Jones, the - butler, was retreating through a door near by, having come upon them - unexpectedly. - </p> - <p> - “I—I beg pardon, sir. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jones! Listen! My raincoat—and father's, quick. And Miss - Lydia's things. Yes, yes, it's all right, Jones. It's quite all right.” - Frederic was calling out the sentences jerkily. - </p> - <p> - “Quite all right,” repeated Jones, his throat swelling, his eyes suddenly - dim. “Quite, sir. Yes, yes!” He rushed into the closet at the end of the - hall, more grievously upset than he ever had been in all his life before. - </p> - <p> - “You will come with me, Freddy?” she was whispering, clinging to him as - one in panic. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes. Don't be frightened, Lyddy. I—I know everything is all - right now. I'm sure of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I am sure, too, dear. I have always been sure,” she cried, and he - understood, as she had understood. - </p> - <p> - Despite the protests of Jones they dashed out into the blighting - thunderstorm. The rain beat down in torrents, the din was infernal. As the - door closed behind them Lydia, in the ecstasy of freedom from restraint - bitterly imposed, gave vent to a shrill cry of relief. Words, the meaning - of which he could not grasp, babbled from her lips as they descended the - steps. One sentence fell vaguely clear from the others, and it puzzled - him. He was sure that she said: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I am so glad, so happy we are out of that house—you and I - together.” - </p> - <p> - Close together, holding tightly to each other, they breasted the swirling - sheets of rain. The big umbrella was of little protection to them, - although held manfully to break the force of the cold flood of waters. - They bent their strong young bodies against the wind, and a sort of wild, - impish hilarity took possession of them. It was freedom, after all! They - were fighting a force in nature that they understood, and the sharp, - staccato cries that came from their lips were born of an exultant glee - which neither of them could have suppressed or controlled. Their hearts - were as wild as the tempest about them. - </p> - <p> - They turned the corner and were flanked by the wind and rain. The long - raincoats flattened their sleek, dripping folds tightly against their - bodies. It was almost impossible to push forward into this mad deluge. The - umbrella, caught by a gust, was turned inside out, and the full force of - the storm struck upon their faces, almost taking the breath away. And they - laughed as their arms tightened about each other. As one person they - breasted the gale. - </p> - <p> - They were fairly blown through the doors of the apartment-house. Mrs - Desmond threw open the door as their wet, soggy feet came sloshing down - the hall. Frederic's arm was about Lydia as they approached, and both of - their drenched faces were wreathed in smiles—gay, exalted smiles. - The mother, white-faced and fearful, stared for a second at the amazing - pair, and then held out her arms to them. - </p> - <p> - She was drenched in their embrace, but no one thought of the havoc that - was being created in that swift, impulsive contact. - </p> - <p> - “It's a fine mess we've made of your rug, Mrs Desmond,” said Frederic - ruefully a few minutes later. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness!” cried Lydia, aghast. Then they all realised. - </p> - <p> - “Take those horrid things off at once, both of you,” commanded Mrs - Desmond. Her voice trembled. “And your shoes—and stockings. Dear, - dear!” - </p> - <p> - “I must run back home!” exclaimed Frederic. - </p> - <p> - Lydia placed herself between him and the door. - </p> - <p> - “No! I want you to stay!” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “Stay?” - </p> - <p> - “You shall not go out in that dreadful storm again. I will not let you go, - Frederic. Stay—stay here with me.” - </p> - <p> - He stared. “What a funny idea!” - </p> - <p> - “Wait until the rain is over,” added Mrs Desmond. - </p> - <p> - “No, no!” cried Lydia. “I mean for him to stay here the rest of the night. - We can put you up, Freddy. I—I don't want you to go back there until—until - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - A glad light broke in his face. “By Jove, I—do you know, I'd like to - stay? I—I really would, Mrs Desmond. Can you find a place for me?” - His voice was eager, his eyes sparkling. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the mother quietly, almost serenely. “You shall have Lydia's - bed, Frederic. She can come in with me. Yes, you must stay. Are you not - our Frederic?” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” he stammered, and his eyes fell. - </p> - <p> - “I will telephone to Jones when the storm abates,” said Mrs Desmond. “Now - get out of those coats, and—oh, dear, how wet you are! A hot drink - for both.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you mind asking Jones to send over something for me to wear in the - morning?” said Frederic, grinning as he stood forth in his evening - clothes. - </p> - <p> - Ten minutes later, in a dressing-gown and bare feet, he sat with them - before an open fire and sipped the toddy she had brewed. - </p> - <p> - “I say, this is great!” - </p> - <p> - Lydia was suddenly shy and embarrassed. - </p> - <p> - “Good night,” she whispered. Her fingers brushed his cheek lightly. - </p> - <p> - He drew her down to him and kissed her passionately. - </p> - <p> - “Good night, my Lyddy!” he said softly, his cheek flushing. - </p> - <p> - She went quickly from the room. - </p> - <p> - Later he stood in her sweet, dainty little bedroom and looked about him - with a feeling of mingled awe and wonder. All of her intimate, exquisite - belongings, the sanctified treasures of her most secret domain, were all - about him. - </p> - <p> - He fingered the articles on her dressing-table; smelled of the perfume - bottles and smiled as he recognised the sweet odours as being a part of - her, and not a thing unto themselves; grinned delightedly at his own - photograph in its silver frame that stood where she could see it the last - thing at night and the first in the morning; caressed—aye, caressed—the - little hand-mirror that had reflected her gay or troubled face so many - times since the dear Christmas Day when he had given it to her with his - love. - </p> - <p> - He stood beside her bed where she had stood, and the soft rug seemed to - respond to the delightful tingling that ran through his bare feet. Her - room! Her bed! Her domain! - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he dropped to his knees and buried his hot face in the cool white - sheets and kissed them over and over again. Here was sanctuary! His eyes - were wet with tears when he arose to his feet, and his arms went out to - the closed door. - </p> - <p> - “My Lyddy!” he whispered chokingly. - </p> - <p> - Back there in the rose-hued light of James Brood's study Yvonne cringed - and shook in the strong arms of her husband all through that savage storm. - She was no longer the defiant, self-possessed creature he had come to know - so well, but a shrinking, trembling child, stripped of all her bravado, - all her arrogance, all her seeming guile. A pathetic whimper crooned from - her lips in response to his gentle words of reassurance. She was afraid—desperately - afraid—and she crept close to him in her fear. - </p> - <p> - And he? He was looking backward to another who had nestled close to him - and whimpered as she was doing now—another who lived in terror when - it stormed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rederic opened his - eyes at the sound of a gentle, persistent tapping on the bedroom door. - Resting on his elbow, he looked blankly, wonderingly, about the room, and—remembered. - The sun streamed into the chamber, filling it with a radiance that almost - dazzled him. He rubbed his eyes, and again, as in the night just gone, his - thought absorbed the contents of the room. - </p> - <p> - He had not dreamed it, after all. He was there in Lydia's bed, attended by - all the mute, inanimate sentinels that stood guard over her while she - slept. The knocking continued. He dreamed on, his blinking eyes still - seeking out the dainty, Lydia-like treasures in the enchanted room. - </p> - <p> - “Frederic!” called a voice outside the door. - </p> - <p> - He started guiltily. - </p> - <p> - “All right,” was his cheery response. - </p> - <p> - “Get up! It's nine o'clock. Or will you have your breakfast in bed, sir?” - It was Lydia who spoke, assuming a fine Irish brogue in imitation of their - little maid of all work. - </p> - <p> - “I'll have to, unless my clothes have come over!” - </p> - <p> - “They are here. Now do hurry.” - </p> - <p> - He sprang out of bed and bounded across the room. She passed the garments - through the partly opened door. - </p> - <p> - “Morning!” he greeted, sticking his tousled head around the edge. - </p> - <p> - “Morning!” she responded as briefly. - </p> - <p> - “Don't wait breakfast for me. I'll skip over home———” - </p> - <p> - “It will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said arbitrarily. “Don't - dawdle.” - </p> - <p> - “How pretty, how sweet you are this morning,” he cried, his dark eyes - dancing. - </p> - <p> - “Silly!” she scoffed, but with a radiant smile. Then, with a perfectly - childish giggle, she slammed the door and scurried away as if in fear of - pursuit. - </p> - <p> - He was artistic, temperamental. Such as he have not the capacity for haste - when there is the slightest opportunity to dream and dawdle. He was a full - quarter of an hour taking his tub, and another was consumed in getting - into his clothes. At home he was always much longer than this, for he was - delayed by the additional task of selecting shirts, ties, socks, and - scarf-pins, and changing his mind and all of them three or four times - before being satisfied with the effect. He sallied forth in great haste at - nine thirty-five, and was extremely proud of himself, although unshaved. - </p> - <p> - His first act, after warmly greeting Mrs Desmond, was to sit down at the - piano. Hurriedly he played a few jerky, broken snatches of the haunting - air he had heard the night before. - </p> - <p> - “I've been wondering if I could remember it,” he apologised, as he - followed them into the dining-room. “What's the matter, Lyddy? Didn't you - sleep well? Poor old girl, I was a beast to deprive you of your bed.” - </p> - <p> - “I have a mean headache, that's all,” said the girl quickly. He noticed - the dark circles under her eyes and the queer expression, as of trouble, - in their depths. “It will go as soon as I've had my coffee.” - </p> - <p> - Night, with its wonderful sensations, was behind them. Day revealed the - shadow that had fallen. They unconsciously shrank from it and drew back - into the shelter of their own misgivings. The joyous abandon of the night - before was dead. Over its grave stood the leering spectre of unrest. - </p> - <p> - When he took her in his arms later on, and kissed her, there was not the - shadow of a doubt in the mind of either that the restraining influence of - a condition over which they had no control was there to mock their - endeavour to be natural. They were not to be deceived by the apparent - earnestness of the embrace. Each knew that the other was asking a - question, even as their lips met and clung in the rather pathetic attempt - to confirm the fond dream of the night before. They kissed as through a - veil. They were awake once more, and they were wary, unconvinced. The - answer to their questions came in the kiss itself, and constraint fell - upon them. - </p> - <p> - Drawn by an impulse that had been struggling within him, Frederic found - himself standing at the sitting-room window. It was a sly, covert, though - intensely eager look that he directed at another window far below. If he - hoped for some sign of life in his father's study he was to be - disappointed. The curtains hung straight and motionless. He would have - denied the charge that he longed to see Yvonne sitting in the casement, - waiting to waft a sign of greeting up to him; he would have denied that - the thought was in his mind when he went to the window; and yet he was - conscious of a feeling of disappointment, even annoyance. - </p> - <p> - With considerable adroitness Lydia engaged his attention at the piano. - Keyed up as she was, his every emotion was plain to her perceptions. She - had anticipated the motive that led him to the window. She knew that it - would assert itself in spite of all that he could do to prevent. She - waited humbly for the thing to happen, pain in her heart, and when her - reading proved true she was prepared to combat its effect. Music was her - only ally. - </p> - <p> - “How does it go, Freddy—the thing you were playing before - breakfast?” She was trying to pick up the elusive air. “It is such a - fascinating, adorable thing. Is this right?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch. The few bars she had mastered in her eagerness - fell upon inattentive ears at first. But she persisted. He came over and - stood beside her. His long, slim fingers joined hers on the keyboard, and - the sensuous strains of the waltz responded to his touch. He smiled - patiently as she struggled to repeat what he had played. The fever of the - thing took hold of him at last, as she had known it would. Leaning over - her shoulder, his cheek quite close to hers, he played. Her hands dropped - into her lap. - </p> - <p> - She retained her seat on the bench. Her cunning brain told her that it - would be a mistake to relinquish her place at the keyboard. He would play - it through a time or two, mechanically perhaps, and then his interest - would be gone. He would have gratified her simple request, and that would - have been the end. She led him on by interrupting time and again in her - eagerness to grasp the lesson he was giving. Finally she moved over on the - bench, and he sat down beside her. He was absorbed in the undertaking. His - brow cleared. His smile was a happy, eager one. - </p> - <p> - “It's a tricky thing, Lyddy,” he said enthusiastically, “but you'll get - it. Now listen.” - </p> - <p> - For an hour they sat there, master and pupil, sweetheart and lover. The - fear was less in the heart of one when, tiring at last, the other - contentedly abandoned the rôle of taskmaster and threw himself upon the - couch, remarking, as he stretched himself in luxurious ease: - </p> - <p> - “I like this, Lyddy. I wish you didn't have to go over there and dig away - at that confounded journal. I like this so well that, 'pon my soul, I'd - enjoy loafing here with you the whole day long.” - </p> - <p> - Her heart leaped. “You shall have your wish, Freddy,” she said, barely - able to conceal the note of eagerness in her voice. “I am not going to - work to-day. I—my head, you know. Mother telephoned to Mr Brood this - morning before you were up.” - </p> - <p> - “You're going to loaf?” he cried gladly. “Bully! And I may stay? But, gee, - I forgot your headache. It will———” He was staring up - from the couch when she hastily broke in, shaking her head vigorously. - </p> - <p> - “Lie still. My head is much better. I want you to stay, dear. I—I - want to have you all to myself again. Oh, it will be so good—so good - to while away an idle day with you!” - </p> - <p> - She was standing beside the couch. He reached forth and took her hand in - his, laying it against his lips. - </p> - <p> - “It won't be an idle day,” said he seriously. “We shall be very busy.” - </p> - <p> - “Busy?” she inquired apprehensively. - </p> - <p> - “Talking things over,” he said - briefly. “Of course, I ought to go home and face the music.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “It's something I can't talk about, Lyddy. Let's forget our troubles for - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Better still, let us share them. Stay here with me. Don't go home to-day, - Freddy. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I've got to have it out with father some time,” he said bitterly. “It - may as well be now as later on. We've got to come to an understanding.” - </p> - <p> - Her heart was cold. She was afraid of what would come out of that - “understanding.” All night long she had lain with wide-staring eyes, - thinking of the horrid thing James Brood had said to her. Far in the night - she aroused her mother from a sound sleep to put the question that had - been torturing her for hours. Mrs Desmond confessed that her husband had - told her that Brood had never considered Frederic to be his son, and then - the two lay side by side for the remainder of the night without uttering a - word, and yet keenly awake. They were thinking of the hour when Brood - would serve notice on the intruder! - </p> - <p> - Lydia now realised that the hour was near. Frederic himself would - challenge the wrath of all these bitter years, and it would fall upon his - unsuspecting head with cruel, obliterating force. - </p> - <p> - The girl shivered as with a racking chill. “Have it out with father,” he - had said in his ignorance. He was preparing to rush headlong to his doom. - To prevent that catastrophe was the single, all-absorbing thought in - Lydia's mind. Her only hope lay in keeping the men apart until she could - extract from Brood a promise to be merciful, and this she intended to - accomplish if she had to go down on her knees and grovel before the man. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Freddy,” she cried earnestly, “why take the chance of making a bad - matter worse?” Even as she uttered the words she realised how stupid, how - ineffectual they were. - </p> - <p> - “It can't be much worse,” he said gloomily. “I am inclined to think he'd - relish a straight-out, fair, and square talk, anyhow. Moreover, I mean to - take Yvonne to task for the thing she said—or implied last night. - About you, I mean. She———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I beg of you, don't!” - </p> - <p> - “It was—unspeakable. I don't see what could have come over her.” - </p> - <p> - “She was jealous. She admitted it, dear. If I don't mind, why should you - incur———” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really believe she—she loves the governor enough to be as - jealous as all that?” he exclaimed, a curious gleam in his eyes—an - expression she did not like. - </p> - <p> - “Of course I think so!” she cried emphatically. “What a question! Have you - any reason to suspect that she does not love your father?” - </p> - <p> - “No—certainly not,” he said in some confusion. Then, after a moment: - “Are you quite sure this headache of yours is real, Lyddy?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it an excuse to stay away from—from Yvonne, after what - happened last night? Be honest, dear.” - </p> - <p> - She was silent for a long time, weighing her answer. Was it best to be - honest with him? - </p> - <p> - “I confess that it has something to do with it,” she admitted. Lydia could - not be anything but truthful. - </p> - <p> - “I thought so. It's—it's a rotten shame, Lyddy. That's why I want to - talk to her. I want to reason with her. It's all so perfectly silly, this - misunderstanding. You've just got to go on as you were before, Lyddy—just - as if it hadn't happened. It———” - </p> - <p> - “I shall complete the work for your father, Freddy,” she said quietly. - “Two or three days more will see the end. After that neither my services - nor my presence will be required over there.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean to say——” he began, unbelievingly. - </p> - <p> - “It isn't likely I'd go there for pleasure, is it?” she interrupted dryly. - </p> - <p> - “But think of the old times, the———” - </p> - <p> - “I can think of them just as well here as anywhere else. No; I shan't - annoy Mrs Brood, Freddy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, but - she thought better of it. - </p> - <p> - “They're going abroad soon,” he ventured. “At least, that's father's plan. - Yvonne isn't so keen about it. She calls this being abroad, you know. - Besides,” he hurried on in his eagerness to excuse Yvonne, “she's - tremendously fond of you.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia was wise. “I would give a great deal to be able to really believe - so, Freddy. I—I could be very fond of her.” - </p> - <p> - He warmed to the cause. - </p> - <p> - “No end of times she's said you were the finest———” Her - smile—an odd one, such as he had never seen on her lips before—checked - his eager speech. He bridled. “Of course, if you don't choose to believe - me, there's nothing more to be said. She meant it, however.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure she said it, Freddy,” she hastened to declare. “Will she be - pleased with our—our marriage?” - </p> - <p> - It required a great deal of courage on her part to utter these words, but - she was determined to bring the true situation home to him. - </p> - <p> - He did not even hesitate, and there was conviction in his voice as he - replied: - </p> - <p> - “It doesn't matter whether she's pleased or displeased. We're pleasing - ourselves, are we not? There's no one else to consider, dear.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were full upon his, and there was wonder in them. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you—thank you, Freddy,” she cried. - “I—I knew you'd———” The sentence remained - unfinished. - </p> - <p> - “Has there ever been a doubt in your mind?” he asked uneasily, after a - moment. He knew there had been misgivings, and he was ready, in his - self-abasement, to resent them if given the slightest opening. Guilt made - him arrogant. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she answered simply. - </p> - <p> - The answer was not what he expected. He flushed painfully. - </p> - <p> - “I—I thought perhaps you'd—you'd get a notion in your head - that———” He, too, stopped for want of the right words to - express himself without committing the egregious error of letting her see - that it had been in his thoughts to accuse her of jealousy. - </p> - <p> - She waited for a moment. “That I might have got the notion in my head you - did not love me any longer? Is that what you started to say?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he confessed, averting his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I've been unhappy at times, Freddy, but that is all,” she said steadily. - “You see, I know how honest you really are. I know it far better than you - know it yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder just how honest I am,” he muttered. - “I wonder what would happen if——— But nothing can - happen. Nothing ever will happen. Thank you, old girl, for saying what you - said just now. It's—it's bully of you.” - </p> - <p> - He got up and began pacing the floor. She leaned back in her chair, - deliberately giving him time to straighten out his thoughts for himself. - Wiser than she knew herself to be, she held back the warm, loving words of - encouragement, of gratitude, of belief. - </p> - <p> - But she was not prepared for the impetuous appeal that followed. He threw - himself down beside her and grasped her hands in his. His face seemed - suddenly old and haggard, his eyes burned like coals of fire. Then, for - the first time, she had an inkling of the great struggle that had been - going on inside of him for weeks and weeks. - </p> - <p> - “Listen, Lyddy,” he began nervously; “will you marry me to-morrow? Are you - willing to take the chance that I'll be able to support you, to earn - enough———” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Freddy!” she cried, half starting up from the couch. She was - dumbfounded. - </p> - <p> - “Will you? Will you? I mean it,” he went on, almost argumentatively. - </p> - <p> - He was very much in earnest, but alas! the fire, the passion of the - importunate lover was missing. She shrank back into the corner of the - couch, staring at him with puzzled eyes. Comprehension was slow in - arriving. As he hurried on with his plea she began to see clearly, her - sound brain grasped the significance of this sudden decision on his part. - </p> - <p> - “There's no use waiting, dear. I'll never be more capable of earning a - living than I am right now. I can go into the office with Brooks any day, - and I—I think I can make good. God knows, I can try hard enough. Brooks - says he's got a place there for me in the bond department. It won't be - much at first, but I can work into a pretty good—what's the matter? - Don't you think I can do it? Have you no faith in me? Are you afraid to - take a chance?” - </p> - <p> - She had smiled sadly—it seemed to him reprovingly. His cheek - flushed. - </p> - <p> - “What has put all this into your head, Freddy dear?” she asked shrewdly. - </p> - <p> - “Why, good Lord, haven't we had this very thing in mind for years?” he - cried. “Haven't we talked about my———” - </p> - <p> - “What put it into your head—just now?” she insisted. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know what you're driving at,” he floundered. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you think it would be safer—I mean wiser if you were to wait - until you are quite certain of yourself, Freddy?” - </p> - <p> - “I am certain of myself,” he exploded. “What do you mean? What sort of - talk is this you are———” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! Don't be angry, dear. Be honest now. Don't you understand just what - I mean?” They looked squarely into each other's eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to marry me at once,” said he doggedly. “You know I love you, - Lyddy. Is there anything more to say than that?” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you want to tell me, Freddy?” - </p> - <p> - His eyes wavered. “I can't go on living as I have been for the past few - months. I've just got to end it, Lyddy. You don't understand—you - can't, and there isn't any use in trying to explain the——” - </p> - <p> - “I think I do understand, dear,” she said quietly, laying her hand on his. - “I understand so completely that there isn't any use in your trying to - explain. But don't you think you are a bit cowardly?” - </p> - <p> - “Cowardly?” he gasped, and then the blood rushed to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Is it quite fair to me—or to yourself?” He was silent. She waited - for a moment and then went on resolutely. “I know just what it is that you - are afraid of, Freddy. I shall marry you, of course. I love you more than - anything else in all the world. But are you quite fair in asking me to - marry you while you are still afraid, dear?” - </p> - <p> - “Before God, Lyddy, I love no one else but you!” he cried earnestly. “I - know what it is you are thinking, and I—I don't blame you. But I - want you <i>now</i>—you don't know how much I need you now! I want - to begin a new life with you. I want to feel that you are with me—just - you—strong and brave and enduring. I am adrift. I need you.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you love me, Frederic. I am absolutely certain of it,” she said - slowly, weighing her words carefully. “But I cannot marry you to-morrow—nor - for a long time after to-morrow. In a year—yes. But not now, dear; - not just now. You—you understand, don't you? Say that you understand.” - </p> - <p> - His chin sank upon his breast. “Of course I understand,” he said in a very - low voice. - </p> - <p> - “I shall never love you any more than I love you now, Freddy—never - so much, perhaps, as at this moment.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, Lyddy; I know,” he said dully. - </p> - <p> - “If you insist, I will marry you to-morrow; but you cannot—you will - not ask it of me, will you?” - </p> - <p> - “But you know I do love you,” he cried. “There isn't any doubt in your - mind, Lyddy. There is no one else I tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I am just beginning to understand men,” she remarked - enigmatically. - </p> - <p> - “And to wonder why they call women the weaker sex, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, so seriously that the wry smile died on his lips. “I - don't believe there are many women who would ask a man to be sorry for - them. That's really what all this amounts to, isn't it, Freddy?” - </p> - <p> - “By Jove!” he exclaimed wonderingly. - </p> - <p> - “You are a strong, self-willed, chivalrous man, and yet you think nothing - of asking a woman to protect you against yourself; You are afraid to stand - alone. Wait! You need me because you are a strong man and are afraid that - your very strength will lead you into ignoble warfare. You are afraid of - your strength, not of your weakness. So you ask me to help you. Without - thinking, you ask me to marry you to-morrow. The idea came to you like a - flash of light in the darkness. Five minutes—yes, one minute before - you asked it of me, Freddy dear, you were floundering in the darkness, - uncertain which way to turn. You were afraid of the things you could not - see. You looked for some place in which to hide. The flash of light - revealed a haven of refuge. So you asked me to to marry you to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - All through this indictment she had held his hand clasped tightly in both - of hers. He was looking at her with a frank acknowledgment growing in his - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Are you ashamed of me, Lyddy?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, meeting his gaze - steadily. “I am a little disappointed, that's all. It is you who are - ashamed.” - </p> - <p> - “I am,” said he simply. “It wasn't fair.” - </p> - <p> - “Love will endure. I am content to wait,” she said with a wistful smile. - </p> - <p> - “You will be my wife, no matter what happens? You won't let this make any - difference?” - </p> - <p> - “You are not angry with me?” - </p> - <p> - “Angry? Why should I be angry with you, Lyddy? For shaking some sense into - me? For seeing through me with that wonderful, far-sighted brain of yours? - Why, I could go down on my knees to you. I could———” - </p> - <p> - “Let me think, Freddy,” she cried, suddenly confronted by her own - declaration of the night before. She had told James Brood that she would - marry this discredited son of his the instant he was ready to take her - unto himself. She had flung that in the older man's face, and she had - meant every word of it. - </p> - <p> - “I—I take back what I said, dear. I will marry you to-morrow.” She - spoke rapidly, jerkily; her eyes were very dark and luminous. - </p> - <p> - “What has come over you?” He stared at her in astonishment. “What—oh, - I see! You are not sure of me. You———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes, I am! It isn't that. I did not know what I was saying when I - refused to———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, there you go, just like a woman!” he cried triumphantly. “Spoiling - everything! You dear, lovable, inconsequent, regular girl! Hurray! Now - we're back where we began, and I'm holding the whip. You bring me to my - senses and then promptly lose your own.” He clasped her in his arms and - held her close. “You dear, dear Lyddy!” - </p> - <p> - “I mean it, dear heart.” The whisper smothered in his embrace. - “To-morrow—to-day, if you will. We will go away. We will———” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said, quite resolutely; “you have shown me the way. I've just got - to make good in your estimation before I can hold you to your promise. - You're splendid, Lyddy; you're wonderful, but—well, I was unfair a - while ago. I mean to be fair now. We'll wait. It's better so. I will come - again and ask you, but it won't be as it was just now. It would not be - right for me to take you at your word. We'll wait.” - </p> - <p> - Neither spoke for many minutes. It was she who broke the silence. - </p> - <p> - “You must promise one thing, Frederic. For my sake, avoid a quarrel with - your father. I could not bear that. You will promise, dear? You must.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't intend to quarrel with him; but if I am to remain in his house - there has got to be———” - He paused, his jaw set stubbornly. - </p> - <p> - “Promise me you will wait. He is going away in two weeks. When he returns—later - on—next fall———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if it really distresses you, Lyddy, I'll———” - </p> - <p> - “It does distress me. I want your promise.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll do my part,” he said resignedly, “and next fall will see us married, - so———” - </p> - <p> - The telephone-bell in the hall was ringing. Frederic released - Lydia's hand and sat up rather stiffly, as one who suddenly suspects that - he is being spied upon. The significance of the movement did not escape - Lydia. She laughed mirthlessly. - </p> - <p> - “I will see who it is,” she said, and arose. Two red spots appeared in his - cheeks. Then it was that she realised he had been waiting all along for - the bell to ring; he had been expecting a summons. - </p> - <p> - “If it's for me, please say—er—say I'll———” - he began, somewhat disjointedly, but she interrupted him. - </p> - <p> - “Will you stay here for luncheon, Frederic? And this afternoon we will go - to—oh, is there a concert or a recital———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'll stay if you'll let me,” he said wistfully. “We'll find - something to do.” - </p> - <p> - She went to the telephone. He heard the polite greetings, the polite - assurances that she had not taken cold, two or three laughing rejoinders - to what must have been amusing comments on the storm and its effect on - timid creatures, and then: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mrs Brood, I will call him to the phone.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rederic had the - feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl handed the receiver to - him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for a second. Instead of - returning to the sitting-room where she could have heard everything that - he said, she went into her own room down the hall and closed the door. He - was not conscious of any intention to temporise, but it was significant - that he did not speak until the door closed behind her. Afterward he - realised and was ashamed. - </p> - <p> - Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle and - irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously formed - resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive and - lifeless to him. - </p> - <p> - “Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He - made haste to declare their intention to attend a concert. “I am glad you - are going to do that,” she went on. - </p> - <p> - “Are you ill, Yvonne?” he queried suddenly. “I? Oh, no. I think I never - felt better in my life than I do at this moment. The storm must have blown - the cobwebs out of my brain. I believe I'm quite happy to-day, Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “Aren't you always happy?” he cried chidingly. “What an odd thing to say.” - </p> - <p> - She did not respond to this. - </p> - <p> - “You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. She's trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli's—the one we - heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire, “Are - you there?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm teaching it to her.” - </p> - <p> - “I see.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be home for dinner, of course. You—you don't need me for - anything, do you?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said. Then, with a low laugh: “You may be excused for the day, - my son.” - </p> - <p> - “What's wrong?” he demanded, lowering his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Everything seems right to me. Your father and I - have been discussing the trip abroad.” - </p> - <p> - “Is—is it settled?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. We are to sail on the twenty-fifth—in ten days.” - </p> - <p> - “Settled, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you—you were opposed to going.” - </p> - <p> - “I've changed my mind. As a matter of fact, I've changed my heart.” - </p> - <p> - “You speak in riddles.” - </p> - <p> - “Your father has gone out to arrange for passage on the <i>Olympic</i>. He - is lunching at the Lawyers' Club.” - </p> - <p> - “You will lunch alone, then?” - </p> - <p> - “Naturally.” - </p> - <p> - He suppressed an impulse. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry, Yvonne.” - </p> - <p> - She was silent for a long time. - </p> - <p> - “Frederic, I want you to do something for me.” - </p> - <p> - “I—I've promised Lydia to stay here———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it isn't that. Will you try to convince Lydia that I meant no offence - last night when I———” - </p> - <p> - “She understands all that perfectly, Yvonne.” - </p> - <p> - “No, she doesn't. A woman <i>wouldn't</i> understand.” - </p> - <p> - “I will square everything,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It means a great deal to me,” - </p> - <p> - “In what way?” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause. - </p> - <p> - “No woman likes to be regarded as a fool,” she said at last, apparently - after careful reflection. - “Oh, yes; there is something else. We are dining out this evening.” - </p> - <p> - “You and I?” he asked, after a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine - with Lydia—or, better still, ask her over here to share your dinner - with you.” - </p> - <p> - He was scowling. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, “we thought it - would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico's and see a play afterward.” - </p> - <p> - “Just—you and father?” - </p> - <p> - “We two—no more.” - </p> - <p> - “How cunning,” he sneered. - </p> - <p> - “Will you ask Lydia to dine with you?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will go out somewhere?” - </p> - <p> - “I'll have dinner with Mr Dawes and———” - </p> - <p> - “That would be jolly. They will be pleased. A sort of—what do you - call it—a sort of reunion, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Are you making sport of me?” he demanded angrily. - </p> - <p> - “But no! It will be making sport for the old gentleman, though, <i>aïe?</i> - And now <i>au revoir!</i> You will surely convince Lydia that I love her? - I am troubled. You will———” - </p> - <p> - “What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco - production. “Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the - governor to-day? In a good humour?” - </p> - <p> - There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: “Are - you there?”. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye,” came back over the wire. - </p> - <p> - He started, as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was cold - and forbidding. - </p> - <p> - When Lydia rejoined him in the sitting-room he was standing at the window, - staring across the courtyard far below. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going?” she asked steadily. - </p> - <p> - He turned toward her, conscious of the tell-tale scowl that was passing - from his brow. It did not occur to him to resent her abrupt, - uncompromising question. As a matter of fact, it seemed quite natural that - she should put the question in just that way, flatly, incisively. He - considered himself, in a way, to be on trial. - </p> - <p> - “No, I'm not,” he replied. “You did not expect me to forget, did you?” - </p> - <p> - He was uncomfortable under her honest, inquiring gaze. A sullen anger - against himself took possession of him. He despised himself for the - feeling of loneliness and homesickness that suddenly came over him. - </p> - <p> - “I thought———” she began, and then her brow cleared. “I - have been looking up the recitals in the morning paper. The same orchestra - you heard last night is to appear again to-day at———” - </p> - <p> - “We will go there, Lydia,” he interrupted, and at once began to hum the - gay little air that had so completely charmed him. “Try it again, Lyddy. - You'll get it in no time.” - </p> - <p> - After luncheon, like two happy children they rushed off to the concert, - and it was not until they were on their way home at five o'clock that his - enthusiasm began to wane. She was quick to detect the change. He became - moody, preoccupied; his part of the conversation was kept up with an - effort that lacked all of the spontaneity of his earlier and more engaging - flights. - </p> - <p> - They rode down town on the top of a Fifth Avenue stage, having it all to - themselves. She found herself speculating on the change that had come over - him, and soon lapsed into a reserve quite as pronounced as his own. By the - time they were ready to get down at the corner above Brood's house there - was no longer any pretence at conversation between them. The day's fire - had burned out. Its glow had given way to the bleak, gray tone of dead - coals. - </p> - <p> - Lydia went far back in her calculations and attributed his mood to the - promise she had exacted in regard to his attitude toward his father. It - occurred to her that he was smarting under the restraint that promise - involved. She realised now, more than ever before, that there could be no - delay, no faltering on her part. She would have to see James Brood at - once; go down on her knees to him. - </p> - <p> - “I feel rather guilty, Freddy,” she said as they approached the house. “Mr - Brood will think it strange that I should plead a headache and yet run off - to a concert and enjoy myself when he is so eager to finish the journal—especially - as he is to sail so soon. I ought to see him; don't you think so? Perhaps - there is something I can do to-night that will make up for the lost time.” - She was plainly nervous. - </p> - <p> - “He'd work you to death if he thought it would serve his purpose,” said - Frederic gloomily. And back of that sentence lay the thought that made it - absolutely imperative for her to act without delay. - </p> - <p> - “I will go in for a few minutes,” she said, at the foot of the steps. “Are - you not coming, too?” - </p> - <p> - He had stopped. “Not just now, Lyddy. I think I'll run up to Tom's flat - and smoke a pipe with him. Thanks, old girl, for the happy day we've had. - You don't mind if I leave you here?” - </p> - <p> - Her heart gave a great throb of relief. It was best to have him out of the - way for the time being. - </p> - <p> - “No, indeed,” she said. “Do go and see Tom. I shan't be here long. We have - had a glorious day, haven't we?” There was something wistful in her smile - as she held out her hand to him. - </p> - <p> - He searched her face with tired, yearning eyes. - </p> - <p> - “We have thousands of them ahead of us, Lyddy—days that will be all our - own, with nothing else in them but ourselves. I—I wish we could - begin them to-morrow, after all.” - </p> - <p> - A flush mounted to her cheek. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, Freddy.” - </p> - <p> - He seemed reluctant to release her hand; her hand was cold, but her eyes - were shining with a glorious warmth. - </p> - <p> - “I—I may run in to see you this evening,” he said. “You won't mind?” - </p> - <p> - “Come, by all means.” - </p> - <p> - “Well—so-long,” he said diffidently. “So-long, Lyddy.” - </p> - <p> - “So-long,” she repeated, dropping into his manner of speech without - thinking. There was a smothering sensation in her breast. - </p> - <p> - He looked back as he strode off in the direction from which they had come. - She was at the top of the steps, her finger on the electric button. He - wondered why her face was so white. He had always thought of it as being - full of colour, rich, soft, and warm. - </p> - <p> - Inside the door Lydia experienced a strange sinking of the heart. Her - limbs seemed curiously weak, and she was conscious of a feeling of utter - loneliness, such as she had never known before. She looked about her in - wonder, as if seeking an explanation for the extraordinary but fleeting - impression that she was in a strange house. Never was she to find an - interpretation of the queer fantasy that came and went almost in the span - of a single breath. - </p> - <p> - “Is Mr Brood at———” she began nervously. - </p> - <p> - A voice at the top of the stairway interrupted the question she was - putting to the footman. - </p> - <p> - “Is it you, Lydia? Come up to my room.” - </p> - <p> - The girl looked up and saw Mrs Brood leaning over the banister-rail. She - was holding her pink dressing-gown closely about her throat, as if it had - been hastily thrown about her shoulders. One bare arm was visible—completely - so. - </p> - <p> - “I came to see Mr Brood. Is he———” - </p> - <p> - “He is busy. Come up to my room,” repeated Yvonne, somewhat imperiously. - </p> - <p> - As Lydia mounted the stairs she had a fair glimpse of the other's face. - Always pallid—but of a healthy pallor—it was now almost - ghastly. Perhaps it was the light from the window that caused it; Lydia - was not sure, but a queer greenish hue overspread the lovely, smiling - face. The lips were red, very red—redder than she had ever seen them. The - girl suddenly recalled the face she had once seen of a woman who was - addicted to the drug habit. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood met her at the top of the stairs. She was but half dressed. Her - lovely neck and shoulders were now almost bare. Her hands were extended - toward the visitor; the filmy lace gown hung loose and disregarded about - her slim figure. - </p> - <p> - “Come in, dear. Shall we have tea? I have been so lonely. One cannot read - the books they print nowadays. Such stupid things, <i>aïe?</i>” - </p> - <p> - She threw an arm about the tall girl, and Lydia was surprised to find that - it was warm and full of a gentle strength. She felt her flesh tingle with - the thrill of contact. Yes, it must have been the light from the window, - for Yvonne's face was now aglow with the peculiar iridescence that was so - peculiarly her own. - </p> - <p> - A door closed softly on the floor above them. Mrs Brood glanced over her - shoulder and upward. Her arm tightened perceptibly about Lydia's waist. - </p> - <p> - “It was Ranjab,” said the girl, and instantly was filled with amazement. - She had not seen the Hindu, had not even been thinking of him, and yet she - was impelled by some mysterious intelligence to give utterance to a - statement in which there was conviction, not conjecture. - </p> - <p> - “Did you see him?” asked the other, looking at her sharply. - </p> - <p> - “No,” admitted Lydia, still amazed. “I don't know why I said that.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood closed her boudoir door behind them. For an instant she stood - staring at the knob, as if expecting to see it turn. - </p> - <p> - “I know,” she said, “I know why you said it. Because it <i>was</i> - Ranjab.” She shivered slightly. - “I am afraid of that man, Lydia. He seems to be watching me all the time. - Day and night his eyes seem to be upon me.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, should he be watching you?” asked Lydia bluntly. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne did not notice the question. - </p> - <p> - “Even when I am asleep in my bed, in the dead hour of night, he is looking - at me. I can feel it. Oh, it is not a dream, for my dreams are of - something or someone else—never of him. And yet he is there, looking - at me. It—it is uncanny.” - </p> - <p> - “Imagination,” remarked Lydia quietly. “He never struck me as especially - omnipresent.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't you <i>feel</i> him a moment ago?” demanded Yvonne irritably. - </p> - <p> - The other hesitated, reflecting. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it must have been something like that.” They were still facing - the door, standing close together. “Why do you feel that he is watching - you?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know. I just feel it, that's all. Day and night. He can read my - thoughts, Lydia, as he would read a book. Isn't—isn't it - disgusting?” Her laugh was spiritless, obviously artificial. - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn't object to his reading my thoughts,” said Lydia. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but you are Lydia. It's different. I have thoughts sometimes, my - dear, that would not—but there! Let us speak of more agreeable - things. Take off your coat—here, let me help you. What a lovely - waist! You will pardon my costume, won't you, or rather the lack of one? - I shan't dress until dinner-time. Sit down here beside me. No tea? A - cigarette, then. No?” - </p> - <p> - “I never smoke, you remember,” said the other. She was looking at Yvonne - now with a curious, new-found interest in her serious eyes. “I came to - explain to Mr Brood how it happens that———” - </p> - <p> - “Poof! Never explain, my dear, never explain anything to a man!” cried - Yvonne, lighting a cigarette. The flare of the match in the partially - darkened room lit up her face with merciless candour. Lydia was conscious - once more of the unusual pallor and a certain haggardness about the dark - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “But he is so eager to complete the———” - </p> - <p> - “Do you forgive me for what I said to you last night?” demanded Yvonne, - sitting down beside the girl on the <i>chaise longue</i>. The interruption - was rude, perhaps, but it was impossible to resent it, so appealing was - the expression in the offender's eyes. - </p> - <p> - “It was so absurd, Mrs Brood, that I have scarcely given it a moment's - thought. Of course, I was hurt at the time. It was so unjust to Mr Brood. - It was———” - </p> - <p> - “It is like you to say that!” cried Yvonne. “You are splendid, Lydia. Will - you believe me when I tell you that I love you—that I love you very - dearly?” - </p> - <p> - Lydia looked at her in some doubt, and not without misgivings. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to believe it,” she said noncommittally. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but you doubt it. I see. Well, I do not blame you. I have given you - much pain, much distress. When I am far away you will be glad—you will be - happy. Is not that so?” - </p> - <p> - “But you are coming back,” said Lydia with a frank smile, not meant to be - unfriendly. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne's face clouded. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I shall probably come back. Nothing is sure in this queer world of - ours.” She threw her cigarette away. “I don't like it to-day. Ugh! how it - tastes in my mouth!” She drew closer to the girl's side. Lydia's nostrils - filled with the strange, sweet perfume that she affected, so individually - hers, so personally Yvonne. “Oh, yes; I shall come back. Why not? Is not - this my home?” - </p> - <p> - “You may call it your home, Mrs Brood,” said - Lydia, “but are you quite sure your thoughts always abide here? I mean in - the United States, of course.” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne had looked up at her quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see. No; I shall never be an American.” Then she abruptly changed - the subject. “You have had a nice day with Frederic? You have been happy, - both of you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—very happy, Mrs Brood,” said the girl simply. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad. You must always be happy, you two. It is my greatest wish.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia hesitated for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Frederic asked me to be his wife—to-morrow,” she said, and her heart - began to thump queerly. She felt that she was approaching a crisis of some - sort. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow?” fell from Yvonne's lips. The word was drawn out, as if in one - long breath. Then, to Lydia's astonishment, an extraordinary change came - over the speaker. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes; it should be—it must be to-morrow. Poor boy—poor, - poor boy! You will marry, yes, and go way at once, <i>aïe?</i>” Her voice - was almost shrill in its intensity, her eyes were wide and eager and—anxious. - </p> - <p> - “I——— Oh, Mrs Brood, is it for the best?” cried Lydia. - “Is it the best thing for Frederic to do? I—I feared you might - object. I am sure his father will refuse permission———” - </p> - <p> - “But you love each other—that is enough. Why ask the consent of - anyone? Yes, yes, it is for the best. I know—oh, you cannot realise - how well I know. You must not hesitate.” The woman was trembling in her - eagerness. Lydia's astonishment gave way to perplexity. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean? Why are you so serious—so intent on this———” - </p> - <p> - “Frederic has no money,” pursued Yvonne, as if she had not heard Lydia's - words. “But that must not deter you—it must not stand in the way. I - shall find a way; yes, I shall find a way. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that you would provide for him for us?” exclaimed Lydia. - </p> - <p> - “There is a way, there is a way,” said the other, fixing her eyes - appealingly on the girl's face, to which the flush of anger was slowly - mounting. - </p> - <p> - “His father will not help him—if, that is what you are counting - upon, Mrs Brood,” said the girl coldly. - </p> - <p> - “I know. He will not help him; no.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia started. - </p> - <p> - “What do you know about—what has Mr Brood said to you?” Her heart - was cold with apprehension. “Why are you going away next week? What has - happened?” - </p> - <p> - Brood's wife was regarding her with narrowing eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Are you attributing my motives to something that my husband has said to - me? Am I expected to say that he has—what you call it—that he - has put his foot down?” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry you misunderstood my———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see now. You think my husband suspects that Frederic is too deeply - interested in his beautiful stepmother; is not that so? Poof! It has - nothing to do with it.” Her eyes were sullen, full of resentment now. She - was collecting herself. - </p> - <p> - The girl's eyes expressed the disdain that suddenly took the place of - apprehension in her thoughts. A sharp retort leaped to her lips, but she - suppressed it. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Brood does not like Frederic,” she said instead, and could have cut - out her tongue the instant the words were uttered. Yvonne's eyes were - glittering with a light that she had never seen in them before. Afterward - she described it to herself as baleful. - </p> - <p> - “So! He has spoken ill—evil—of his son to you?” she said, - almost in a monotone, “He has hated him for years—is not that so? I - am not the original cause, <i>aïe?</i> It began long ago—long, long - ago?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I beg of you, Mrs Brood———” began - Lydia, shrinking back in dismay. - </p> - <p> - “You are free to speak your thoughts to me. I shall not be offended. What - has he said to you about Frederic—and me?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, I swear to you; nothing!” cried the girl. - </p> - <p> - “But you have the power of observation. You do not have to be told in so - many words. You have been with him a great deal, alone. His manner tells - you what his lips hold back. Tell me.” Lydia resolved to take the plunge. - Now was the time to speak plainly to this woman of the thing that was - hurting her almost beyond the limits of endurance. Her voice was rather - high-pitched. She had the fear that she would not be able to control it. - </p> - <p> - “I should be blind not to have observed the cruel position in which you - are placing Frederic. Is it surprising that your husband has eyes as well - as I? What must be his thoughts, Mrs Brood?” - </p> - <p> - She expected an outburst, a - torrent of indignation, an angry storm of words, and was therefore - unprepared for the piteous, hunted expression that came swiftly into the - lovely eyes, bent so appealing upon her own, which were cold and accusing. - Here was a new phase to this extraordinary creature's character. She was a - coward, after all, and Lydia despised a coward. The look of scorn deepened - in her eyes, and out from her heart rushed all that was soft and tender in - her nature, leaving it barren of all compassion. - </p> - <p> - “I do not want to hurt Frederic,” murmured - Yvonne. “I—I am sorry if———” - </p> - <p> - “You are hurting him dreadfully,” said Lydia, suddenly choking up with - emotion. - </p> - <p> - “He is not—not in love with me,” declared Yvonne, - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the girl, regaining control of herself, “he is not in love with - you. That is the whole trouble. He is in love with me. But—but can't - you see?” - </p> - <p> - “You are a wise young woman to know men so well,” said the other - enigmatically. “I have never believed in St Anthony.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor I,” said Lydia, and was surprised at herself. - </p> - <p> - “I prefer to put my faith in the women who tempted him,” said Yvonne, - drawing a little closer to the girl. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you are right. They at least were not pretending.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not so sure of that. At any rate, they succeeded in making a saint - of him eventually.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you are undertaking a similar office in—in Frederic's - behalf,” said Lydia with fine irony. - </p> - <p> - “Do you consider me to be a bad woman, Lydia?” Her lips trembled. There - was a suspicious quiver to her chin. - </p> - <p> - “No; I do not,” pronounced the girl flatly. “If I could only think that of - you it would explain everything, and I should know just how to treat you. - But I do not think it of you.” - </p> - <p> - With a long, deep sigh Yvonne crept closer and laid her head against - Lydia's shoulder. The girl's body stiffened, her brow grew dark with - annoyance. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you do not understand, Mrs Brood. The fact still remains that - you have not considered Frederic's peace of mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor yours,” murmured the other. - </p> - <p> - “Nor mine,” confessed Lydia, after a moment. - </p> - <p> - “I did not know that you and Frederic were in love with each other until I - had been here for some time,” Mrs Brood explained, suddenly fretful. - </p> - <p> - Lydia stared hard at the soft white cheek that lay exposed below the black - crown of hair. - </p> - <p> - “What had that to do with it?” - </p> - <p> - “A great deal more than you can imagine,” said the other, looking up into - Lydia's face with a curious gleam in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You admit, then, that you deliberately———” - </p> - <p> - “I admit nothing, except that I am sorry to have made you unhappy.” - </p> - <p> - “What kind of a woman are you?” burst out Lydia's indignant soul. “Have - you no conception of the finer, nobler———” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne deliberately put her hand over the girl's lips, checking the fierce - outburst. She smiled rather plaintively as Lydia tried to jerk her head to - one side in order to continue her reckless indictment. - </p> - <p> - “You shall not say it, Lydia. I am not all that you think I am. No, no; a - thousand times no. God pity me, I am more accursed than you may think with - the finer and nobler instincts. If it were not so, do you think I should - be where I am now—cringing here like a beaten child? No, you cannot - understand—you never will understand. I shall say no more. It is - ended. I swear on my soul that I did not know you were Frederic's - sweetheart. I did not know———” - </p> - <p> - “But you knew almost immediately after you came here!” exclaimed Lydia - harshly. “It is not myself I am thinking of, Mrs Brood, but of Frederic. - Why have you done this abominable thing to him? Why?” - </p> - <p> - “I—I did not realise what it would mean to him,” said the other - desperately. “I—I did not count all the cost. But, dearest Lydia, it - will come out all right. Everything shall be made right again, I promise - you. I have made a horrible, horrible mistake. I can say no more. Now let - me lie here with my head upon your breast. I want to feel the beating of - your pure, honest heart—the heart I have hurt. I can tell by its - throbs whether it will ever soften toward me. Do not say anything now—let - us be still.” - </p> - <p> - It would be difficult to describe the feelings of - Lydia Desmond as she sat there with the despised, though to be adored, - head pillowed upon her breast, where it now rested in a sort of confident - repose, as if there was safety in the very strength of the young girl's - disapproval. Yvonne had twisted her lithe body on the <i>chaise longue</i> - so that she half faced Lydia. Her free arm, from which the loose sleeve - had fallen, leaving it bare to the shoulder, was about the girl's neck. - </p> - <p> - For a long time Lydia stared straight before her, seeing nothing, - positively dumb with wonder, and acknowledging a sense of dismay over her - own disposition to submit to this extraordinary situation. She was asking - herself why she did not cast the woman away, why she lacked the power to - resent by deed as well as by thought. - </p> - <p> - At last she lowered her eyes, conquered by an impulse she had resisted for - many minutes. Her now perplexed gaze rested upon the gleaming white arm, - and then moved wonderingly to the smooth cheek and throat. She saw the - pulse beating in that slender neck. Fascinated, she watched it for a long, - long time. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly there ran through her heart a strange wave of tenderness. That - faint, delicate throb in the throat of this woman represented the rush of - life's blood—the warm, sweet flood of a lovely living thing. - Yvonne's eyes were closed. The long, dark lashes lay feathery above the - alabaster cheek; there were delicate blue lines in the lids. A faint, - almost imperceptible depression as of pain appeared between the eyebrows. - The black, glossy hair filled Lydia's nostrils with its living perfume. - </p> - <p> - Life—marvellous, adorable life rested there on her breast. This - woman had hurt her—had hurt her wantonly—and yet there came - stealing over her, subtly, the conviction that she could never hurt her in - return. She could never bring herself to the point of hurting this - wondrous living, breathing, throbbing creature who pleaded, not only with - her lips and eyes, but with the gentle heart-beats that rose and - fell in her throat. - </p> - <p> - Like velvet was the smooth, glossy skin of her arm and breast. Never had - Lydia dreamed that flesh could be so soft and white and so aglow with - vitality. There was a sheen to it, a soft sheen that seemed fairly to - radiate light itself. - </p> - <p> - Still in a maze of wonder and something bordering on sheer delight, she - fell to studying the perfections that the cheek and lips revealed. - </p> - <p> - Scarlet, pensively drooping were the lips, and almost opalescent the - clear-cut cheek and chin. The delicate nostrils vibrated with the - quickened breath that stirred the firm, full breast which rose and fell - softly, gently; there were firm, hitherto invisible blue lines in the - gleaming skin. Slowly, resistlessly Lydia's arm tightened about the - slender, seductive body. - </p> - <p> - After a long time, in which there was conflict, she suddenly pressed her - warm lips to Yvonne's in a kiss that thrilled through every nerve in her - body—a kiss that lingered because it was returned with equal fervour - and abandon. They were clasped tightly in each other's arms and their eyes - were closed as with pain. - </p> - <p> - Then, in an abrupt revulsion of feeling, in a desperate awakening, Lydia - relaxed. Her arms fell away from the warm, sweet body and her eyes widened - with something that passed for confusion, but which was in reality shame. - Almost roughly she pushed Yvonne away from her. - </p> - <p> - “I—I didn't mean to do that!” she gasped. - </p> - <p> - The other withdrew her arm and straightened up slowly, all the time - regarding the girl with a strange, wondering look in her eyes—a look - that quickly resolved itself into sadness so poignant that the girl, even - in her confused state of mind, recognised it as such and was abashed. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you would,” said Yvonne in a very low voice, and shook her - head drearily. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry,” murmured Lydia in great distress. - </p> - <p> - The other smiled, but it was a sad, plaintive effort on her part. - </p> - <p> - “I knew that you would,” she repeated. - </p> - <p> - Lydia sprang to her feet, her face suddenly flaming with embarrassment. - She felt unaccountably guilty of—she knew not what. - </p> - <p> - “I must see Mr Brood. I stepped in to tell him that———” - she began, trying to cover her confusion, but Yvonne interrupted. - </p> - <p> - “I know that you could not help it, my dear,” she said. Then, after a - pause: “You will let me know what my husband has to say about it?” - </p> - <p> - “To—to say about it?” - </p> - <p> - “About your decision to marry Frederic in spite of his objections.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia felt a little shiver race over her as she looked toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “You will help us?” she said tremulously, turning to Yvonne. Again she saw - the drawn, pained look about the dark eyes and was startled. - </p> - <p> - “You can do more with him than I,” was the response. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ydia stopped for a - moment in the hall, after closing the door behind her, to pull herself - together for the ordeal that was still to come. She was trembling; a - weakness had assailed her. She had left Yvonne's presence in a dazed, - unsettled condition of mind. - </p> - <p> - There was a lapse of some kind that she could neither account for nor - describe even to herself. She tried to put it into seconds and minutes, - and then realised that it was not a matter to be reckoned as time. Yet - there had been a distinct, unmistakable gap in her existence. Something - had stopped—she knew not for how long—and then she had found - herself breathing, thinking once more. In spite of the conviction that she - had passed through a period of utter oblivion, she could account for every - second of time with an absolute clearness of memory. - </p> - <p> - There was not an instant, nor a sensation, nor an impulse that was not - fully recorded in her alert brain. She remembered everything; she could - have described every emotion; and yet she felt that there had been a - period of complete absence, as real as it was improbable. - </p> - <p> - She felt now as she always felt after sipping champagne—in a warm - glow of intoxication. She was drunk with the scent that filled her - nostrils, the scent that lay on her lips, that lived and breathed with - her. Her heart was throbbing rapidly, as if earnestly seeking to regain - the beats that it had lost. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly there came to her an impulse to go back and lay bare before - Yvonne all of the wretched story that had fallen from the lips of James - Brood the night before. She conceived the strange notion that Yvonne alone - could avert the disaster, that she could be depended upon to save Frederic - from the blow that seemed so sure to fall. She even went so far as to turn - toward the door and to take a step in its direction. - </p> - <p> - Then came the revolt against the impulse. Was it fair to Frederic? Had she - the right to reveal this ugly thing to one whose sympathies might, after - all, be opposed to the wife who had preceded her in James Brood's - affections—the wife who had been first in his heart, and whose - memory, for all she knew, might still be a worthy adversary even in this - day of apparent supremacy? - </p> - <p> - What right had she to conclude that this woman would take up the cause of - Frederic's mother and jeopardise her own position by seeking to put her - husband in the wrong in that unhappy affair of long ago? Would Yvonne do - this for Frederic? Would she do all this for Frederic's mother? - </p> - <p> - Lydia turned away and went slowly toward the stairs, despising herself for - the thought. The black velvet coat that formed a part of her trig suit - hung limply in her hand, dragging along the floor as she moved with - hesitating steps in the direction of James Brood's study. A sickening - estimate of her own strength of purpose confronted her. She was suddenly - afraid of the man who had always been her friend. Somehow she felt that he - would turn upon and rend her, this man who had always been gentle and - considerate—and who had killed things! - </p> - <p> - She found herself at last standing stock-still at the bottom of the - steps, looking upward, trying to concentrate all of her determination on - what now appeared to her to be an undertaking of the utmost daring, as one - who risks everything in an encounter in the dark. - </p> - <p> - Ranjab appeared at the head of the stairs. She waited for his signal to - ascend, somehow feeling that Brood had sent him forth to summon her. Her - hand sought the stair-rail and gripped it tightly. Her lips parted - in a stiff smile. Now she knew that she was turning coward, that she - longed to put off the meeting until to-morrow—<i>to-morrow!</i> - </p> - <p> - The Hindu came down the stairs, quickly, noiselessly. - </p> - <p> - “The master say to come to-morrow, to-morrow as usual,” he said, as he - paused above her on the steps. - </p> - <p> - “It—it must be to-day,” she said doggedly, even as the chill of - relief shot through her. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow,” said the man. His eyes were kindly inquiring. “<i>Sahib</i> - say you are to rest.” There was a pause. “To-morrow will not be too late.” - </p> - <p> - She started. Had he read the thought that was in her mind? - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, Ranjab,” she said, after a moment of indecision. “I will come - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Then she slunk downstairs and out of the house, convinced that she had - failed Frederic in his hour of greatest need, that to-morrow would be too - late. - </p> - <p> - Frederic did not come in for dinner until after his father and Yvonne had - gone from the house. He did not inquire for them, but instructed Jones to - say to the old gentlemen that he would be pleased to dine with them if - they could allow him the time to “change.” He also told Jones to open a - single bottle of champagne and to place three glasses. - </p> - <p> - “If you please, sir, Mrs Brood has given strict orders——” - </p> - <p> - “That's all right, Jones. She won't mind for to-night. We expect to drink - the health of the bride, Jones.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “That is to say, <i>my</i> bride.” - </p> - <p> - “Your bride, Mr Frederic?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm going to be married.” - </p> - <p> - “Bless my soul, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “You seem surprised.” - </p> - <p> - “Ahem! I should 'ave said, 'God be praised,' sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Now that I think of it, don't mention it to Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs. Let me - make the announcement, Jones.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, sir. It is most confidential, of course. Bless my—I mean - to say, Golden Seal, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Any old thing, Jones.” - </p> - <p> - “May I offer my congratulations, Mr Frederic? Thank you, sir. Ahem! Aw—ahem! - Anyways soon, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Very soon, Jones.” - </p> - <p> - “Bless—very good, sir. Of course, if I may be so bold as to inquire, - sir, it's—it's—ahem?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, Jones. Who else could it be?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, sir, it <i>couldn't</i> be anyone else. Thank you, sir. Yes, - sir. She is the finest young lady in this 'ere world, Mr Frederic. You did - say Golden Seal, Cliquot, ninety-eight, sir? It's the best in the 'ouse, - sir, quite the best at present.” - </p> - <p> - Later on Frederic made his announcement to the old men. In the fever of an - excitement that caused him to forget that Lydia might be entitled to some - voice in the matter, he deliberately committed her to the project that had - become a fixed thing in his mind the instant he set foot in the house and - found it empty—oh, so empty! - </p> - <p> - Jones's practised hand shook slightly as he poured the wine. The old men - drank rather noisily. They, too, were excited. Mr Riggs smacked his lips - and squinted at the chandelier, as if trying to decide upon the vintage, - but in reality doing his best to keep from coughing up the wine that had - gone the wrong way in a moment of profound paralysis. - </p> - <p> - “The best news I've heard since Judas died,” said Mr Dawes manfully. “Fill - 'em up again, Jones. I want to propose the health of Mrs Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “The future Mrs Brood,” hissed Mr Riggs wheezily, glaring at his comrade. - “Ass!” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not married yet, Mr Dawes,” explained Frederic, grinning. - </p> - <p> - “Makes no difference,” said Mr Dawes stoutly. “Far as I'm concerned, you - are. We'll be the first to drink to Lydia Brood! The first to call her by - that name, gentlemen. God bless her!” - </p> - <p> - “God bless her!” shouted Mr Riggs. - </p> - <p> - “God bless her!” echoed Frederic, and they drained their glasses to Lydia - Brood. - </p> - <p> - “Jones, open another bottle,” commanded Mr Dawes loftily. - </p> - <p> - Frederic shook his head, and two faces fell. Right bravely, however, the - old men maintained a joyous interest in the occasion. They expounded - loudly upon the virtues and graces of John Desmond's daughter; they plied - the young man with questions and harangued him with advice; they - threatened him with hell-fire if he ever gave the girl a minute of - unhappiness; they were very firm in their contention that he “oughtn't to - let the grass grow under his feet,” not for an instant! In the end they - waxed tearful. It was quite too much joy to be borne with equanimity. - </p> - <p> - The young man turned moody, thoughtful; the unwonted exhilaration died as - suddenly as it had come into existence. A shadow crossed his vision and he - followed it with his thoughts. The gabbling of the old men irritated him - as the makeshift feast of celebration grew old, and he made no pretence of - keeping up his end of the conversation. - </p> - <p> - The gloomy, uneasy look deepened in his face. It was a farce, after all, - this attempt to glorify an impulse conceived in desperation. A sense of - utter loneliness came over him with a swiftness that sickened, nauseated - him. The food was flat to his taste; he could not eat. Self-commiseration - stifled him. He suddenly realised that he had never been so lonely, so - unhappy, in all his life as he was at this moment. - </p> - <p> - His thoughts were of his father. A vast, inexplicable longing possessed - his soul—a longing for the affection of this man who was never - tender, who stood afar off and was lonely, too. He could not understand - this astounding change of feeling. He had never felt just this way before. - There had been times—and many—when his heart was sore with - longing, but they were of other days, childhood days. To-night he could - not crush out the thought of how ineffably happy, how peaceful life would - be if his father were to lay his hands upon his shoulders and say: “My - son, I love you—I love you dearly.” There would be no more lonely - days; all that was bitter in his life would be swept away in the twinkling - of an eye; the world would be full of joy for him and for Lydia. - </p> - <p> - If anyone had told him an hour earlier that he would have been possessed - of such emotions as these he could have sneered in the face of him. When - he entered the house that evening he was full of resentment toward his - father and sullen with the remains of an ugly rage. And now to be actually - craving the affection of the man who humbled him, even in the presence of - servants. It was unbelievable. He could not understand himself. A - wonderful, compelling tenderness filled his heart. He longed to throw - himself at his father's feet and crave his pardon for the harsh, vengeful - thoughts he had spent upon him in those black hours. He hungered for a - word of kindness or of understanding on which he could feed his starving - soul. He wanted his father's love. He wanted, more than anything else in - the world, to love his father. - </p> - <p> - Lydia slipped out of his mind, Yvonne was set aside in that immortal - moment. He had not thought of them except in their relation to a completed - state of happiness for his father. Indistinctly he recognised them as - essentials. - </p> - <p> - In the library, later on, he smoked with the old men, moodily staring up - through the blue clouds into a space that seemed limitless. The expression - of pain, and the self-pity that attended it, increased in his eyes. The - old men rambled on, but he scarcely heard them. They wrangled, and he was - not impatient with them. He was lonely. He felt deserted, forsaken. The - sweet companionship of the day just closing stood for naught in this hour - of a deeper longing. He wanted to hear his father say, from his heart: - “Frederic, my son, here is my hand. It is no longer against you.” - </p> - <p> - Aye, he was lonely. The house was as bleak as the steppes of Siberia. He - longed for companionship, friendship, kindness, and suddenly in the midst - of it all he leaped to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “I'm going out, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, breaking in upon an - unappreciated tale that Mr Riggs was relating at some length and with - considerable fierceness in view of the fact that Mr Dawes had pulled him - up rather sharply once or twice in a matter of inaccuracies. “Excuse me, - please.” - </p> - <p> - He left them gaping with astonishment and dashed out into the hall for his - coat and hat. Even then he had no definite notion as to what his next move - would be, save that he was going out—somewhere, anywhere; he did not - care. All the time he was employed in getting into his light overcoat his - eyes were fixed on the front door, and in his heart was the strange, - indescribable hope that it would open to admit his father, who, thinking - of him in his loneliness and moved by a suddenly aroused feeling of love, - had abandoned an evening of selfish pleasure in order to spend it with - him. - </p> - <p> - And if his father should walk in, with eagerness in his long unfriendly - eyes, what joy it would be for him to rush up to him and cry out: “Father, - let's be happy! Let's make each other happy!” - </p> - <p> - Somehow, as he rushed down the front steps with the cool night air blowing - in his face, there surged up within him a strong, overpowering sense of - filial duty. It was his duty to make the first advances. It was for him to - pave the way to peace and happiness. Something vague but disturbing - tormented him with the fear that his father faced a great peril and that - his own place was beside him and not against him, as he had been for all - these illy directed years. He could not put it away from him, this thought - that his father was in danger—in danger of something that was not - physical, something from which, with all his valour, he had no adequate - form of defence. - </p> - <p> - At the corner he paused, checked by an irresistible impulse to look - backward at the house he had just left. To his surprise there was a light - in the drawing-room windows facing the street. The shade in one of them - had been thrown wide open and a stream of light flared out across the - sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - Standing in this stream of light was the figure of a man. Slowly, as if - drawn by a force he could not resist, the young man retraced his steps - until he stood directly in front of the window. A questioning smile was on - his lips. He was looking up into Ranjab's shadowy, unsmiling face, dimly - visible in the glow from the distant street-lamp. For a long time they - stared at each other, no sign of recognition passing between them. The - Hindu's face was as rigid, as emotionless as if carved out of stone; his - eyes were unwavering. Frederic could see them, even in the shadows. He had - the queer feeling that, though the man gave no sign, he had something he - wanted to say to him, that he was actually calling to him to come back - into the house. - </p> - <p> - Undecided, the man outside took several halting steps toward the doorway, - his gaze still fixed on the face in the window. Then he broke the spell. - It was a notion on his part, he argued, If he had been wanted, his - father's servant would have beckoned to him. He would not have stood there - like a graven image, staring out into the night. - </p> - <p> - Having convinced himself of this, Frederic wheeled and swung off up the - street once more, walking rapidly, as one who is pursued. Turning, he - waved his hand at the man in the window. He received no response. Farther - off, he looked back once more. The Hindu still was there. Long after he - was out of sight of the house he cast frequent glances over his shoulder, - as if still expecting to see the lighted window and its occupant. - </p> - <p> - Blocks away, in his hurried, aimless flight, he slackened his pace and - began to wonder whither he was going. He had no objective point in mind. - He was drifting. His footsteps lagged and he looked about him for marks of - locality. Union Square lay behind him, and beyond, across Eighteenth - Street, was the Third Avenue Elevated. He had not meant to come in this - direction. It was not his mind alone that wandered. - </p> - <p> - As he made his way back to Broadway, somewhat hazily bent on following - that thoroughfare up to the district where the night glittered and the - stars were shamed, he began turning over in his mind a queer notion that - had just suggested itself to him, filtering through the maze of - uncertainty in which he had been floundering. It occurred to him that he - had been mawkishly sentimental in respect to his father. He was seriously - impressed by the feelings that had mastered him, but he found himself - ridiculing the idea that his father stood in peril of any description. And - suddenly, out of no particular trend of thought, groped the sly, - persistent suspicion that he had not been altogether responsible for the - sensations of an hour ago. Some outside influence had moulded his - emotions, some cunning brain had been doing his thinking for him! - </p> - <p> - Then came the sharp recollection of that motionless, commanding figure in - the lighted window, and his own puzzling behaviour on the side-walk - outside. He recalled his impression that someone has called out to him - just before he turned to look up at the window. It was all quite - preposterous, he kept on saying over and over again to himself, and yet he - could not shake off the uncanny feeling. - </p> - <p> - Like a shot there flashed into his brain the startling question: was - Ranjab the solution? Was it Ranjab's mind and not his own that had moved - him to such tender resolves? Could such a condition be possible? Was there - such a thing as mind control? - </p> - <p> - He laughed aloud, and was startled by the sound of his own voice. The idea - was preposterous! Such a thing could not have been possible. They were his - own thoughts, his own emotions, coming from his own brain, his own heart. - </p> - <p> - An hour later Frederic approached the box-office of the theatre mentioned - by Yvonne over the telephone that morning. The play was half over and the - house was sold out. He bought a ticket of admission, however, and lined up - with others who were content to stand at the back to witness the play. - </p> - <p> - He had walked past the theatre three or four times before finally making - up his mind to enter, and even then his intentions were not quite clear. - He only knew that he was consciously committing an act that he was ashamed - of, an act so inexcusable that his face burned as he thought of the - struggle he had had with himself up to the moment he stood at the - box-office window. - </p> - <p> - Inside the theatre he leaned weakly against the railing at the back of the - auditorium and wiped his brow. What was it that had dragged him there - against his will, in direct opposition to his dogged determination to shun - the place? The curtain was up, the house was still, save for the - occasional coughing of those who succumb to a habit that can neither be - helped nor explained. - </p> - <p> - There were people moving on the stage, but Frederic had no eyes for them. - He was seeking in the darkness for the two figures that he knew were - somewhere in the big, tense throng. - </p> - <p> - Hundreds of backs confronted him, no faces. A sensation not far removed - from stealth took possession of him. His searching eyes were furtive in - their quest. If he had been lonely before, he was doubly so now. The very - presence of the multitude filled him with a sickening sense of emptiness. - He was friendless there, with all those contented backs for company. Not - one among them all had a thought for him, not one turned so much as an - inch from the engrossing scene that held them in its grip. Straight, - immovable, unresponsive backs—nothing but backs! - </p> - <p> - Again he asked of himself, why was he there? And he pitied himself so - vastly that his throat contracted as with pain. His soul sickened. The - truth was being revealed to him as he stood there and with aching eyes - searched throughout the serried rows of backs. It came home to him all of - a sudden that his quest was a gleaming white back and a small, exquisitely - poised head crowned with black. - </p> - <p> - With a sharp execration, a word of disgust for himself, he tore himself - away from the railing and rushed toward the doors. At the same instant a - tremendous burst of applause filled the house and he whirled just in time - to see the curtain descending. Curiously interested, he paused near the - door, his gaze fixed on the great velvet wall that rose and fell at least - a half-dozen times in response to the clamour of the delighted crowd. - </p> - <p> - The backs all at once seemed to become animated and friendly. He drew near - the last row of seats again and stared at the actor and the actress who - came out to take the “curtain-call”—stared as if at something he had - never seen before. - </p> - <p> - And they had been up there all the time, developing the splendid climax - that had drawn people out of their seats, that had put life into all those - insufferable backs. - </p> - <p> - The lights went up and the house was bright. Men began scurrying up the - aisles. Here and there broad, black backs rose up in the centre of - sections and moved tortuously toward the aisles. Pretty soon, when the - theatre was dark again and the curtain up, they would return, politely - hiss something about being sorry or “Don't get up, please,” and even more - tortuously move into their places, completing once more the sullen, - arrogant row of backs. - </p> - <p> - Frederic experienced a sudden shock of dismay. It was not at all unlikely - that his father would be among those heading for the lobby, although the - chance was remote. His father was the peculiar type of gentleman, now - almost extinct, that subsists without fresh air quite as long as the lady - who sits in the seat beside him. He was a bit old-fashioned for a New - Yorker, no doubt, but he was rather distinguished for his good manners. In - fact, he was almost unique. He would not leave Yvonne between the acts, - Frederic was quite sure. In spite of this, the young man discreetly hid - himself behind two stalwart figures and watched the aisles with alert, - shifty eyes. - </p> - <p> - Presently the exodus was over and the danger past. He moved up to the - railing again and resumed his eager scrutiny of the throng. He could not - find them. At first he was conscious of disappointment, then he gave way - to an absurd rage. Yvonne had misled him, she had deceived him—aye, - she had <i>lied</i> to him. They were not in the audience, they had not - even contemplated coming to this theatre. He had been tricked, - deliberately tricked. - </p> - <p> - No doubt they were seated in some other place of amusement, serenely - enjoying themselves. - </p> - <p> - The thought of it maddened him. And then, just as he was on the point of - tearing out of the house, he saw them, and the blood rushed to his head so - violently that he was almost blinded. - </p> - <p> - He caught sight of his father far down in front, and then the dark, - half-obscured head of Yvonne. He could not see their faces, but there was - no mistaking them for anyone else. He only marvelled that he had not seen - them before, even in the semi-darkness. They now appeared to be the only - people in the theatre; he could see no one else. - </p> - <p> - James Brood's fine, aristocratic head was turned slightly toward his wife, - who, as Frederic observed after changing his position to one of better - advantage, apparently was relating something amusing to him. They - undoubtedly were enjoying themselves. Once more the great, almost - suffocating wave of tenderness for his father swept over him, mysteriously - as before and as convincing. He experienced a sudden, inexplicable feeling - of pity for the strong, virile man who had never revealed the slightest - symptoms of pity for him. The same curious desire to put his hands on his - father's shoulders and tell him that all was well with them came over him - again. - </p> - <p> - Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder, and the fear was in his heart - that somewhere in the shifting throng his gaze would light upon the face - of Ranjab. - </p> - <p> - Long and intently his searching gaze went through the crowd, seeking the - remote corners and shadows of the foyer, and a deep breath of relief - escaped him when it became evident that the Hindu was not there. He had, - in a measure, proved his own cause; his emotions were genuinely his own - and not the outgrowth of an influence for good exercised over him by the - Brahmin. - </p> - <p> - He began what he was pleased to term a systematic analysis of his emotions - covering the entire evening, all the while regarding the couple in the - orchestra chairs with a gaze unswerving in its fidelity to the sensation - that now controlled him—a sensation of impending peril. - </p> - <p> - All at once he slunk farther back into the shadow, a guilty flush mounting - to his cheek. Yvonne had turned and was staring rather fixedly in his - direction. Despite the knowledge that he was quite completely concealed by - the intervening group of loungers, he sustained a distinct shock. He had - the uncanny feeling that she was looking directly into his eyes. She had - turned abruptly, as if someone had called out to attract her attention and - she had obeyed the sudden impulse. A moment later her calmly impersonal - gaze swept on, taking the sections to her right and the balcony, and then - went back to her husband's face. - </p> - <p> - Frederic was many minutes in recovering from the effects of the queer - shock he had received. He could not get it out of his head that she knew - he was there, that she actually turned in answer to the call of his mind. - She had not searched for him; on the contrary, she directed her gaze - instantly to the spot where he stood concealed. - </p> - <p> - Actuated by a certain sense of guilt, he decided to leave the theatre as - soon as the curtain went up on the next act, which was to be the last. - Instead of doing so, however, he lingered to the end of the play, secure - in his conscienceless espionage. It had come to him that if he met them in - front of the theatre as they came out he could invite them to join him at - supper in one of the near-by restaurants. The idea pleased him. He coddled - it until it became a sensation. - </p> - <p> - When James Brood and his wife reached the side-walk they found him there, - directly in their path as they wedged their way to the curb to await the - automobile. He was smiling frankly, wistfully. There was an honest - gladness in his fine, boyish face and an eager light in his eyes. He no - longer had the sense of guilt in his soul. It had been a passing qualm, - and he felt regenerated for having experienced it, even so briefly. - Somehow it had purged his soul of the one longing doubt as to the - sincerity of his impulses. - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” he said, planting himself squarely in front of them. - </p> - <p> - There was a momentary tableau. He was vividly aware of the fact that - Yvonne had shrunk back in alarm and that a swift look of fear leaped into - her surprised eyes. She drew closer to Brood's side—or was it the - jostling of the crowd that made it seem to be so? He realised then that - she had not seen him in the theatre. Her surprise was genuine. It was not - much short of consternation, a fact that he realised with a sudden sinking - of the heart. - </p> - <p> - Then his eyes went quickly to his father's face. James Brood was regarding - him with a cold, significant smile, as one who understands and despises. - </p> - <p> - “They told me you were here,” faltered Frederic, the words rushing - hurriedly through his lips, “and I thought we might run in somewhere and - have a bite to eat. I—I want to tell you about Lydia and myself and - what———” - </p> - <p> - The carriage-man bawled a number in his ear and jerked open the door of a - limousine that had pulled up to the curb. - </p> - <p> - Without a word James Brood handed his wife into the car and then turned to - the chauffeur. - </p> - <p> - “Home,” he said, and, without so much as a glance at Frederic, stepped - inside. The door was slammed and the car slid out into the maelstrom. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne had sunk back into a corner, huddled down as if suddenly deprived - of all her strength. Frederic saw her face as the car moved away. She was - staring at him with wide-open, reproachful eyes, as if to say: “Oh, what - have you done? What a fool you are!” - </p> - <p> - For a second or two he stood as if - petrified, then everything turned red before him, a wicked red that - blinded him. He staggered, as if from a blow in the face. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” slipped from his stiff lips, and tears leaped to his eyes—tears - of supreme mortification. Like a beaten dog he slunk away, feeling himself - pierced by the pitying gaze of every mortal in the street. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ong past midnight - the telephone in the Desmond apartment rang sharply, insistently. Lydia, - who had just fallen asleep, awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in her - bed. A clammy perspiration broke out all over her body. There in the - darkness she shivered with a dread so desolating that every vestige of - strength forsook her and she could only stare helplessly into the black - pall that surrounded her. - </p> - <p> - Never before in all her life had she been aroused from sleep by the - jangling of a telephone-bell. The sound struck terror to her heart. She - knew that something terrible had happened. She knew there had been a - catastrophe. - </p> - <p> - She sat there chattering until she heard her mother's door open and then - the click of the receiver as it was lifted from the hook. Then she put her - fingers to her ears and closed her eyes. The very worst had happened; she - was sure of it. The blow had fallen. The one thought that seared her brain - was that she had failed him, failed him miserably in the crisis. Oh, if - she could only reclaim that lost hour of indecision and cowardice! - </p> - <p> - The light in the hallway suddenly smote her in the face, and she realised - for the first time that her eyes were tightly closed, as if to shut out - some abhorrent sight. - </p> - <p> - “Lydia!” Her mother was standing in the open door. “Oh, you are awake?” - Mrs Desmond stared in amazement at the girl's figure. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, mother? Tell me what has happened? Is he————” - </p> - <p> - “He wants to speak to you. He is on the wire. His voice sounds queer——” - </p> - <p> - The girl sprang out of bed and hurried to the telephone. - </p> - <p> - “Don't go away, mother—stay here,” she cried as she sped past the - white-clad figure in the doorway. Mrs Desmond flattened herself against - the wall and remained there as motionless as a statue, her sombre gaze - fixed on her daughter's face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Frederic, it is I, Lydia. What is it, dear?” Her voice was high and - thin. - </p> - <p> - His words came jerking over the wire, sharp and querulous. She closed her - eyes in anticipation of the blow, her body rigid. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to disturb you,” he was saying, “but I just had to call you - up.” The words were disjointed, as if he forced them from his lips in a - supreme effort at coherency. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes—it's all right. I don't mind. You did right. What is it?” - </p> - <p> - “I want you to release me from my promise.” - </p> - <p> - “Release you? Oh, Freddy!” It was a wail that issued from her lips. Her - body sagged limply, she steadied herself by leaning against the wall for - support. - </p> - <p> - “You've got to, Lydia. There's no other way. Something has happened - to-night, dear. You've got to———” - </p> - <p> - “Has he—has he———” Her throat closed up as if - gripped by a strong hand. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to drag you out of bed to tell you———” - </p> - <p> - “Freddy, Freddy!” - </p> - <p> - “To tell you that I must withdraw my promise, even if you refuse to - release me. Oh, I'm not excited, I'm not crazy, I'm not drunk! I never was - so steady in my life. To-night has made a man of me. I know just where I - stand at last. Now go back to bed, dearest, and don't worry about - anything. I couldn't go ahead until I'd asked you to release me from the - promise I made.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean—the promise—but, Freddy, I can't release you. I love - you. I <i>will</i> be your wife, no matter what has happened, no matter———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Lord, Lyddy—it isn't that! It's the other—the promise to - say nothing to my father———” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she sighed weakly, a vast wave of relief almost suffocating her. - </p> - <p> - “He has made it impossible for me to go on without———” - </p> - <p> - “Where are you, Frederic?” she cried in sudden alarm. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm all right. I shan't go home, you may be sure of that. To-morrow - will be time enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are you? I must know. How can I reach you by telephone—” - </p> - <p> - “Don't be frightened, dear. It's got to be, that's all. It might as well - be ended now as later on. The last straw was laid on to-night. Now don't - ask questions. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. I've—I've - told you that I can't stick to my promise. You'll understand. I couldn't - rest until I'd told you and heard your dear voice. Forgive me for calling - you up. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good night!” - </p> - <p> - “Freddy, listen to me! You must wait until I——— Oh!” He - had hung up the receiver. She heard the whir of the open wire. - </p> - <p> - There was little comfort for her in the hope held out by her mother as - they sat far into the night and discussed the possibilities of the day so - near at hand. She could see nothing but disaster, and she could think of - nothing but her own lamentable weakness in shrinking from the encounter - that might have made the present situation impossible. Between them mother - and daughter constructed at random a dozen theories as to the nature of - the fresh complication that had entered into the already serious - situation, and always it was Lydia who advanced the most sickening of - conjectures. - </p> - <p> - Nor was it an easy matter for Mrs Desmond to combat these fears. In her - heart she felt that an irreparable break had occurred and that the final - clash was imminent. She tried to make light of the situation, however, - prophesying a calmer attitude for Frederic after he had slept over his - grievance, which, after all, she argued was doubtless exaggerated. - </p> - <p> - She promised to go with Lydia to see James Brood in the morning, and to - plead with him to be merciful to the boy she was to marry, no matter what - transpired. The girl at first insisted on going over to see him that - night, notwithstanding the hour, and was dissuaded only after the most - earnest opposition. - </p> - <p> - It was four o'clock before they went back to bed, and long after five - before either closed her eyes. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond, utterly exhausted, was the first to awake. She glanced at the - little clock on her dressing-table and gave a great start of - consternation. It was long past nine o'clock. She arose at once and - hurried to her daughter's door, half expecting to find the room empty and - the girl missing from the apartment. - </p> - <p> - But Lydia was lying there sound asleep. Mrs Desmond's lips parted to give - voice to a gentle call, but it was never uttered. A feeling of infinite - pity for the tired, harassed girl came over her. For a long time she stood - there watching the gentle rise and fall of the sleeper's breast. Then she - closed the door softly and stole back to her own room, inspired by a - sudden resolve. - </p> - <p> - While she was dressing the little maid-servant brought in her coffee and - toast and received instructions not to awaken Miss Lydia but to let her - have her sleep out. A few minutes later she left the apartment and walked - briskly around the corner to Brood's home. - </p> - <p> - She had resolved to take the matter out of her daughter's hands. As she - stood at the bedroom door watching Lydia's sweet, troubled face, there - arose within her the mother instinct to fight for her young. It was not - unlikely that James Brood could be moved by Lydia's pleading, in spite of - his declaration that Frederic should never marry her, but the mother - recognised the falseness of a position gained by such means. - </p> - <p> - Over Lydia's head would hang the perpetual reminder that he had submitted - out of consideration for her, and not through fairness or justice to - Frederic; all the rest of her life she would be made to feel that he - tolerated Frederic for her sake. The girl would never know a moment in - which she could be free from that ugly sense of obligation. God willing, - Frederic would be her daughter's husband. Lydia might spare him the blow - that James Brood could deal, but all of her life would be spent in - contemplation of that one bitter hour in which she went on her knees to - beg for mercy. - </p> - <p> - The mother saw all this with a foresightedness that stripped the situation - of every vestige of romance. Lydia might rejoice at the outset, but there - would surely come a time of heartache for her. It would come with the full - realisation that James Brood's pity was hard to bear. - </p> - <p> - Fearing that she might be too late, she walked so rapidly that she was - quite out of breath when she entered the house. Mr Riggs and Mr Dawes were - putting on their coats in the hall preparatory to their short morning - constitutional. They greeted her profusely, and with one accord proceeded - to divest themselves of the coats, announcing in one voice their intention - to remain for a good, old-fashioned chat. - </p> - <p> - “It's dear of you,” she said hurriedly, “but I must see Mr Brood at once. - Why not come over to my apartment this afternoon for a cup of tea and——” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood's voice interrupted her. - </p> - <p> - “What do you want, Mrs Desmond?” came from the landing above. - </p> - <p> - The visitor looked up with a start, not so much of surprise as uneasiness. - There was something sharp, unfriendly, in the low, level tones. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne, fully dressed—a most unusual circumstance at that hour of - the day—was leaning over the banister-rail. - </p> - <p> - “I came to see Mr Brood on a very important—” - </p> - <p> - “He is occupied. Won't I do as well?” - </p> - <p> - “It is really quite serious, Mrs Brood. I am afraid it would be of no - avail to—to take it up with you.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you been sent here by someone else?” demanded Mrs Brood. - </p> - <p> - “I have not seen Frederic,” fell from the other's lips before she thought. - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you haven't,” said the other with ominous clearness. “He has - been here since seven this morning, waiting for a chance to speak to his - father in private.” - </p> - <p> - “Heaven help me! I—I am too———” - </p> - <p> - “Unless he spent the night in your apartment, I fancy you haven't seen - him,” went on Yvonne languidly. - </p> - <p> - She was descending the stairs slowly, almost lazily as she uttered the - remark. - </p> - <p> - “They are together now?” gasped Mrs Desmond. - </p> - <p> - “Will you come into the library? Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you may - enjoy your long walk.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond followed her into the library. Yvonne closed the door almost - in the face of Mr Riggs, who had opened his mouth to accept the invitation - to tea, but who said he'd “be blasted” instead, so narrow was his escape - from having his nose banged. He emphasised the declaration by shaking his - fist at the door. - </p> - <p> - The two women faced each other. For the first time since she had known - Yvonne Brood, Mrs Desmond observed a high touch of colour in her cheeks. - Her beautiful eyes were alive with an excitement she could not conceal. - Neither spoke for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “You are accountable for this, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia Desmond's mother - sternly, accusingly. She expected a storm of indignant protest. Instead, - Yvonne smiled slightly. - </p> - <p> - “It will not hurt my husband to discover that Frederic is a man and not a - milksop,” she said, but despite her coolness there was a perceptible note - of anxiety in her voice. - </p> - <p> - “You know, then, that they are—that they will quarrel?” - </p> - <p> - “I fancy it was in Frederic's mind to do so when he came here this - morning. He was still in his evening clothes, Mrs Desmond.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are they now?” - </p> - <p> - “I think he has them on,” said Yvonne lightly. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond regarded her for a moment in perplexity. Then her eyes flashed - dangerously. - </p> - <p> - “I do not think you misunderstood me, Mrs Brood. Where are Frederic and - his father?” - </p> - <p> - “I am not accustomed to that tone of voice, Mrs Desmond.” - </p> - <p> - “I am no longer your housekeeper,” said the other succinctly. “You do not - realise what this quarrel may mean. I insist on going up to them before it - has gone too far.” - </p> - <p> - “My husband can take care of himself, thank you.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not thinking of your husband, but of that poor boy who is———” - </p> - <p> - “And if I am to judge by Frederic's manner this morning, he is also able - to take care of himself,” said Yvonne coolly. Her voice shook a little. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond shot a quick glance of comprehension at the speaker. - </p> - <p> - “You are worried, Mrs Brood. Your manner betrays you. I command you to - tell me how long they have been upstairs together. How long———” - </p> - <p> - “Will you be so good, Mrs Desmond, as to leave this house instantly?” - cried Yvonne angrily. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the other quietly. “I suppose I am too late to prevent trouble - between those two men, but I shall at least remain here to assure Frederic - of my sympathy, to help him if I can, to offer him the shelter of my - home.” - </p> - <p> - A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's face. - </p> - <p> - “Do you really believe it will come to that?” she demanded nervously. - </p> - <p> - “If what I fear should come to pass, he will not stay in this house - another hour. He will go forth from it cursing James Brood with all the - hatred that his soul can possess. And now, Mrs Brood, shall I tell you - what I think of you?” - </p> - <p> - “No. It isn't at all necessary. Besides, I've changed my mind. I'd like - you to remain. I do not want to mystify you any farther, Mrs Desmond, but - I now confess to you that I am losing my courage. Don't ask me to tell you - why, but———” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it is the custom with those who play with fire. They shrink - when it burns them.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood looked at her steadily. The rebellious, sullen expression died - out of her eyes. She sighed deeply, almost despairingly. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry you think ill of me, but yet I cannot blame you for - considering me to be a—a——— I'll not say it. Mrs - Desmond, I—I wish I had never come to this house.” - </p> - <p> - “Permit me to echo your words.” - </p> - <p> - “You will never be able to understand me. And, after all, why should I - care? You are nothing to me. You are merely a good woman who has no real - object in life. You———” - </p> - <p> - “No real object in life?” - </p> - <p> - “Precisely. Sit down. We will wait here together, if you please. I—I - <i>am</i> worried. I think I rather like to feel that you are here with - me. You see, the crisis has come.” - </p> - <p> - “You know, of course, that he turned one wife out of this house, Mrs - Brood,” said Mrs Desmond deliberately. - </p> - <p> - Something like terror leaped into the other's eyes. The watcher - experienced an incomprehensible feeling of pity for her—she who had - been despising her so fiercely the instant before. - </p> - <p> - “He—he will not turn me out,” murmured Yvonne, and suddenly began - pacing the floor, her hands clenched. Stopping abruptly in front of the - other woman, she exclaimed: “He made a great mistake in driving that other - woman out. He is not likely to repeat it, Mrs Desmond.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes—I think he <i>did</i> make a mistake,” said Mrs Desmond calmly. - “But he does not think so. He is a man of iron. He is unbending.” - </p> - <p> - “He is a wonderful man—a great, splendid man,” cried Yvonne - fiercely. “It is I—Yvonne Lestrange—who proclaim it to the - world. I cannot bear to see him suffer. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Then, why do you———” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you would say it, eh? Well, there is no answer. Poof! Perhaps it will - not be so bad as we think. Come! I am no longer uneasy. See! I am very - calm. Am I not an example for you? Sit down. We will wait together.” - </p> - <p> - They sat far apart, each filled with dark misgivings, though radically - opposed in their manner of treating the situation. Mrs Desmond was cold - with apprehension. She sat immovable, tense. Yvonne sank back easily in a - deep, comfortable chair and coolly lighted a cigarette. It would have been - remarked by a keen observer that her failure to offer one to her visitor - was evidence of an unwonted abstraction. As a matter of fact, inwardly she - was trembling like a leaf. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose there is nothing to do,” said Mrs Desmond in despair, after a - long silence. “Poor Lydia will never forgive herself.” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling. - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you think I am an evil person, Mrs Desmond.” - </p> - <p> - “Curiously, Mrs Brood, I have never thought of you in that light. Your - transgressions are the greater for that reason.” - </p> - <p> - “Transgressions? An amiable word, believe me.” - </p> - <p> - “I did not come here, however, to discuss your actions.” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne leaned forward suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “You do not ask what transpired last night to bring about this crisis. Why - do you hesitate?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond shook her head slowly. “I do not want to know.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it was not what you have been thinking it was,” said Yvonne - levelly. - </p> - <p> - “I am relieved to hear it,” said the other rather grimly. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood flushed to the roots of her hair. - </p> - <p> - “I do not want to appear unfair to my husband, but I declare to you, Mrs - Desmond, that Frederic is fully justified in the attitude he has taken - this morning. His father humiliated him last night in a manner that made - forbearance impossible. That much I must say for Frederic. And permit me - to add, from my soul, that he is vastly more sinned against than sinning.” - </p> - <p> - “I can readily believe that, Mrs Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “This morning Frederic came into the breakfast-room while we were having - our coffee. You look surprised. Yes, I was having breakfast with my - husband. I knew that Frederic would come. That was my reason. When I heard - him in the hall I sent the servants out of the dining-room. He had spent - the night with a friend. His first words on entering the room were these—I - shall never forget them: 'Last night I thought I loved you, father, but I - have come home just to tell you that I hate you. I can't stay in this - house another day. I'm going to get out. But I just wanted you to know - that I thought I loved you last night, as a son should love his father. I - just wanted you to know it.' - </p> - <p> - “He did not even look at me, Mrs Desmond. I don't believe he knew I was - there. I shall never forget the look in James Brood's face. It was as if - he saw a ghost or some horrible thing that fascinated him. He did not - utter a word, but stared at Frederic in that terrible, awe-struck way. - </p> - <p> - “'I'm going to get out,' said Frederic, his voice rising. 'You've treated - me like a dog all of my life, and I'm through. I shan't even say good-bye - to you. You don't deserve any more consideration from me than I've - received from you. I hope I'll never see you again. If I ever have a son - I'll not treat him as you've treated your son. You don't deserve the - honour of being called father; you don't deserve to have a son. I wish to - God I had never been obliged to call you father! I don't know what you did - to my mother, but if you treated her as———' - </p> - <p> - “Just then my husband found his voice. He sprang to his feet, and I've - never seen such a look of rage. I thought he was going to strike Frederic, - and I think I screamed—just a little scream, of course. I was so - terrified. But he only said—and it was horrible the way he said - it—'You fool—you bastard!' And Frederic laughed in his face and cried out, - unafraid: 'I'm glad you call me a bastard! I'd rather be one than be your - son. It would at least give me something to be proud of—a real father!'” - </p> - <p> - “Good Heaven!” fell from Mrs Desmond's white lips. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne seemed to have paused to catch her breath. Her breast heaved - convulsively, the grip of her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she resumed her recital, but her voice was hoarse and tremulous. - </p> - <p> - “I was terribly frightened. I thought of calling out to Jones, but I—I - had no voice! Ah, you have never seen two angry men waiting to spring at - each other's throats, Mrs Desmond. My husband suddenly regained control of - himself. He was very calm. 'Come with me,' he said to Frederic. 'This is - not the place to wash our filthy family linen. You say you want something - to be proud of. Well, you shall have your wish. Come to my study.' And - they went away together, neither speaking a word to me—they did not - even glance in my direction. They went up the stairs. I heard the door - close behind them—away up there. That was half an hour ago. I have - been waiting, too—waiting as you are waiting now—to comfort - Frederic when he comes out of that room a wreck.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond started up, an incredulous look in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You are taking his side? You are against your husband? Oh, now I know the - kind of woman you are. I know———” - </p> - <p> - “Peace! You do not know the kind of woman I am. You will never know. Yes, - I shall take sides with Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not love your husband!” - </p> - <p> - A strange, unfathomable smile came into Yvonne's face and stayed there. - Mrs Desmond experienced the same odd feeling she had had years ago on - first seeing the Sphinx. She was suddenly confronted by an unsolvable - mystery. - </p> - <p> - “He shall not drive me out of his house, Mrs Desmond,” was her answer to - the challenge. - </p> - <p> - A door slammed in the upper regions of the house. Both women started to - their feet. - </p> - <p> - “It is over,” breathed Yvonne with a tremulous sigh. - </p> - <p> - “We shall see how well they were able to take care of themselves, Mrs - Brood,” said Mrs Desmond in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “We shall see—yes,” said the other mechanically. Suddenly she turned - on the tall, accusing figure beside her. “Go away! Go now! I command you - to go. This is <i>our</i> affair, Mrs Desmond. You are not needed here. - You were too late, as you say. I beg of you, go!” She strode swiftly - toward the door. As she was about to place her hand on the knob it was - opened from the other side, and Ranjab stood before them. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sahib</i> begs to be excused, Mrs Desmond. He is just going out.” - </p> - <p> - “Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had shrunk back into the room. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, <i>sahibah</i>. You will please excuse, Mrs Desmond. He regret very - much.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Desmond passed slowly through the door, which he held open for her. As - she passed by the Hindu she looked full into his dark, expressive eyes, - and there was a question in hers. He did not speak, but she read the - answer as if it were on a printed page. Her shoulders drooped. - </p> - <p> - She went back to Lydia. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen James Brood - and Frederic left the dining-room, nearly an hour prior to the departure of - Mrs Desmond, there was in the mind of each the resolution to make short - work of the coming interview. Each knew that the time had arrived for the - parting of the ways, and neither had the least desire to prolong the - suspense. - </p> - <p> - Frederic, far from suspecting the ordeal in store for him, experienced a - curious sense of exaltation as he followed the master of the house up the - stairway. He was about to declare his freedom; the very thought of it - thrilled him. He had at last found the courage to revolt, and there was - cause for rejoicing in the prospect of a lively triumph over what he was - pleased to call oppression. - </p> - <p> - He would not mince matters! Oh, no; he would come straight to the point. - There wasn't any sense in temporising. There were years of pent-up - grievances that he could fling at his father, but he would crystallise - them into a few withering minutes and have done with the business. He knew - he was as pale as a ghost and his legs were strangely weak, but he was not - cognisant of the slightest sensation of fear, nor the least inclination to - shrink from the consequences of that brief, original challenge. - </p> - <p> - The study door was closed. James Brood put his hand on the knob, but - before turning it faced the young man with an odd mixture of anger and - pity in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it will be better if we had nothing more to say to each other,” - he said with an effort. - “I have changed my mind. I cannot say the thing to you that I——” - </p> - <p> - “Has it got anything to do with Yvonne and me?” demanded Frederic - ruthlessly, jumping at conclusions in his new-found arrogance. - </p> - <p> - Brood threw open the door. - </p> - <p> - “Step inside,” he said in a voice that should have warned the younger man, - it was so prophetic of disaster. Frederic had touched the open sore with - that unhappy question. Not until this instant had James Brood admitted to - himself that there was a sore and that it had been festering all these - weeks. Now it was laid bare and it smarted with pain. Nothing could save - Frederic after that reckless, deliberate thrust at the very core of the - malignant growth that lay so near the surface. - </p> - <p> - It had been in James Brood's heart to spare the boy. An unaccountable wave - of compassion had swept through him as he mounted the stairs, leading his - victim to the sacrifice. He would have allowed him to go his way in - ignorance of the evil truth; he would have spared the son of Matilde and - been happier, far happier, he knew, for having done so. He would have let - him fare forth, as he elected to go, rejoicing in his foolish - independence, scorning to the end of his days, perhaps, the man who posed - as father to him. - </p> - <p> - But Frederic had touched the hateful sore. His chance was gone. - </p> - <p> - Hot words were on Frederic's lips. Brood held up his hand, and there was - in the gesture a command that silenced the young man. He was somewhat - shocked to find that he still recognised the other's right to command. The - older man went quickly to the door of the Hindu's closet. He rapped on the - panel, and in an instant the door was opened. Ranjab stepped out and - quickly closed the door behind him. A few words, spoken in lowered tones - and in the language of the East, passed between master and man. - </p> - <p> - Frederic turned his back to them. Moved by a sudden impulse, he strode to - the window and pulled the curtains apart. A swift glance upward showed him - the drawn shades in Lydia's bedroom windows. Somehow he was glad that she - was asleep. An impulse as strong as the other ordered him to shift his - glance downward to the little balcony outside of Yvonne's windows. Then he - heard the door close softly behind him and turned to face his father. - </p> - <p> - They were alone in the room. He squared his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you think I am in love with her,” he said defiantly. He waited - a moment for the response that did not come. Brood was regarding him with - eyes from which every spark of compassion had disappeared. “Well, it may - interest you to know that I intend to marry Lydia this very day.” - </p> - <p> - Brood advanced a few steps toward him. In the subdued light of the room - his features were not clearly distinguishable. His face was gray and - shadowy; only the eyes were sharply defined. They glowed like points of - light, unflickering. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be sorry for Lydia,” he said levelly. - </p> - <p> - “You needn't be,” said Frederic hotly. “She understands everything.” - </p> - <p> - “You were born to be dishonest in love.” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean by that?” - </p> - <p> - “It is my purpose to tell you precisely what I mean. Lydia understands far - more than you think. If she marries you it will be with her eyes open; she - will have no one to blame but herself for the mistake.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I haven't tried to deceive her as to my prospects. She knows how poor - we will be at the———” - </p> - <p> - “Does she know that this love you profess for her is at the very outset - disloyal?” - </p> - <p> - Frederic was silent for a moment. A twinge shot through his heart. - </p> - <p> - “She understands everything,” he repeated stubbornly. - </p> - <p> - “Have you lied to her?” - </p> - <p> - “Lied? You'd better be careful how you———” - </p> - <p> - “Have you told her that you love her and no one else?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly!” - </p> - <p> - “Then you <i>have</i> lied to her.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence—tense silence. - </p> - <p> - “Do you expect me to strike you for that?” came at last from Frederic's - lips, low and menacing. - </p> - <p> - “You have always considered yourself to be my son, haven't you?” pursued - Brood deliberately. “Can you say to me that you have behaved of late as a - son should———” - </p> - <p> - “Wait! We'll settle that point right now. I <i>did</i> lose my head. Head, - I say, not heart. I shan't attempt to explain—I can't, for that - matter. As for Yvonne—well, she's as good as gold. She understands - me far better than I understand myself. She knows that even honest men - lose their heads sometimes—and she knows the difference between love - and—the other thing. I can say to you now that I would sooner have - cut my own throat than do more than envy you the possession of someone you - do not deserve. I <i>have</i> considered myself your son. I have no - apology to make for my—we'll call it infatuation. I shall only admit - that it has existed and that I have despaired. So God is my witness, I - have never loved anyone but Lydia. I have given her pain, and the amazing - part of it is that I can't help myself. Naturally, you can't understand - what it all means. You are not a young man any longer. You cannot - understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” burst from Brood's lips. Then he laughed aloud—grotesquely. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne is the most wonderful thing that has ever come into my life. She - has shown me that life is beautiful and rich and full of warmth. I had - always thought it ugly and cold. Something inside of me awoke the instant - I looked into her eyes—something that had always been there, and yet - undeveloped. She spoke to me with her eyes, if you can believe such a - thing possible, and I understood. I adored her the instant I saw her. I - have felt sometimes that I knew her a thousand years ago. I have felt that - I loved her a thousand years ago.” A calm seriousness now attended his - speech, in direct contrast to the violent mood that had gone before. “I - have thought of little else but her. I confess it to you. But through it - all there has never been an instant in which I did not worship Lydia - Desmond. I—I do not pretend to account for it. It is beyond me.” - </p> - <p> - Brood waited patiently to the end. - </p> - <p> - “Your mother before you had a somewhat similar affliction,” he said, still - in the steady, repressed voice. “Perhaps it is a gift—a convenient - gift—this ability to worship without effort.” - </p> - <p> - “Better leave my mother out of it,” said Frederic sarcastically. A look of - wonder leaped to his eyes. “That's the first time you've condescended to - acknowledge that I ever had a mother.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall soon make you regret that you were ever so blessed as to have had - one.” - </p> - <p> - “You've always made it easy for me to regret that I ever had a father.” - </p> - <p> - Brood's smile was deadly. - </p> - <p> - “If you have anything more to say to me, you had better get it over. Purge - your soul of all the gall that embitters it. I grant you that privilege. - Take your innings.” - </p> - <p> - A spasm of pain crossed Frederic's face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am entitled to my innings. I'll go back to what I said downstairs. - I thought I loved and honoured you last night. I would have forgiven - everything if you had granted me a friendly—friendly, that's all—just - a friendly word. You denied———” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you want me to believe that it was love for me that brought you - slinking to the theatre,” said the other ironically. - </p> - <p> - “I don't expect you to believe anything. I was lonely. I wanted to be with - you and Yvonne. Curse you! Can't you understand how lonely I've been all - my life? Can't you understand how hungry I am for the affection that every - other boy I've known has had from his parents? I've never asked you about - my mother. I used to wonder a good deal. Every other boy had a mother. I - never had one. I couldn't understand it. And they all had fathers, but - they were not like my father. Their fathers were kind and loving, they - were interested in everything their sons did—good or bad. I used to - love the fathers of all those other lucky boys at school. They came often—and - so did the mothers. No one ever came to see me—no one! - </p> - <p> - “I used to wonder why you never told me of my own mother. Long ago I gave - up wondering. Something warned me not to ask you about her. Something told - me it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. I never inquired of anyone after - I was old enough to think for myself. I was afraid to ask, so I waited, - hoping all the time that you would some day tell me of her. But you've - never breathed her name to me. I no longer wonder. I know now that she - must have hated you with all the strength of her soul. God, how she must - have hated to feel the touch of your hands upon her body! Something tells - me she left you, and if she did, I hope she afterward found someone who—but - no, I won't say it. Even now I haven't the heart to hurt you by saying - that.” He stopped, choking up with the rush of bitter words. “Well, why - don't you say something?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm giving you your innings. Go on,” said Brood softly. - </p> - <p> - “She must have loved you once—or she wouldn't have married you. She - must have loved you or I wouldn't be here in this world. She———” - </p> - <p> - “Ha!” came sharply from Brood. - </p> - <p> - “—didn't find you out until it was - too late. She was lovely, I know. She was sweet and gentle and she loved - happiness. I can see that in her face, in her big, wistful eyes. You———” - </p> - <p> - “What's this?” demanded Brood, startled. “What are you saying?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I've got her portrait—an old photograph. For a month I've - carried it here in this pocket-case over my heart. I wouldn't part - with it for all the money in the world. When I look at the dear, sweet, - girlish face and her eyes look back into mine, I know that <i>she</i> - loved me.” - </p> - <p> - “Her portrait?” said Brood, unbelieving. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—and I have only to look at it to know that she couldn't have - hurt you—so it must have been the other way round. She's dead now, I - know, but she didn't die for years after I was born. Why was it that I - never saw her? Why was I kept up there in that damnable village———” - </p> - <p> - “Where did you get that photograph?” demanded Brood hoarsely. “Where, I - say? What interfering fool———” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't be too nasty, if I were you,” said Frederic, a note of triumph - in his voice. “Yvonne gave it to me. I made her promise to say nothing to - you about it. She———” - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne? Are you——— Impossible! She could not have had———” - </p> - <p> - “It was lying under the marble top of that old bureau in her bedroom. She - found it there when the men came to take it away to storage. It hadn't - been moved in twenty years or more.” - </p> - <p> - “In—her—bedroom?” murmured Brood, passing his hand over his - eyes. “The old bureau—marble top—good Lord! It was our - bedroom. Let me see it—give it to me this instant!” - </p> - <p> - “I can't do that. It's mine now. It's safe where it is.” - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne found it? Yvonne? And gave it to you? What damnable trick of fate - is this? But——— Ah, it may not be a portrait of your—your - mother. Some old photograph that got stuck under the———” - </p> - <p> - “No; it is my mother. Yvonne saw the resemblance at once and brought it to - me. And it may interest you to know that she advised me to treasure it all - my life, because it would always tell me how lovely and sweet my mother - was—the mother I have never seen.” - </p> - <p> - “I insist on seeing that picture,” said Brood with deadly intensity. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Frederic, folding his arms tightly across his breast. “You - didn't deserve her then and you———” - </p> - <p> - “You don't know what you are saying, boy!” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, don't I? Well, I've got just a little bit of my mother safe here over - my heart—a little faded card, that's all—and you shall not rob - me of that. I wish to God I had her here, just as she was when she had the - picture taken. Don't glare at me like that. I don't intend to give it up. - Last night I was sorry for you. I had the feeling that somehow you have - always been unhappy over something that happened in the past, and that my - mother was responsible. And yet when I took out this photograph, this tiny - bit of old cardboard—see, it is so small that it can be carried in - my waistcoat pocket—when I took it out and looked at the pure, - lovely face, I—by Heaven, I knew she was not to blame!” - </p> - <p> - “Have you finished?” asked Brood, wiping his brow. It was dripping. - </p> - <p> - “Except to repeat that I am through with you for ever. I've had all that I - can endure, and I'm through. My greatest regret is that I didn't get out - long ago. But like a fool—a weak fool—I kept on hoping that - you'd change and that there were better days ahead for me. I kept on - hoping that you'd be a real father to me. Good Lord, what a libel on the - name!” He laughed raucously. “I'm sick of calling you father. You did me - the honour downstairs of calling me 'bastard.' You had no right to call me - that; but, by Heaven, if it were not for this bit of cardboard here over - my heart, I'd laugh in your face and be happy to shout from the housetops - that I am no son of yours. But there's no such luck as that! I've only to - look at my mother's innocent, soulful face to———” - </p> - <p> - “Stop!” shouted Brood in an awful voice. His clenched hands were raised - above his head. “The time has come for me to tell you the truth about this - innocent mother of yours. Luck is with you. I am not your father. You are———” - </p> - <p> - “Wait! If you are going to tell me that my mother was not a good woman, I - want to go on record in advance of anything you may say, as being glad - that I am her son no matter who my father was. I am glad that she loved me - because I was her child, and if you are not my father, then I still have - the joy of knowing that she loved some one man well enough to———” - He broke off the bitter sentence and with nervous fingers drew a small - leather case from his waistcoat pocket. “Before you go any farther, take - one look at her face. It will make you ashamed of yourself. Can you stand - there and lie about her after looking into———” - </p> - <p> - He was holding the window curtains apart, and a stream of light fell upon - the lovely face, so small that Brood was obliged to come quite close to be - able to see it. His eyes were distended. - </p> - <p> - “It is not Matilde—it is like her, but—yes, yes; it is - Matilde! I must be losing my mind to have thought———” He - wiped his brow. “But it was startling—positively uncanny.” He spoke - as to himself, apparently forgetting that he had a listener. - </p> - <p> - “Well, can you lie about her now?” demanded Frederic. - </p> - <p> - Brood was still staring, as if fascinated, at the tiny photograph. - </p> - <p> - “But I have never seen that picture before. She never had one so small as - that. It———” - </p> - <p> - “It was made in Vienna,” interrupted Frederic, not without a strange - thrill of satisfaction in his soul, “and before you were married, I'd say. - On the back of it is written 'To my own sweetheart,' in Hungarian, Yvonne - says. There! Look at her. She was like that when you married her. How - adorable she must have been. 'To my own sweetheart'! O—ho!” - </p> - <p> - A hoarse cry of rage and pain burst from Brood's lips. The world grew red - before his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “'To my own sweetheart'!” he cried out. He sprang forward and struck the - photograph from Frederic's hand. It fell to the floor at his feet. Before - the young man could recover from his surprise, Brood's foot was upon the - bit of cardboard. “Don't raise your hand to me! Don't you dare to strike - me! Now I shall tell you who that sweetheart was!” - </p> - <p> - Half an hour later James Brood descended the stairs alone. He went - straight to the library, where he knew that he could find Yvonne. Ranjab, - standing in the hall, peered into his white, drawn face as he passed, and - started forward as if to speak to him. But Brood did not see him. He did - not lift his gaze from the floor. The Hindu went swiftly up the stairs, a - deep dread in his soul. - </p> - <p> - The shades were down. Brood stopped inside the door and looked dully about - the library. He was on the point of retiring when Yvonne spoke to him out - of the shadowy corner beyond the fireplace. - </p> - <p> - “Close the door,” she said huskily. Then she emerged slowly, almost like a - spectre, from the dark background formed by the huge mahogany bookcases - that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. “You were a long time up - there,” she went on. - </p> - <p> - “Why is it so dark in here, Yvonne?” he asked lifelessly. - </p> - <p> - “So that it would not be possible for me to see the shame in your eyes, - James.” - </p> - <p> - He leaned heavily against the long table. She came up and stood across the - table from him, and he felt that her eyes were searching his very soul. - </p> - <p> - “I have hurt him beyond all chance of recovery,” he said hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - She started violently. - </p> - <p> - “You—you struck him down? He—he is dying?” Her voice trailed - off into a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “He will be a long time in dying. It will be slow. I struck him down, not - with my hand, not with a weapon that he could parry, but with words—words! - Do you hear? I have crushed his soul with words!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you coward!” she cried, leaning over the table, her eyes blazing. “I - can understand it in you. You have no soul of your own. What have you done - to your son, James Brood?” - </p> - <p> - He drew back as if from the impact of a blow. “Coward? If I have crushed - his soul, it was done in time, Yvonne, to deprive you of the glory of - doing it.” - </p> - <p> - “What did he say to you about me?” - </p> - <p> - “You have had your fears for nothing. He did not put you in jeopardy,” he - said scornfully. - </p> - <p> - “I know. He is not a coward,” she said calmly. - </p> - <p> - “In your heart you are reviling me. You judge me as one guilty soul judges - another. Suppose that I were to confess to you that I left him up there - with all the hope, all the life blasted out of his eyes—with a wound - in his heart that will never stop bleeding—that I left him because I - was sorry for what I had done and could not stand by and look upon the - wreck I had created. Suppose———” - </p> - <p> - “I am still thinking of you as a coward. What is it to me that you are - sorry now? What have you done to that wretched, unhappy boy?” - </p> - <p> - “He will tell you soon enough. Then you will despise me even more than I - despise myself. He—he looked at me with his mother's eyes when I kept on - striking blows at his very soul. Her eyes—eyes that were always pleading - with me! But, curse them—always scoffing at me! For a moment I - faltered. There was a wave of love—yes, love, not pity, for him—as - I saw him go down before the words I hurled at him. It was as if I had - hurt the only thing in all the world that I love. Then it passed. He was - not meant for me to love. He was born for me to despise. He was born to - torture me as I have tortured him.” - </p> - <p> - “You poor fool!” she cried, her eyes glittering. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes I have doubted my own reason,” he went on, as if he had not - heard her scathing remark. “Sometimes I have felt a queer gripping of the - heart when I was harshest toward him. Sometimes, his eyes—<i>her eyes</i>—have - melted the steel that was driven into my heart long ago, his voice and the - touch of his hand have gently checked my bitterest thoughts. Are you - listening?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “You ask what I have done to him. It is nothing in comparison to what he - would have done to me. It isn't necessary to explain. You know the thing - he has had in his heart to do. I have known it from the beginning. It is - the treacherous heart of his mother that propels that boy's blood along - its craven way. She was an evil thing—as evil as God ever put life - into.” - </p> - <p> - “Go on.” - </p> - <p> - “I loved her as no woman was ever loved before—or since. I thought she - loved me; I believe she did. He—Frederic had her portrait up there - to flash in my face. She was beautiful; she was as lovely as—but no - more! I was not the man. She loved another. You may have guessed, as - others have guessed, that she betrayed me. Her lover was that boy's - father.” - </p> - <p> - Dead silence reigned in the room, save for the heavy breathing of the man. - Yvonne was as still as death itself. Her hands were clenched against her - breast. - </p> - <p> - “That was years ago,” resumed the man hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - “You—you told him this?” she cried, aghast. - </p> - <p> - “He stood before me up there and said that he hoped he might some day - discover that he was not my son.” - </p> - <p> - “You told him <i>then?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “He cursed me for having driven his mother out of my house.” - </p> - <p> - “You told him?” - </p> - <p> - “He uttered the hope that she might come back from the grave to torture me - for ever—to pay me back for what I had done to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you told him!” - </p> - <p> - “He said she must have loathed me as no man was ever loathed before. Then - I told him.” - </p> - <p> - “You told him because you knew she did <i>not</i> loathe you!” - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne! You are laughing!” - </p> - <p> - “I laugh because after he had said all these bitter things to you, and you - had paid him back by telling him that he was not your son, it was you—not - he—who was sorry!” - </p> - <p> - “I did not expect sympathy from you, but—to have you laugh in my - face! I———” - </p> - <p> - “Did you expect sympathy from him?” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “I told him in the end that as he was not my son he need feel no - compunction in trying to steal my wife away from me. I———” - </p> - <p> - “And what did he say to that?” she broke in shrilly. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing! He did not speak to me after that. Not one word!” - </p> - <p> - “Nor should I speak to you again, James Brood!” - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne—I—I love you. I———” - </p> - <p> - “And you loved Matilde—God pity your poor soul! For no more than I - have done, you drove her out of your house. You accuse me in your heart - when you vent your rage on that poor boy. Oh, I know! You suspect <i>me!</i> - And you suspected the other one. I swear to you that you have more cause - to suspect me than Matilde. She was not untrue to you. She could not have - loved anyone else but you. I know—I know! Don't come near me! Not - now! I tell you that Frederic is your son. I tell you that Matilde loved - no one but you. You drove her out. You drive Frederic out. <i>And you will - drive me out!</i>” - </p> - <p> - She stood over him like an accusing angel, her arms extended. He shrank - back, glaring. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you say these things to me? You cannot know—you have no - right to say———” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>am</i> sorry for you, James Brood,” she murmured, suddenly relaxing. - Her body swayed against the table, and then she sank limply into the chair - alongside. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne!” - </p> - <p> - “You will never forget that you struck a man who was asleep, absolutely - asleep, James Brood. That's why I am sorry for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Asleep!” he murmured, putting his hand to his eyes. “Yes, yes—he - was asleep! Yvonne, I—I have never been so near to loving him as I - am now. I—I———” - </p> - <p> - “I am going up to him. Don't try to stop me. But first let me ask you a - question. What did Frederic say when you told him his mother was was what - you claim?” - </p> - <p> - Brood lowered his head. - </p> - <p> - “He said that I was a cowardly liar.” - </p> - <p> - “And it was then that you began to feel that you loved him. Ah, I see what - it is that you need, James. You are a great, strong man, a wonderful man - in spite of all this. You have a heart—a heart that still needs - breaking before you can ever hope to be happy.” - </p> - <p> - “As if my heart hasn't already been broken,” he groaned. - </p> - <p> - “Your head has been hurt, that's all. There is a vast difference. Are you - going out?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her in dull amazement. Slowly he began to pull himself - together. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I think you should go to him. I—I gave him an hour to—to———” - </p> - <p> - “To get out?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He must go, you see. See him, if you will. I shall not oppose you. - Find out what he expects to do.” - </p> - <p> - She passed swiftly by him as he started toward the door. In the hall, - which was bright with the sunlight from the upper windows, she turned to - face him. To his astonishment her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright - with eagerness. She seemed almost radiant. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; it needs breaking, James,” she said, and went up the stairs, leaving - him standing there dumbfounded. Near the top she began to hum a blithe - tune. It came down to him distinctly—the weird little air that had - haunted him for years—Feverelli's! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>o Brood's surprise - she came half-way down the steps again, and, leaning over the - railing, spoke to him with a voice full of irony. - </p> - <p> - “Will you be good enough to call off your spy, James?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” He had started to put on his light overcoat. - </p> - <p> - “I think you know,” she said briefly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you consider me so mean, so infamous as———” he began - hotly. - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, I feel happier when I know he is out of the house. Call off - your dog, James.” - </p> - <p> - He smothered an execration and then called out harshly to Jones: - </p> - <p> - “Ask Ranjab to attend me here, Jones. He is to go out with me,” he said to - the butler a moment later. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne was still leaning over the banister, a scornful smile on her lips. - </p> - <p> - “I shall wait until you are gone. I intend to see Frederic alone,” she - said, with marked emphasis on the final word. - </p> - <p> - “As you like,” said he coldly. - </p> - <p> - She crossed the upper hall and disappeared from view down the corridor - leading to her own room. Her lips were set with decision; a wild, reckless - light filled her eyes, and the smile of scorn had given way to one of - exaltation. Her breath came fast and tremulously through quivering - nostrils as she closed her door and hurried across to the little - vine-covered balcony. - </p> - <p> - “The time has come—the time has come, thank God!” she was saying to - herself, over and over again. The French doors stuck. She was jerking - angrily at them when her maid hurried in from the bedroom, attracted by - the unusual commotion. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Que faites vous, madame?</i>” she cried anxiously. - </p> - <p> - Her mistress turned quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Listen! Go downstairs at once and tell them that I have dismissed you. At - once, do you hear?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Oui madame!</i>” cried Céleste, her eyes dancing with a sudden, - incomprehensible delight. - </p> - <p> - “You are to leave the house immediately. I dismiss you. You have been - stealing from me, do you understand?” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Oui, madame. Je comprendes parfaitement, madame!</i>” cried the maid, - actually clapping her hands. - </p> - <p> - “You will pack two steamer-trunks and get them out of the house before - five o'clock. You are going back to Paris. You are dismissed.” - </p> - <p> - The little Frenchwoman beamed. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Certainement, madame! Par le premier bateau. Je comprend</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “The first boat for Havre—do you know the hour for sailing? Consult - the morning paper, Céleste.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>En bien, madame. La Provence. Il part demain. Je———</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Go at once!” cried the mistress, waving her hands excitedly. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Vous me renvoyez!</i>” And the little maid dashed out of the room. - </p> - <p> - As she descended the back stairs an amazing change came over her. Her - sprightly face became black with sullen rage and her eyes snapped with - fury. So violent was her manner when she accosted Jones in the servants' - hall that he fell back in some alarm. She was not long in making him - understand that she had been dismissed, however, and that she would surely - poison the diabolical creature upstairs if she remained in the house - another hour. Even the cook, who had a temper of her own, was appalled by - the exhibition; other servants were struck dumb. - </p> - <p> - Jones, perspiring freely, said something about calling in an officer, and - then Céleste began to weep bitterly. All she wanted was to get out of the - house before she did something desperate to the cruel tyrant upstairs, and - she'd be eternally grateful to Jones if he'd get her trunks out of the - storeroom as soon as——— But Jones was already on his way - to give instructions to the furnace-man. - </p> - <p> - Céleste took the occasion to go into hysterics, and the entire servant - body fell to work hissing “<i>Sh—h!</i>” in an agony of apprehension - lest the turmoil should penetrate the walls and reach the ears of the - “woman upstairs.” They closed all of the doors and most of the windows, - and the upstairs maid thought it would be a good idea to put a blanket - over the girl's head. - </p> - <p> - Left alone, Yvonne turned her attention to the window across the court and - two floors above her the heavily curtained window in Brood's “retreat.” - There was no sign of life there, so she hurried to the front of the house - to wait for the departure of James Brood and his man. The two were going - down the front steps. At the bottom Brood spoke to Ranjab, and the latter, - as imperturbable as a rock, bowed low and moved off in an opposite - direction to that taken by his master. She watched until both were out of - sight. Then she rapidly mounted the stairs to the top floor. - </p> - <p> - Frederic was lying on the couch near the jade room door. She was able to - distinguish his long, dark figure after peering intently about the shadowy - interior in what seemed at first to be a vain search for him. She shrank - back, her eyes fixed in horror upon the prostrate shadow. Suddenly he - stirred and then half raised himself on one elbow to stare at the figure - in the doorway. - </p> - <p> - “Is it <i>you?</i>” he whispered hoarsely, and dropped back with a great - sigh on his lips. - </p> - <p> - Her heart leaped. The blood rushed back to her face. Quickly closing the - door, she advanced into the room, her tread as swift and as soft as a - cat's. - </p> - <p> - “He has gone out. We are quite alone,” she said, stopping to lean against - the table, suddenly faint with excitement. - </p> - <p> - He laughed, a bitter, mirthless, snarling laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Get up, Frederic. Be a man! I know what has happened. Get up! I want to - talk it over with you. We must plan. We must decide now at once—before - he returns.” The words broke from her lips with sharp, staccato-like - emphasis. - </p> - <p> - He came to a sitting posture slowly, all the while staring at her with a - dull wonder in his heavy eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Pull yourself together,” she cried hurriedly. “We cannot talk here. I am - afraid in this room. It has ears, I know. That awful Hindu is always here, - even though he may seem to be elsewhere. We will go down to my boudoir.” - </p> - <p> - He slowly shook his head and then allowed his chin to sink dejectedly into - his hands. With his elbows resting on his knees, he watched her movements - in a state of increasing interest and bewilderment. She turned abruptly to - the Buddha, whose placid, smirking countenance seemed to be alive to the - situation in all of its aspects. Standing close, her hands behind her - back, her figure very erect and theatric, she proceeded to address the - image in a voice full of mockery. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my chatterbox friend, I have pierced his armour, haven't I? He will - creep up here and ask you, his wonderful god, to tell him what to do about - it, <i>aïe?</i> His wits are tangled. He doubts his senses. And when he - comes to you, my friend, and whines his secret doubts into your excellent - and trustworthy ear, do me the kindness to keep the secret I shall now - whisper to you, for I trust you, too, you amiable fraud.” - </p> - <p> - Standing on tiptoe, she put her lips to the idol's ear and whispered. - Frederic, across the room, roused from his lethargy by the strange words - and still stranger action, rose to his feet and took several steps toward - her. - </p> - <p> - “There! Now you know everything. You know more than James Brood knows, for - you know what his charming wife is about to do next.” She drew back and - regarded the image through half-closed, smouldering eyes. “But he will - know before long—before long.” - </p> - <p> - “What are you doing, Yvonne?” demanded Frederic unsteadily. - </p> - <p> - She whirled about and came toward him, her hands still clasped behind her - back. - </p> - <p> - “Come with me,” she said, ignoring his question. - </p> - <p> - “He—he thinks I am in love with you,” said he, shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - “And are you not in love with me?” - </p> - <p> - He was startled. “Good Lord, Yvonne!” - </p> - <p> - She came quite close to him. He could feel the warmth that travelled from - her body across the short space that separated them. The intoxicating - perfume filled his nostrils; he drew a deep breath, his eyes closing - slowly as his senses prepared to succumb to the delicious spell that came - over him. When he opened them an instant later she was still facing him, - as straight and fearless as a soldier, and the light of victory was in her - dark, compelling eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” she said deliberately, “I am ready to go away with you.” - </p> - <p> - He fell back stunned beyond the power of speech. His brain was filled with - a thousand clattering noises. - </p> - <p> - “He has turned you out,” she went on rapidly. “He disowns you. Very well; - the time has come for me to exact payment of him for that and for all that - has gone before. I shall go away with you. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Impossible!” he cried, finding his tongue and drawing still farther away - from her. - </p> - <p> - “Are you not in love with me?” she whispered softly. - </p> - <p> - He put his hands to his eyes to shut out the alluring vision. - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake, Yvonne—leave me. Let me go my way. Let me———” - </p> - <p> - “He cursed your mother! He curses you! He damns you—as he damned - her. You can pay him up for everything. You owe nothing to him. He has - killed every———” - </p> - <p> - Frederic straightened up suddenly and, with a loud cry of exultation, - raised his clenched hands above his head. - </p> - <p> - “By Heaven, I will break him! I will make him pay! Do you know what he has - done to me? Listen to this: he boasts of having reared me to manhood, as - one might bring up a prize beast, that he might make me pay for the wrong - that my poor mother did a quarter of a century ago. All these years he has - had in mind this thing that he has done to-day. All my life has been spent - in preparation for the sacrifice that came an hour ago. I have suffered - all these years in ignorance of———” - </p> - <p> - “Not so loud!” she whispered, alarmed by the vehemence of his reawakened - fury. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm not afraid!” he cried savagely. “Can you imagine anything more - diabolical than the scheme he has had in mind all these years? To pay back - my mother—whom he loved and still loves—yes, by Heaven, he - still loves her—he works to this beastly end! He made her suffer the - agonies of the damned up to the day of her death by refusing her the right - to have the child that he swears is no child of his. Oh, you don't know - the story—you don't know the kind of man you have for a husband—you - don't———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes; I do know!” she cried violently, beating her breast with - clenched hands. “I <i>do</i> know! I know that he still loves the poor - girl who went out of this house with his curses ringing in her ears a - score of years ago, and who died still hearing them. And I had almost come - to the point of pitying him—I was failing—I was weakening. He - is a wonderful man. I—I was losing myself. But that is all over. - Three months ago I could have left him without a pang—yesterday I - was afraid that it would never be possible. To-day he makes it easy for - me. He has hurt you beyond all reason, not because he hates you, but - because he loved your mother.” - </p> - <p> - “But you do love him!” cried Frederic in stark wonder. “You don't care the - snap of your fingers for me. What is all this you are saying, Yvonne? You - must be mad. Think! Think what you are saying.” - </p> - <p> - “I have thought—I am always thinking. I know my own mind well - enough. It is settled: I am going away, and I am going with you.” - </p> - <p> - “You can't be in earnest!” - </p> - <p> - “I am desperately in earnest. You owe nothing to him now. He says you are - not his son. You owe nothing but hatred to him, and you should pay. You - owe vengeance for your mother's sake—for the sake of her whose face you - have come to love, who loved you to the day she died, I am sure. He will - proclaim to the world that you are not his son, he will brand you with the - mark of shame, he will drive you out of New York. You are the son of a - music-master, he shouts from the housetops! Your mother was a vile woman, - he shouts from the housetops! You cannot remain here. You <i>must</i> go. - You must take me with you. Ah, you are thinking of Lydia! Well, are you - thinking of dragging her through the mire that he will create? Are you - willing to give her the name he declares is not yours to give? Are you a - craven, whipped coward who will not strike back when the chance is offered - to give a blow that will———” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot listen to you, Yvonne!” cried Frederic, aghast. His heart was - pounding so fiercely that the blood surged to his head in great waves, - almost stunning him with its velocity. - </p> - <p> - “We go to-morrow!” she cried out in an ecstasy of triumph. She was - convinced that he would go! “La Provence!” - </p> - <p> - “Good Heaven!” he gasped, dropping suddenly into a chair and burying his - face in his shaking hands. “What will this mean to Lydia—what will she do—what - will become of her?” - </p> - <p> - A quiver of pain crossed the woman's face, her eyelids fell as if to shut - out something that shamed her in spite of all her vainglorious - protestations. Then the spirit of exaltation resumed its sway. She lifted - her eyes heavenward, and inaudible words trembled on her lips. A moment - later she stood over him, her hands extended as if in blessing. - </p> - <p> - Had he looked up at that instant he would have witnessed a Yvonne he did - not know. No longer was she the alluring, sensuous creature who had been - in his thoughts for months, but a transfigured being whose soul looked out - through gentle, pitying eyes, whose wiles no longer were employed in the - devices of which she was past-mistress, whose real nature was revealed now - for the first time since she entered the house of James Brood. - </p> - <p> - There was pain and suffering in the lovely eyes, and there was a strange - atmosphere of sanctuary attending the very conquest she had made. But - Frederic did not look up until all this had passed and the smile of - triumph was on her lips again and the glint of determination in her eyes. - He had missed the revelation that would have altered his estimate of her - for the future. - </p> - <p> - “You cannot marry Lydia now,” she said, affecting a sharpness of tone that - caused him to shrink involuntarily. “It is your duty to write her a letter - to-night, explaining all that has happened to-day. She would sacrifice - herself for you to-day, but there is—to-morrow! A thousand - to-morrows, Frederic. Don't forget them, my dear. They would be ugly, - after all, and she is too good, too fine to be dragged into———” - </p> - <p> - “You are right!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It would be the - vilest act that a man could perpetrate. Why—why, it would be proof - of what he says of me—it would stamp me for ever the dastard he—no, - no; I could never lift my head again if I were to do this utterly vile - thing to Lydia. He said to me here—not an hour ago—that he - expected me to go ahead and blight that loyal girl's life, that I would - consider it a noble means of self-justification! What do you think of - that? He——— But wait! What is this that we are proposing - to do? Give me time to think! Why—why, I can't take you away from him, - Yvonne! What am I thinking of? Have I no sense of honour? Am I———” - </p> - <p> - “You are not his son,” she said significantly. - </p> - <p> - “But that is no reason why I should stoop to a foul trick like this. Do—do - you know what you are suggesting?” He drew back from her with a look of - disgust in his eyes. “No! I'm not that vile! I——” - </p> - <p> - “Frederic, you must let me———” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to hear anything more, Yvonne. What manner of woman are you? - He is your husband, he loves you, he trusts you; oh, yes, he does! And you - would leave him like this? You would———” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! Not so loud!” she cried in great agitation. - </p> - <p> - “And let me tell you something more. Although I can never marry Lydia, by - Heaven, I shall love her to the end of my life. I will not betray that - love. To the end of time she shall know that my love for her is real and - true and———” - </p> - <p> - “Frederic, you must listen to me,” she cried, wringing her hands. “You - must hear what I have to say to you. Wait! Do not leave me!” - </p> - <p> - “What is it, Yvonne—what is it?” he cried, pausing in utter - amazement after taking a few steps toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going?” she whispered, following him with dragging steps. - “Not to <i>him?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly not! Do you think I would betray you to him?” - </p> - <p> - “Wait! Give me time to think,” she pleaded. He shook his head resolutely. - “Do not judge me too harshly. Hear what I have to say before you condemn - me. I am not the vile creature you think, Frederic. Wait! Let me think!” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her for a moment in deep perplexity and then slowly drew - near. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne, I do not believe you mean to do wrong—I do not believe it - of you. You have been carried away by some horrible———” - </p> - <p> - “Listen to me,” she broke in fiercely. “I would have sacrificed you—aye, - sacrificed you, poor boy—in order to strike James Brood the - cruellest blow that man ever sustained. I would have destroyed you in - destroying him—God forgive me! But you have shown me how terrible I - am, how utterly terrible! Love you? No! No! Not in that way. I would have - put a curse, an undeserved curse, upon your innocent head, and all for the - joy it would give me to see James Brood grovel in misery for the rest of - his life. Oh!” - </p> - <p> - She uttered a groan of despair and self-loathing so deep and full of pain - that his heart was chilled. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne!” he gasped, dumbfounded. - </p> - <p> - “Do not come near me!” she cried out, covering her face with her hands. - For a full minute she stood before him, straight and rigid as a statue, a - tragic figure he was never to forget. Suddenly she lowered her hands. To - his surprise, a smile was on her lips. - </p> - <p> - “You would never have gone away with me. I know it now. All these months I - have been counting on you for this very hour, this culminating hour—and - now I realise how little hope I have really had, even from the beginning. - You are honourable. There have been times when my influence over you was - such that you resisted only because you were loyal to yourself—not - to Lydia, not to my husband—but to yourself. I came to this house - with but one purpose in mind. I came here to take you away from the man - who has always stood as your father. I would not have become your mistress—pah! - how loathsome it sounds!—but I would have enticed you away, believing - myself to be justified. I would have struck James Brood that blow. He - would have gone to his grave believing himself to have been paid in full - by the son of the woman he had degraded, by the boy he had reared for the - slaughter, by the blood———” - </p> - <p> - “In God's name, Yvonne, what is this you are saying? What have you against - my—against him?” - </p> - <p> - “Wait! I shall come to that. I did not stop to consider all that I should - have to overcome. First, there was your soul, your honour, your integrity - to consider. I did not think of all those things. I did not stop to think - of the damnable wrong I should be doing to you. I was blind to everything - except my one great, long-enduring purpose. I could see nothing else but - triumph over James Brood. To gain my end it was necessary that I should be - his wife. I became his wife—I deliberately took that step in order - to make complete my triumph over him. I became the wife of the man I had - hated with all my soul, Frederic. So you can see how far I was willing to - go to—ah, it was a hard thing to do! But I did not shrink. I went - into it without faltering, without a single thought of the cost to myself. - He was to pay for all that, too, in the end. Look into my eyes, Frederic. - I want to ask you a question. Will you go away with me? Will you take me?” - </p> - <p> - He returned her look steadily. - </p> - <p> - “No!” - </p> - <p> - “That is all I want to hear you say. It means the end. I have done all - that could be done, and I have failed. Thank God, I have failed!” She came - swiftly to him and, before he was aware of her intention, clutched his - hand and pressed it to her lips. He was shocked to find that a sudden gush - of tears was wetting his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Yvonne!” he cried miserably. - </p> - <p> - She was sobbing convulsively. He looked down upon her dark, bowed head and - again felt the mastering desire to crush her slender, beautiful body in - his arms. The spell of her was upon him again, but now he realised that - the appeal was to his spirit and not to his flesh—as it had been all - along, he was beginning to suspect. - </p> - <p> - “Don't pity me,” she choked out. “This will pass, as everything else has - passed. I am proud of you now, Frederic. You are splendid. Not many men - could have resisted in this hour of despair. You have been cast off, - despised, degraded, humiliated. You were offered the means to retaliate. - You———” - </p> - <p> - “And I was tempted!” he cried bitterly. “For the moment I was———” - </p> - <p> - “And now what is to become of <i>me?</i>” she wailed. - </p> - <p> - His heart grew cold. - </p> - <p> - “You—you will leave him? You will go back to Paris? Yvonne, it will - be a blow to him. He has had one fearful slash in the back. This will - break him.” - </p> - <p> - “At least, I may have that consolation,” she cried, straightening up in an - effort to revive her waning purpose. “Yes, I shall go. I cannot stay here - now. I—” She paused and shuddered. - </p> - <p> - “What, in Heaven's name, have you against my—against him? What does - it all mean? How you must have hated him to———” - </p> - <p> - “Hated him? Oh, how feeble the word is! Hate! There should be a word that - strikes more terror to the soul than that one. But wait! You shall know - everything. You shall have the story from the beginning. There is much to - tell, and there will be consolation—aye, triumph for you in the - story I shall tell. First, let me say this to you: when I came here I did - not know that there was a Lydia Desmond. I would have hurt that poor girl; - but it would not have been a lasting pain. In my plans, after I came to - know her, there grew a beautiful alternative through which she should know - great happiness. Oh, I have planned well and carefully, but I was - ruthless. I would have crushed her with him rather than to have failed. - But it is all a dream that has passed, and I am awake. - </p> - <p> - “It was the most cruel, but the most magnificent dream—ah, but I - dare not think of it. As I stand here before you now, Frederic, I am shorn - of all my power. I could not strike him as I might have done a month ago. - Even as I was cursing him but a moment ago I realised that I could not - have gone on with the game. Even as I begged you to take your revenge, I - knew that it was not myself who urged, but the thing that was having its - death-struggle within me.” - </p> - <p> - “Go on. Tell me. Why do you stop?” - </p> - <p> - She was glancing fearfully toward the Hindu's door. “There is one man in - this house who knows. He reads my every thought. He does not know all, but - he knows <i>me</i>. He has known from the beginning that I was not to be - trusted. That man is never out of my thoughts. I fear him, Frederic—I - fear him as I fear death. If he had not been here I—I believe I - should have dared anything. I <i>could</i> have taken you away with me - months ago. But he worked his spell and I was afraid. I faltered. He knew - that I was afraid, for he spoke to me one day of the beautiful serpents in - his land that were cowards in spite of the death they could deal with one - flash of their fangs. You were intoxicated. I <i>am</i> a thing of beauty. - I can charm as the———” - </p> - <p> - “God knows that is true,” he said hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - “But enough of that! I am stricken with my own poison. Go to the door! See - if he is there. I fear———” - </p> - <p> - “No one is near,” said he, after striding swiftly to both doors, listening - at one and peering out through the other. - </p> - <p> - “You will have to go away, Frederic. I shall have to go. But we shall not - go together. In my room I have kept hidden the sum of ten thousand - dollars, waiting for the day to come when I should use it to complete the - game I have played. I knew that you would have no money of your own. I was - prepared even for that. Look again! See if anyone is there? I feel—I - feel that someone is near us. Look, I say!” - </p> - <p> - He obeyed. - </p> - <p> - “See! There is no one near.” He held open the door to the hall. “You must - speak quickly. I am to leave this house in an hour. I was given the - hour.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I can see by your face that you hate him! It is well. That is - something. It is but little, I know, after all I have wished for—but - it is something for me to treasure—something for me to take back - with me to the one sacred little spot in this beastly world of men and - women.” - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne, you are the most incomprehensible———” - </p> - <p> - “Am I not beautiful, Frederic? Tell me!” She came quite close to him. - </p> - <p> - “You are the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said abjectly. - </p> - <p> - “And I have wasted all my beauty—I have lent it to unloveliness, and - it has not been destroyed! It is still with me, is it not? I have not lost - it in———” - </p> - <p> - “You are beautiful beyond words—beyond anything I have ever - imagined,” said he, suddenly passing his hand over his brow. - </p> - <p> - “You would have loved me if it had not been for Lydia?” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't have helped myself. I—I fear I—faltered in my—are - you still trying to tempt me? Are you still asking me to go away with - you?” - </p> - <p> - A hoarse cry came from the doorway behind them—a cry of pain and - anger that struck terror to their souls. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>ransfixed, they - watched James Brood take two or three steps into the room. At his back was - the swarthy Hindu, his eyes gleaming like coals of fire in the shadowy - light. - </p> - <p> - “James!” fell tremulously from the lips of Yvonne. She swayed toward him - as Ranjab grasped his arm from behind. - </p> - <p> - Frederic saw the flash of something bright as it passed from the brown - hand to the white one. He did not at once comprehend. - </p> - <p> - “It happened once,” came hoarsely from the throat of James Brood. “It - shall not happen again. Thank you, Ranjab.” - </p> - <p> - Then Frederic knew. The Hindu had slipped a revolver into his master's - hand! - </p> - <p> - “It gives me great pleasure, Yvonne, to relieve you of that worthless - thing you call your life.” - </p> - <p> - As he raised his arm Frederic sprang forward with a shout of horror. - Scarcely realising what he did, he hurled Yvonne violently to one side. - </p> - <p> - It was all over in the twinkling of an eye. There was a flash, the crash - of an explosion, a puff of smoke, and the smell of burned powder. - </p> - <p> - Frederic stood perfectly still for an instant, facing the soft cloud that - rose from the pistol-barrel, an expression of vague amazement in his - face. Then his hand went uncertainly to his breast. - </p> - <p> - Already James Brood had seen the red blotch that spread with incredible - swiftness—blood-red against the snowy white of the broad shirt - bosom. Glaring with wide-open eyes at the horrid spot, he stood - there with the pistol still levelled. - </p> - <p> - “Good God, father, you've—why, you've———” - struggled from Frederic's writhing lips, and then his knees sagged; an - instant later they gave way with a rush and he dropped heavily to the - floor. - </p> - <p> - There was not a sound in the room. Suddenly Brood made a movement, quick - and spasmodic. At the same instant Ranjab flung himself forward and - grasped his master's arm. He had turned the revolver upon himself! The - muzzle was almost at his temple when the Hindu seized his hand in a grip - of iron. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sahib! Sahib!</i>” he hissed. “What would you do?” Wrenching the - weapon from the stiff, unresisting fingers, he hurled it across the room. - </p> - <p> - Brood groaned. His tall body swerved forward, but his legs refused to - carry him. The Hindu caught him as he was sinking limply to his knees. - With a tremendous effort of the will, Brood succeeded in conquering the - black unconsciousness that was assailing him. He straightened up to his - full height and with trembling fingers pointed to the prostrate figure on - the floor. - </p> - <p> - “The pistol, Ranjab! Where is it? Give it to me! Man, can I live after <i>that?</i> - I have killed my son—my own son! Quick, man!” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sahib!</i>” cried the Hindu, wringing his hands. “I cannot! I cannot!” - </p> - <p> - “I command you! The pistol!” - </p> - <p> - Without a word the Hindu, fatalist, slave, pagan that he was, turned to do - his master's bidding. It was not for him to say nay, it was not for him to - oppose the will of the master, but to obey. - </p> - <p> - All this time Yvonne was crouching against the table, her horrified gaze - upon the great red blotch that grew to terrible proportions as she - watched. She had not moved, she had not breathed, she had not taken her - hands from her ears where she had placed them at the sound of the - explosion. - </p> - <p> - “Blood! It is blood!” she moaned, and for the first time since the shot - was fired her husband glanced at the one for whom the bullet had - originally been intended. - </p> - <p> - An expression of incredulity leaped into his face, as if he could not - believe his senses. She was alive and unhurt! His bullet had not touched - her. His brain fumbled for the explanation of this miracle. He had not - aimed at Frederic, he had not fired at him, and yet he lay stretched out - there before him, bleeding, while the one he had meant to destroy was - living—incomprehensively living! How had it happened? What agency - had swept his deadly bullet out of its path to find lodgment in the wrong - heart? There was no blood gushing from her breast; he could not understand - it. - </p> - <p> - She did not take her eyes from the great red blot; she was fascinated by - the horror that spread farther and farther across the gleaming white. She - was alone, utterly alone with the most dreadful thing she had ever known; - alone with that appalling thing called death. A life was leaving its warm, - beautiful home as she watched, leaving in a path of red, creeping away - across a stretch of white! - </p> - <p> - “Blood!” she wailed again, a long, shuddering word that came not from her - lips but from the very depths of her terror-stricken soul. - </p> - <p> - Slowly Brood's mind worked out of the maze. His shot had gone straight, - but Frederic himself had leaped into its path to save this miserable - creature who would have damned his soul if life had been spared to him. - </p> - <p> - Ranjab crawled to his side, his eyes covered with one arm, the other - extended. Blindly the master felt for the pistol, not once removing his - eyes from the pallid figure against the table. His fingers closed upon the - weapon. Then the Hindu looked up, warned by the strange voice that spoke - to him from the mind of his master. He saw the arm slowly extend itself - with a sinister hand directed straight at the figure of the woman. This - time Brood was making sure of his aim, so sure that the lithe Hindu had - time to spring to his feet weapon. - </p> - <p> - “Master! Master!” he cried out. - </p> - <p> - Brood turned to look at his man in sheer bewilderment. What could all this - mean? What was the matter with the fellow? - </p> - <p> - “Down, Ranjab!” he commanded in a low, cautious tone, as he would have - used in speaking to a dog when the game was run to earth. - </p> - <p> - “There is but one bullet left, <i>sahib!</i>” cried the man. - </p> - <p> - “Only one is required,” said the master hazily. - </p> - <p> - “You have killed your son. This bullet is for yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes! But—but see! She lives! She———” - </p> - <p> - The Hindu struck his own breast significantly. - </p> - <p> - “Thy faithful servant remains, <i>sahib</i>. Die, if thou wilt, but leave - her to Ranjab. There is but one bullet left. It is for you. You must not - be here to witness the death Ranjab, thy servant, shall inflict upon her. - Shoot thyself now, if so be it, but spare thyself the sight of———” - </p> - <p> - He did not finish the sentence, but his strong, bony fingers went through - the motion that told a more horrible story than words could have - expressed. There was no mistaking his meaning. He had elected himself her - executioner. - </p> - <p> - A ghastly look of comprehension flitted across Brood's face. For a second - his mind slipped from one dread to another more appalling. He knew this - man of his. He remembered the story of another killing in the hills of - India. His gaze went from the brown fanatic's face to the white, tender, - lovely throat of the woman, and a hoarse gasp broke from his lips. - </p> - <p> - “No! No! Not that!” he cried, and as the words rang out Yvonne removed her - horrified gaze from the blot of red and fixed it upon the face of her husband. She straightened up - slowly and her arms fell limply to her sides. - </p> - <p> - “It was meant for me. Shoot, James!” she said, almost in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - The Hindu's grasp tightened at the convulsive movement of his master's - hand. His fingers were like steel bands. - </p> - <p> - “Shoot!” she repeated, raising her voice. “Save yourself, for if he is - dead I shall kill you with my own hands! This is your chance—shoot!” - </p> - <p> - Brood's fingers relaxed their grip on the revolver. A fierce, wild hope - took all the strength out of his body; he grew faint with it. - </p> - <p> - “He—he can't be dead! I have not killed him. He shall not die, he - shall not!” - </p> - <p> - Flinging the Hindu aside, he threw himself down beside the body on the - floor. The revolver, as it dropped, was caught in the nimble hand of the - Hindu, who took two long, swift strides toward the woman who now faced him - instead of her husband. There was a great light in his eyes as he stood - over her, and she saw death staring upon her. - </p> - <p> - But she did not quail. She was past all that. She looked straight into his - eyes for an instant and then, as if putting him out of her thoughts - entirely, turned slowly toward the two men on the floor. The man - half-raised the pistol, but something stayed his hand, something stronger - than any mere physical opposition could have done. - </p> - <p> - He glared at the half-averted face, confounded by the most extraordinary - impression that ever had entered his incomprehensible brain. Something - strange and wonderful was transpiring before his very eyes, something so - marvellous that even he, mysterious seer of the Ganges, was stunned into - complete amazement and unbelief. - </p> - <p> - That strange, uncanny intelligence of his, born of a thousand mysteries, - was being tried beyond all previous exactions. It was as if he now saw - this woman for the first time, as if he had never looked upon her face - before. A mist appeared to envelop her, and through this veil he saw a - face that was new to him, the face of Yvonne, and yet <i>not</i> hers at - all. Absolute wonder crept into his eyes. - </p> - <p> - As if impelled by the power of his gaze, she faced him once more. For what - seemed hours to him, but in reality only seconds, his searching eyes - looked deep into hers. He saw at last the soul of this woman, and it was - not the soul he had known as hers up to that tremendous moment. And he - came to know that she was no longer afraid of him or his powers. His hand - was lowered, his eyes fell, and his lips moved; but there were no words, - for he addressed a spirit. All the venom, all the hatred fled from his - soul. His knee bent in sudden submission, and his eyes were raised to hers - once more, but now in their sombre depths was the fidelity of the dog. - </p> - <p> - “Go at once,” she said, and her voice was as clear as a bell. - </p> - <p> - He shot a swift glance at the prostrate Frederic and straightened his tall - figure, as would a soldier under orders. His understanding gaze sought - hers again. There was another command in her eyes. He placed the weapon on - the table. It had been a distinct command to him. - </p> - <p> - “One of us will use it,” she said monotonously. “Go!” - </p> - <p> - With incredible swiftness he was gone. The curtains barely moved as he - passed between them, and the heavy door made no sound in opening and - closing. There was no one in the hall. The sound of the shot had not gone - beyond the thick walls of that proscribed room on the top floor. Somewhere - at the rear of the house an indistinct voice was uttering a jumbled stream - of French. - </p> - <p> - Many minutes passed. There was not a sound, not a movement in the room. - Brood, kneeling beside the outstretched figure of his unintended victim, - was staring at the graying face with wide, unblinking eyes. He looked at - last upon features that he had searched for in vain through all the sullen - years. There was blood on his hands and on his cheek, for he had listened - at first for the beat of the heart. Afterward his agonised gaze had gone - to the bloodless face. There it was arrested. - </p> - <p> - A dumb wonder possessed his soul. He knelt there petrified by the shock of - discovery. In the dim light he no longer saw the features of Matilde, but - his own, and his heart was still. In that revealing moment he realised - that he had never seen anything in Frederic's countenance save the dark, - never-to-be-forgotten eyes, and they were his Matilde's. - Now those eyes were closed. He could not see them, and the blindness was - struck from his own. - </p> - <p> - He had always looked into the boy's eyes, he had never been able to seek - farther than those haunting, inquiring eyes, but now he saw the lean, - strong jaw and the firm chin, the straight nose and the broad forehead, - and none of these was Matilde's. These were the features of a man, and of - but one man. He was seeing himself as he was when he looked into his - mirror at twenty-one. - </p> - <p> - All these years he had been blind; all these years he had gone on cursing - his own image. In that overpowering thought came the realisation that it - was too late for him to atone. His mind slowly struggled out of the - stupefied bondage of years. He was looking at his own face. Dead, he would - look like that! Matilde was gone for ever, the eyes were closed, but he - was there; James Brood was still there, turning grayer and grayer of face - all the time. - </p> - <p> - All the pent-up rage of years rushed suddenly to his lips and an - awful curse issued, but it was delivered against himself. He started to - rise to his feet, his mind bent on the one way to end the anguish that was - too great to bear. The revolver! - </p> - <p> - It had been cruel, it should be kind. His heart leaped. He had a few - seconds to live, not longer than it would take to find the weapon and - place it against his breast—just so long and no longer would he be - compelled to live. - </p> - <p> - He had forgotten the woman. She was standing just beyond the body that - stretched itself between them. Her hands were clasped against her breast - and her eyes were lifted heavenward. She had not moved throughout that age - of oblivion. - </p> - <p> - He saw her and suddenly became rigid. Slowly he sank back, his eyes - distended, his jaw dropping. He put out a hand and saved himself from - falling, but his eyes did not leave the face of the woman who prayed, - whose whole being was the material representation of prayer. But it was - not Yvonne, his wife, that he saw standing there. It was another Matilde! - </p> - <p> - A hoarse, inarticulate sound came from his gaping mouth, and then issued - the words that his mind had created unknown to him while he knelt, but now - were uttered in a purely physical release from the throat that had held - them back through a period of utter unconsciousness. He never knew that he - spoke them; they were not the words that his conscious mind was now - framing for deliverance. He said what he had already started to say when - his soul was full of hatred for Yvonne. - </p> - <p> - “You foul, cringing———” and then came the new - cry—“Matilde, Matilde! Forgive! Forgive!” - </p> - <p> - Slowly her eyes were lowered until they fell full upon his stricken face. - </p> - <p> - “Am I going mad?” he whispered hoarsely. As he stared the delicate, wan - face of Matilde began to fade and he again saw the brilliant, undimmed - features of Yvonne. “But it <i>was</i> Matilde! What trick of———” - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet and advanced upon her, stepping across the body of - his son in his reckless haste. For many seconds they stood with their - faces close together, he staring wildly, she with a dull look of agony in - her eyes, but unflinching. What he saw caused an icy chill to sweep - through his tense body and a sickness to enter his soul. He shrank back. - </p> - <p> - “Who—who are you?” he cried out in sudden terror. He felt the - presence of Matilde. He could have stretched out his hand and touched her, - so real, so vivid was the belief that she was actually there before him. - “Matilde was here—I saw her, I saw her. And—and now it is you! - She is still here. I can feel her hand touching mine—I can feel—no, - no! It is gone—it—has passed. She has left me again. I—I———” - </p> - <p> - The cold, lifeless voice of Yvonne was speaking to him, huskier than ever - before. - </p> - <p> - “Matilde <i>has</i> been here. She has always been with her son. She is - always near you, James Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “What—are—you—saying?” he gasped. - </p> - <p> - She turned wearily away and pointed to the weapon on the table. - </p> - <p> - “Who is to use it—you or I?” - </p> - <p> - He opened his mouth, but uttered no sound. His power of speech was gone. - </p> - <p> - She went on in a deadly monotone. - </p> - <p> - “You intended the bullet for me. It is not too late. Kill me, if you will. - I give you the first chance—take it, for if you do not I shall take - mine.” - </p> - <p> - “I—I cannot kill you, I cannot kill the woman who stood where you - are standing a moment ago. Matilde was there! She was alive; do you hear - me? Alive and—ah!” - </p> - <p> - The exclamation fell from his lips as she suddenly leaned forward, her - intense gaze fixed on Frederic's face. - </p> - <p> - “See! Ah, see! I prayed, and I have been answered. See!” - </p> - <p> - He turned. Frederic's eyes were open. He was looking up at them with a - piteous appeal, an appeal for help, for life, for consciousness. - </p> - <p> - “He is not dead! Frederic, Frederic, my son——” Brood dropped - to his knees and frantically clutched at the hand that lay stretched - beside the limp figure. The pain-stricken eyes closed slowly. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne knelt beside Brood. He saw a slim, white hand go out and touch the - pallid brow. - </p> - <p> - “I shall save your soul, James Brood,” a voice was saying, but it seemed - far away. “He shall not die. Your poor, wretched soul may rest secure. I - shall keep death away from him. You shall not have to pay for this; no, - not for this. The bullet was meant for me. I owe my life to him, you shall - owe his to me. But you have yet to pay a greater debt than this can ever - become. He is your son. You owe another for his life, and you will never - be out of her debt, not even in hell, James Brood!” - </p> - <p> - Slowly Frederic's eyes opened again. They wavered from one face to the - other and there was in them the unsolvable mystery of divination. As the - lids drooped once more, Brood's manner underwent a tremendous change. The - stupefaction of horror and doubt fell away in a flash and he was again the - clear-headed, indomitable man of action. The blood rushed back into - his veins, his eyes flashed with the returning fire of hope, his voice was - steady, sharp, commanding. - </p> - <p> - “The doctor!” he cried in Yvonne's ear, as his strong fingers went out to - tear open the shirt-bosom. “Be quick! Send for Hodder; we must save him.” - She did not move. He whirled upon her fiercely. “Do as I tell you! Are you - so——” - </p> - <p> - “Dr Hodder is on the way now,” she said dully. - </p> - <p> - His hands ceased their operations as if checked by a sudden paralysis. - </p> - <p> - “On the way here?” he cried incredulously. “Why———” - </p> - <p> - “He is coming,” she said fiercely. “I sent for him. Don't stop now, be - quick! You know what to do. Stanch the flow of blood. Do something, man! - You have seen men with mortal wounds, and this man <i>must</i> be saved!” - </p> - <p> - He worked swiftly, deftly, for he did know what to do. He had worked over - men before with wounds in their breasts, and he had seen them through the - shadow of death. But he could not help thinking, as he now worked, that he - was never known to miss a shilling at thirty paces. - </p> - <p> - She was speaking. Her voice was low, with a persistent note of accusation - in it. - </p> - <p> - “It was an accident, do you understand? You did not shoot to kill him. The - world shall never know the truth, unless he dies, and that is not to - happen. You are safe. The law cannot touch you, for I shall never speak. - This is between you and me. Do you understand?” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at her set, rigid face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It was an accident. And this is between you and me. We shall settle - it later on. Now I see you as you are—as Yvonne. I—wonder———” - His hand shook with a sudden spasm of indecision. He had again caught that - baffling look in her dark eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Attend!” she cried, and he bent to the task again. “He is not going to - die. It would be too cruel if he were to die now and miss all the joy of - victory over you, his lifelong foe. He———” - </p> - <p> - The door opened behind them and they looked up to see the breathless - Hindu. He came straight to the woman. - </p> - <p> - “He comes. Ranjab has obey. I have told him that the revolver was - discharge accidentally, by myself, by the unhappy son of a dog, I. It is - well. Ranjab is but a dog. He shall die to-day and his lips be - sealed for ever. Have no fear. The dead shall be silent.” His voice - trailed off into a whisper, for his eyes were looking into hers. “No,” he - whispered, after a moment, “no; the dead are not silent. One who is dead - has spoken to Ranjab.” - </p> - <p> - “Hush!” said the woman. Brood's hands were shaking again, shaking and - uncertain. “The doctor? He comes?” - </p> - <p> - “Even now,” said the Hindu, turning toward the door. - </p> - <p> - Dr Hodder came blinking into the room. A gaping assistant from his office - across the street followed close behind, carrying a box of instruments. - </p> - <p> - “Turn up the lights,” said the surgeon crisply. It seemed hours before the - soft glow was at its full and the room bathed in its mellow light. All - this time not a word was uttered. “Ah!” exclaimed Dr Hodder at last. “Now - we'll see.” - </p> - <p> - He was kneeling beside Frederic an instant later. - </p> - <p> - “Bad!” he said after a single glance. “Wiley, get busy now. Clear that - table, Ranjab. Water, quick, Wiley. Lively, Ranjab. Shove 'em off, don't - waste time like that. Ah, now lend a hand, both of you. Easy! So!” Three - strong, nerveless pairs of hands raised the inert figure. - </p> - <p> - “Hello! What's this?” The incomprehensible Hindu in his ruthless clearing - of the table had left the revolver lying where Yvonne had placed it. “Good - Lord, take it away! It's done enough damage already.” It was Wiley, the - assistant, who picked it up gingerly and laid it on a chair near by. “Now, - where's the butler? Send for an ambulance, and—you, Wiley, call up - the hospital and say———” - </p> - <p> - “No!” came in Yvonne's husky, imperative voice. “No, not the hospital. He - is not to be taken away.” - </p> - <p> - “But, madam, you———” - </p> - <p> - “I insist! It is not to be thought of, Dr Hodder. He must remain in this - house. I will get his room ready for him. He is—to—stay—here!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we'll see,” said the surprised surgeon, and forthwith put her out - of his mind. - </p> - <p> - James Brood was standing stock-still and rigid in the centre of the - room. He had not moved an inch from the position he had taken when the - doctor pushed him aside in order to clear the way to the table. Yvonne - came straight to him. The matter of half a yard separated them as she - stopped and spoke to him, her voice so low that the bustling doctor could - not have distinguished a word. - </p> - <p> - “You owe it to Frederic to allow Ranjab's story to stand. There is no one - to dispute it. I command you to protect the good name of your son. That - weapon was accidentally discharged by your servant, and you will have to - swear to it, James Brood, if called upon to do so, for I shall swear to - it, and Ranjab, too.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall conceal nothing,” he groaned. “Do you think I am a craven coward - as well as a———” - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, you will do as I command. He is going to live. That is why - I demand it of you. If he were to die—well, even then you would not - be permitted to speak. I shall stand here beside you, James Brood, and if - you utter one word to contradict Ranjab's story I shall shoot you down. - Can you not see how desperately in earnest I am?” She reached over and - caught up the revolver from the chair as she was speaking. - </p> - <p> - For a full minute they looked into each other's eyes, and he—the - strong, invulnerable Brood—was the first to give way. The steely - glitter faded before the swift rush of a new feeling that swept over him—an - extraordinary feeling of tenderness toward this woman who fought him with - something more than her own cause at stake. - </p> - <p> - “I understand. You are right. If he gets well, this beastly thing must - never be known. We will leave it to him. If he chooses to tell the truth, - then———” - </p> - <p> - “I have your promise—<i>now?</i>” she demanded intensely. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. Now go!” Involuntarily he straightened his tall figure and pointed - toward the door. - </p> - <p> - “He is not to be removed from this house,” she insisted. - </p> - <p> - “Ten minutes ago you were suggesting a different———” he - began sneeringly. - </p> - <p> - “The whole world has changed since then, James Brood,” she said, and her - shoulders drooped. Almost instantly she recovered her poise. “I have a - great deal to say to you later on.” - </p> - <p> - “Not a great deal,” he said meaningly. - </p> - <p> - He saw her flinch and was conscious of a curious pang, a poignant yet - indefinable pang of remorse. - </p> - <p> - She went swiftly from the room. He looked for the revolver. It was gone. - Somehow he found himself wondering if she had taken it away with her in - the fear that he would turn it against himself in case—— - </p> - <p> - “No powder stains,” he heard Hodder saying to his assistant. “Not a sign - of 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right,” said the assistant, shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - “Couldn't have been—no, of course not,” went on the first speaker in - a matter-of-fact tone. - </p> - <p> - “Doesn't look that way,” agreed the assistant. - </p> - <p> - “Fired from some little distance, I'd say.” - </p> - <p> - “Fifteen or twenty feet, perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - It suddenly dawned upon Brood that they were talking of suicide. - </p> - <p> - “Good Heaven, Hodder, it—it wasn't <i>that!</i>” he cried hoarsely. - “What right have you to doubt my word? I tell you I———” - </p> - <p> - “Your word, Jim? This is the first word you've spoken since I came into - the room.” - </p> - <p> - “Is—is it a mortal wound?” broke from the other's lips. - </p> - <p> - “Can't tell. First aid now, that's the point. We'll get him downstairs in - a few minutes. More light. I can't see a thing in this—hello! What's - this? A photograph? Fell out of his pocket when I—oh, I see! Your - wife. Sorry I got blood on it.” He laid the small bit of pasteboard on the - table. “Wiley! See if you can get a mattress. We'll move him at once. - Lively, my lad. He's alive, all right, Jim. Do our best. Looks bad. Poor - kid. He's not had a very happy life of it, I'm afraid—I beg pardon!” - </p> - <p> - In considerable embarrassment he brought his comments to an end and bent - lower to examine the small black hole in the left breast of his patient. - </p> - <p> - Frederic's lips moved. The doctor's ear caught the strangled whisper that - issued. - </p> - <p> - “Curious,” he remarked, turning to Brood with something like awe in his - eyes. “I'm sure he said 'Mother.' But he never knew his mother, did he?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ours afterward - Brood sat alone in the room where the tragedy occurred. Much had - transpired in the interim to make those hours seem like separate and - distinct years to him, each hour an epoch in which a vital and memorable - incident had been added to his already overfull measure of experience. - </p> - <p> - He had refused to see the newspaper men who came. Dr Hodder wisely had - protested against secrecy. - </p> - <p> - “Murder will out,” he had said fretfully, little realising how closely the - trite old saying applied to the situation. He had accepted the statements - of Yvonne and Ranjab as to the accidental discharge of the weapon, but for - some reason had refrained from asking Brood a single question, although he - knew him to be a witness to the shooting. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne saw the reporters and, later on, an inspector of police. Ranjab - told his unhappy story. He had taken the weapon from a hook on the wall - for the purpose of cleaning it. It had been hanging there for years, and - all the time there had been a single cartridge left in the cylinder - unknown to anyone. He had started to remove the cylinder as he left the - room. - </p> - <p> - All these years the hammer had been raised; death had been hanging over - them all the time that the pistol occupied its insecure position on the - wall. Somehow, he could not tell how, the hammer fell as he tugged at the - cylinder. No one could have known that the revolver was loaded. That was - all that he could say, except to declare that if his master's son died he - would end his own miserable, valueless life. - </p> - <p> - His story was supported by the declarations of Mrs Brood, who, while - completely exonerating her husband's servant, had but little to say in - explanation of the affair. She kept her wits about her. Most people would - have made the mistake of saying too much. She professed to know nothing - except that they were discussing young Mr Brood's contemplated trip abroad - and that her husband had given orders to his servants to pack a revolver - in his son's travelling-bag. - </p> - <p> - She had paid but little attention to the Hindu's movements. All she could - say was that it was an accident—a horrible, blighting accident. For - the present it would not be possible for anyone to see the heart-broken - father. Doubtless later on he would be in the mood to discuss the dreadful - catastrophe, but not now. He was crushed with the horror of the thing that - had happened. And so she explained. - </p> - <p> - The house was in a state of subdued excitement. Servants spoke in whispers - and tiptoed through the halls. Nurses and other doctors came. Two old men, - shaking as with palsy, roamed about the place, intent only on worming - their way into the presence of their friend and supporter to offer - consolation and encouragement to him in his hour of tribulation. They - shuddered as they looked into each other's faces, and they shook their - heads without speaking, for their minds were filled with doubt. They did - not question the truth of the story as told, but they had their own - opinions. - </p> - <p> - In support of the theory that they did not believe there was anything - accidental in the shooting of Frederic it is only necessary to speak of - their extraordinary attitude toward Ranjab. They shook hands with him and - told him that Allah would reward him. Later on, after they had had time to - think it all out for themselves, being somewhat slow of comprehension, - they sought out James Brood and offered to accept all the blame for having - loaded the revolver without consulting him, their object having been to - destroy a cat that infested the alley hard by. They felt that it was - absolutely necessary to account for the presence of the unexploded - cartridge. - </p> - <p> - “As a matter of fact, Jim, old man,” insisted Mr Riggs, “I am entirely to - blame for the whole business. I ought to have had more sense than to leave - a shell in———” - </p> - <p> - “You had nothing to do with it,” said Mr Dawes fiercely. “It was I who - loaded the devilish thing, and I'm going to confess to the police. To be - perfectly honest about it, I sort of recollect cocking it before I hung it - up on the nail. I sort of recollect it, I say, and that's more than you - can do. No, sir, Jim; I'm the one to blame. I ought to be shot for my - carelessness. It was———” - </p> - <p> - “There's no sense in your lying at a time like this,” said Mr Riggs - caustically, glaring at his lifelong friend. “I suppose it's because he - can't help it, Jim. Lying has got to be such a habit with him that———” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” interrupted Mr Dawes vigorously, “to show you that I am not lying, - I intend to give myself up to the police and take the full penalty for - criminal and contributory negligence. I suppose you'll still say I'm lying - after they've sent me to jail for a couple of years for———” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. “And I shall have you - arrested for perjury if you try any of your tricks on me. I loaded it, I - cocked sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. - </p> - <p> - “And I suppose you fired it off!” exclaimed Mr Dawes savagely. - </p> - <p> - Mr Riggs took a long breath. “Yes, sir, you scoundrel, I am ready to swear - that I <i>did</i> fire it off!” They glared at each other with such - ferocity that Brood, coming between them, laid his hands on their - shoulders, shaking his head as he spoke to them gently. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, old pals. I understand what it is you are trying to do. It's - no use. I fired the shot. It isn't necessary to say anything more to you, - I'm sure, except that, as God is my witness, I did not intend the bullet - for Frederic. It was an accident in that respect. Thank you for what you - would do. It isn't necessary, old pals. The story that Ranjab tells must - stand for the time being. Later on—well, I may <i>write</i> my own - story and give it to the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Write it?” said Mr Dawes, and Brood nodded his head slowly, - significantly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Jim, you—you mustn't do that!” groaned Mr Dawes, appalled. “You - ain't such a coward as to do that!” - </p> - <p> - “There is one bullet left in that revolver. Ranjab advised me to save it—for - myself. He's a thoughtful fellow,” said Brood. - </p> - <p> - “Jim,” said Mr Riggs, squaring himself, “it's too bad that you didn't hit - what you shot at.” - </p> - <p> - Mr Dawes turned on him in a flash. “None o' that, Joe,” he said, and this - time he was very much in earnest. “She's all right. You'll all find out - she's all right. I tell you a woman can't nurse a feller back from the - edge of the grave, yes, from the very bottom of it almost, and not betray - her true nature to that same feller in more———” - </p> - <p> - “Jim,” interrupted Mr Riggs, ignoring his comrade's defence, “I see she's - going to nurse Freddy. Well, sir, if I was you, I'd———” - </p> - <p> - Brood stopped him with an impatient gesture. - </p> - <p> - “I must ask you not to discuss Mrs Brood.” - </p> - <p> - “I was just going to say, Jim, that if I was you I'd thank the Lord that - she's going to do it,” substituted Mr Riggs somewhat hastily. “She's a - wonderful nurse. She told me a bit ago that she was going to save his life - in spite of the doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “What does Dr Hodder say?” demanded Brood, pausing in his restless pacing - of the floor. - </p> - <p> - “He says the poor boy is as good as dead,” said Mr Riggs, - </p> - <p> - “Ain't got a chance in a million,” said Mr Dawes. - </p> - <p> - They were surprised to see Brood wince. He hadn't been so thin-skinned - in the olden days. His nerve was going back on him, that's what it was; - poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffened his back and taken it - like a man. It did not occur to them that they might have broken the news - to him with tact and consideration. - </p> - <p> - “But you can depend on us, Jim, to pull him through,” said Mr Riggs - quickly. “Remember how we saved you back there in Calcutta when all the - fool doctors said you hadn't a chance? Well, sir, we're still———” - </p> - <p> - “If any feller can get well with a bullet through his——” began - Mr Dawes encouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his - hands over his eyes and sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on his - lips. - </p> - <p> - “I guess we'd better go,” whispered Mr Riggs, after a moment of - indecision, and then, inspired by a certain fear for his friend, struck - the gong resoundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room, - encountering Ranjab just outside the door. - </p> - <p> - “You must stick to it, Ranjab,” said Mr Riggs sternly. - </p> - <p> - “With your dying breath,” added Mr Dawes, and the Hindu, understanding, - gravely nodded his head. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” said Brood, long afterward, raising his haggard face to meet the - gaze of the motionless brown man who had been standing in his presence for - many minutes. - </p> - <p> - “She ask permission of <i>sahib</i> to be near him until the end,” said - the Hindu. “She will not go away. I have heard the words she say to the <i>sahibah</i>, - and the <i>sahibah</i> is silent as the tomb. She say no word for herself, - just sit and look at the floor and never move. Then she accuse the <i>sahibah</i> - of being the cause of the young master's death, and the <i>sahibah</i> - only nod her head to that and go out of the room and up to the place where - the young master is, and they cannot keep her from going in. She just look - at the woman in the white cap and the woman step aside. The <i>sahibah</i> - is now with the young master and the doctors. She is not of this world, <i>sahib</i>, - but of another.” - </p> - <p> - “And Miss Desmond? Where is she?” - </p> - <p> - “She wait in the hall outside his door. Ranjab have speech with her. She - does not believe Ranjab. She look into his eye and his eye is not honest; - she see it all. She say the young master shoot himself and———” - </p> - <p> - “I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab,” said Brood stolidly. “She must know, - she and her mother. To-night I shall see them, but not now. Suicide! - Poor, poor Lydia!” - </p> - <p> - “Miss Lydia say she blame herself for everything. She is a coward, she - say, and Ranjab he understand. She came yesterday and went away. Ranjab - tell her the <i>sahib</i> no can see her.” - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday? I know. She came to plead with me. I know,” groaned Brood - bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “She will not speak her thoughts to the world, <i>sahib</i>,” asserted - Ranjab. “Thy servant have spoken his words and she will not deny him. It - is for the young master's sake. But she say she <i>know</i> he shoot - himself because he no can bear the disgrace———” - </p> - <p> - “Enough, Ranjab,” interrupted the master. “To-night I shall tell her - everything. Go now and fetch me the latest word.” - </p> - <p> - The Hindu remained motionless just inside the door. His eyes were closed. - </p> - <p> - “Ranjab talk to the winds, <i>sahib</i>. The winds speak to him. The young - master is alive. The great doctor he search for the bullet. It is bad. But - the <i>sahibah</i> stand between him and death. She hold back death. She - laugh at death. She say it no can be. Ranjab know her now. Here in this - room he see the two woman in her, and he no more will be blind. She stand - there before Ranjab, who would kill, and out of the air came a new spirit - to shield her. Her eyes are the eyes of another who does not live in the - flesh, and Ranjab bends the knee. He see the inside. It is not black. It - is full of light, a great big light, <i>sahib</i>. Thy servant would kill - his master's wife, but, Allah defend! He cannot kill the wife who is - already dead. His master's wives stand before him—two, not one—and - his hand is stop.” - </p> - <p> - Brood was regarding him through wide—open, incredulous eyes. “You—you - saw it, too?” he gasped. - </p> - <p> - “The serpent is deadly. Many time Ranjab have take the poison from its - fangs and it becomes his slave. He would have take the poison from the - serpent in his master's house, but the serpent change before his eye and - he become the slave. She speak to him on the voice of the wind and he - obey. It is the law. Kismet! His master have of wives two. Two, <i>sahib</i>, - the living and the dead. They speak with Ranjab to-day and he obey.” - </p> - <p> - There was dead silence in the room for many minutes after the remarkable - utterances of the mystic. Master and man looked into each other's eyes and - spoke no more, yet something passed between them. - </p> - <p> - “The <i>sahibah</i> has sent Roberts for a priest,” said the Hindu at - last. - </p> - <p> - “A priest? But I am not a Catholic—nor Frederic.” - </p> - <p> - “Madam is. The servants are saying that the priest will be here too late. - They are wondering why you have not already killed me, <i>sahib</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Kill you, <i>too?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “They are now saying that the last stroke of the gong, <i>sahib</i>, was - the death-sentence for Ranjab. It called me here to be slain by you. - I have told them all that I fired the———” - </p> - <p> - “Go down at once, my friend,” said Brood, laying his hand on the man's - shoulder. “Let them see that I do not blame you, even though we permit - them to believe this lie of ours. Go, my friend!” - </p> - <p> - The man bent his head and turned away. Near the door he stopped stock-still - and listened intently. - </p> - <p> - “The <i>sahibah</i> comes.” - </p> - <p> - “Aye, she said she would come to me here,” said Brood, and his jaw - hardened. “Hodder—sent for me, Ranjab, an hour ago, but—but he - was conscious then. His eyes were open. I—I could not look into - them. There would have been hatred in them—hatred for me, and I—I - could not go. I was a coward. Yes, a coward, after all. She would have - been there to watch me as I cringed. I was afraid of what I might do to - her then.” - </p> - <p> - “He is not conscious now, <i>sahib</i>” said the Hindu slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Still,” said the other, compressing his lips, “I am afraid—I am - afraid. Ranjab, you do not know what it means to be a coward! You———” - </p> - <p> - “And yet, <i>sahib</i>, you are brave enough to stand on the spot where he - fell, where his blood flowed, and that is not what a coward would do.” - </p> - <p> - The door opened and closed swiftly and he was gone. Brood allowed his - dull, wondering gaze to sink to his feet. He was standing on the spot - where Frederic had fallen. There was no blood there now. The rug had been - removed, and before his own eyes the swift-moving Hindu had washed - the floor and table and put the room in order. All this seemed ages ago. - Since that time he had bared his soul to the smirking Buddha, and - receiving no consolation from the smug image, had violently cursed the - thing. - </p> - <p> - Since then he had waited—he had waited for many things to happen. He - knew all that took place below stairs. He knew when Lydia came and he - denied himself to her. The coming of the police, the nurses and the - anæsthetician, and later on Mrs John Desmond and the reporters. All this - he had known, for he had listened at a crack in the open door. And he had - heard his wife's calm, authoritative voice in the hall below, giving - directions. Now for the first time he looked about him and felt himself - attended by ghosts. In that instant he came to hate this once-loved - room, this cherished retreat, and all that it contained. He would never - set his foot inside of its four walls again. It was filled with ghosts! - </p> - <p> - On the corner of the table lay a great heap of manuscript, the story of - his life up to the escape from Thassa. The sheets of paper had been - scattered over the floor by the surgeon, but now they were back in perfect - order, replaced by another hand. He thought of the final chapter that - would have to be written if he went on with the journal. It would have to - be written, for it was the true story of his life. He strode swiftly to - the table. In another instant the work of many months would have been torn - to bits of waste paper. But his hand was stayed. Someone had stopped - outside his door. He could not hear a sound, and yet he knew that a hand - was on the heavy latch. He suddenly recalled his remark to the old men. He - would have to <i>write</i> the final chapter, after all. - </p> - <p> - He waited. He knew that she was out there, collecting all of her strength - for the coming interview. She was fortifying herself against the crisis - that was so near at hand. To his own surprise and distress of mind he - found himself trembling and suddenly deprived of the fierce energy that he - had stored up for the encounter. He wondered whether he would command the - situation, after all, notwithstanding his righteous charge against her. - </p> - <p> - She had wantonly sought to entice Frederic, she had planned to dishonour - her husband, she had proved herself unwholesome and false, and her heart - was evil. And yet he wondered whether he would be able to stand his ground - against her. - </p> - <p> - So far she had ruled. At the outset he had attempted to assert his - authority as the master of the house in this trying, heart-breaking - hour, and she had calmly waved him aside. His first thought had been to - take his proper place at the bedside of his victim and there to remain - until the end, but she had said: “You are not to go in. You have done - enough for one day. If he must die, let it be in peace and not in fear. - You are not to go in,” and he had crept away to hide! - </p> - <p> - He remembered her words later on when Hodder sent for him to come down. - “Not in fear,” she had said. - </p> - <p> - On the edge of the table, where it had reposed since Dr Hodder dropped it - there, was the small photograph of Matilde. He had not touched it, but he - had bent over it for many minutes at a time, studying the sweet, never-to-be-forgotten, - and yet curiously unfamiliar features of that long-ago loved one. He - looked at it now as he waited for the door to open, and his thoughts - leaped back to the last glimpse he had ever had of that adorable face. - Then it was white with despair and misery; here it looked up at him with - smiling eyes and the languor of unbroken tranquillity. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he realised that the room was quite dark. He dashed to the window - and threw aside the broad, thick curtains. A stream of afternoon sunshine - rushed into the place. He would have light this time; he would not be - deceived by the darkness, as he had been once before. This time he would - see her face plainly. There should be no sickening illusion. He - straightened his tall figure and waited for the door to open. - </p> - <p> - The window at his back was open. He heard a penetrating but hushed voice - speaking from one of the windows across the court, from his wife's window, - he knew without a glance of inquiry. - </p> - <p> - Céleste, her maid, was giving orders in great agitation to the furnace-man - in the yard below. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, you big fool! I am not dismiss. I am not going away—no. - Tak' <i>zem</i> back. <i>Madame</i> has change her mind. I am not fire - non, <i>non!</i> Tak' zem back, <i>vitement!</i> I go some other day!” - </p> - <p> - The door was opened suddenly and Yvonne came into the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f she had - hesitated outside the room to summon the courage to face the man who would - demand so much of her, there was nothing in her manner when she entered to - indicate that such had been the case. She approached him without a symptom - of nervousness or irresolution. Her dark eyes met his without wavering, - and there was purpose in them. - </p> - <p> - She devoted a single glance of surprise to the uncurtained window on - entering the door, and an instant later scrutinised the floor with - unmistakable interest, as if expecting to find something there to account - for his motive in admitting the glare of light, something to confound and - accuse her. But there was no fear in the look. - </p> - <p> - She had put on a rather plain white blouse, open at the neck. The cuffs - were rolled up nearly to the elbows, evidence that she had been using her - hands in some active employment and had either forgotten or neglected to - restore the sleeves to their proper position. A chic black walking-skirt - lent to her trim, erect figure a suggestion of girlishness. - </p> - <p> - Her arms hung straight down at her sides, limply it would have seemed at - first glance, but in reality they were rigid. - </p> - <p> - “I have come, as I said I would,” she said, after a long, tense silence. - Her voice was low, huskier than ever, but without a tremor of excitement. - “You did not say you would wait for me here, but I knew you would do so. - The hour of reckoning has come. We must pay, both of us. I am not - frightened by your silence, James, nor am I afraid of what you may say or - do. First of all, it is expected that Frederic will die. Dr Hodder has - proclaimed it. He is a great surgeon. He ought to know. But he doesn't - know—do you hear? He does not know. I shall not let him die.” - </p> - <p> - “One moment, if you please,” said her husband coldly. “You may spare me - the theatrics. Moreover, we will not discuss Frederic. What we have to say - to each other has little to do with that poor boy downstairs. This is <i>your</i> - hour of reckoning, not his. Bear that———” - </p> - <p> - “You are very much mistaken,” she interrupted, her gaze growing more fixed - than before. “He is a part of our reckoning. He is the one great character - in this miserable, unlooked-for tragedy. Will you be so kind as to - draw those curtains? And do me the honour to allow me to sit in your - presence.” - </p> - <p> - There was infinite scorn in her voice. “I am very tired. I have not been - idle. Every minute of my waking hours belongs to your son, James Brood, - but I owe this half-hour to you. You shall know the truth about me, - as I know it about you. I did not count on this hour ever being a part of - my life, but it has to be, and I shall face it without weeping over what - might have been. Will you draw the curtains?” - </p> - <p> - He hesitated a moment and then jerked the curtains together, shutting out - the pitiless glare. - </p> - <p> - “Will you be seated there?” he said quietly, pointing to a chair at the - end of the table. - </p> - <p> - She switched on the light in the big lamp, but instead of taking the chair - indicated, sank into one on the opposite side of the table, with the - mellow light full upon her lovely, serious face. - </p> - <p> - “Sit there,” she said, signifying the chair he had requested her to take. - “Please sit down,” she went on impatiently, as he continued to regard her - forbiddingly from his position near the window. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be better able to say what I have to say standing,” he said - significantly. - </p> - <p> - “Do you expect me to plead with you for forgiveness?” she inquired, with - an unmistakable look of surprise. - </p> - <p> - “You may save yourself the humiliation of such——” - </p> - <p> - “But you are gravely mistaken,” she interrupted. “I shall ask nothing of - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we need not prolong the———” - </p> - <p> - “I have come to explain, not to plead,” she went on resolutely. “I want to - tell you why I married you. You will not find it a pleasant story, nor - will you be proud of your conquest. It will not be necessary for you to - turn me out of your house. I entered it with the determination to leave it - in my own good time. I think you had better sit down.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her fixedly for a moment, as if striving to materialise a - thought that lay somewhere in the back of his mind. He was vaguely - conscious of an impression that he could unfathom all this seeming - mystery without a suggestion from her if given the time to concentrate his - mind on the vague, hazy suggestion that tormented his memory. - </p> - <p> - He sat down opposite her and rested his arms on the table. The lines about - his mouth were rigid, uncompromising, but there was a look of wonder in - his eyes. - </p> - <p> - She leaned forward in her chair, the better to watch the changing - expression in his eyes as she progressed with her story. Her hands were - clenched tightly under the table's edge. - </p> - <p> - “You are looking into my eyes, as you have looked a hundred times,” she - said after a moment. “There is something in them that has puzzled you - since the night when you looked into them across that great ballroom in - London. You have always felt that they were not new to you, that you have - had them constantly in front of you for ages. Do you remember when you - first saw me, James Brood?” - </p> - <p> - He stared, and his eyes widened. - </p> - <p> - “I never saw you in my life until that night in London, I———” - </p> - <p> - “Look closely. Isn't there something more than doubt in your mind as you - look into them now?” - </p> - <p> - “I confess that I have always been puzzled by by something I cannot - understand in—but all this leads to nothing,” he broke off harshly. - “We are not here to mystify each other, but to———” - </p> - <p> - “To explain mysteries, that's it, of course. You are looking. What do you - see? Are you not sure that you looked into my eyes long, long ago? Are - there not moments when my voice is familiar to you, when it speaks to you - out of———” - </p> - <p> - He sat up, rigid as a block of stone. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, by Heaven, I have felt it all along! To-day I was convinced - that the unbelievable had happened. I saw something that———” - He stopped short, his lips parted. - </p> - <p> - She waved her hand in the direction of the Buddha. - </p> - <p> - “Have you never petitioned your too-stolid friend over there to - unravel the mystery for you? In the quiet of certain lonely, speculative - hours have you not wondered where you had seen me before, long, long - before the night in London? In all the years that you have been trying to - convince yourself that Frederic is not your son has there not been the - vision of———” - </p> - <p> - “What are you saying to me? Are you trying to tell me that you are - Matilde?” - </p> - <p> - “If not Matilde, then who am I, pray?” she demanded. - </p> - <p> - He sank back frowning. - </p> - <p> - “It cannot be possible. I would know her a thousand years from now. You - cannot trick me into believing—but, who are you?” He leaned forward - again, clutching the edge of the table. “I sometimes think you are a ghost - come to haunt me, to torture me. What trick, what magic is behind all - this? Has her soul, her spirit, her actual being found a lodging-place - in you, and have you been sent to curse me for———” - </p> - <p> - She rose half-way out of her chair, leaning farther across the - table. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, James Brood, I represent the spirit of Matilde Valeska, if you will - have it so. Not sent to curse you, but to love you. That's the pity of it - all. I swear to you that it is the spirit of Matilde that urges me to love - you and to spare you now. It is the spirit of Matilde that stands between - her son and death. But it is not Matilde who confronts you here and now, - you may be sure of that. Matilde loved you. She loves you now, even in her - grave. You will never be able to escape from that wonderful love of hers. - If there have been times—and God help me, there were many, I know—when - I appeared to love you for myself, I swear to you that I was moved by the - spirit of Matilde. I—I am as much mystified, as greatly puzzled as - yourself. I came here to hate you, and I have loved you; yes, there were - moments when I actually loved you.” - </p> - <p> - Her voice died away into a whisper. For many seconds they sat looking into - each other's eyes, neither possessing the power to break the strange spell - of silence that had fallen upon them. - </p> - <p> - “No, it is not Matilde who confronts you now, but one who would not spare - you as she did up to the hour of her death. You are quite safe from ghosts - from this hour on, my friend. You will never see Matilde again, though you - look into my eyes till the end of time. Frederic may see, may feel the - spirit of his mother, but you—ah, no! You have seen the last of her. - Her blood is in my veins, her wrongs are in my heart. It was she with whom - you fell in love, and it was she you married six months ago, but now the - curtain is lifted. Don't you know me now, James? Can your memory carry you - back twenty-three years and deliver you from doubt and perplexity? - Look closely, I say. I was six years old then, and———” - </p> - <p> - Brood was glaring at her as one stupefied. Suddenly he cried out in a loud - voice. “You are you are the little sister? The little Thérèse?” - </p> - <p> - She was standing now, leaning far over the table, for he had shrunk down - into his chair. - </p> - <p> - “The little Thérèse, yes! Now do you begin to see? Now do you begin to - realise what I came here to do? Now do you know why I married you? Isn't - it clear to you? Well, I have tried to do all these things so that I might - break your heart as you broke hers. I came to make you pay!” - </p> - <p> - She was speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her voice was high-pitched - and unnatural. Her eyes seemed to be driving him deeper and deeper into - the chair, forcing him down as though with a giant's hand. - </p> - <p> - “The little, timid, heart-broken Thérèse who would not speak to you, - nor kiss you, nor say goodbye to you when you took her darling sister away - from the Bristol in the <i>Kartnerring</i> more than twenty years ago. Ah, - how I loved her, how I loved her! And how I hated you for taking her away - from me. Shall I ever forget that wedding night? Shall I ever forget the - grief, the loneliness, the hatred that dwelt in my poor little heart that - night? Everyone was happy, the whole world was happy; but was I? I was - crushed with grief. You were taking her away across the awful sea, and you - were to make her happy, so they said, <i>aïe</i>, so said my beloved, - joyous sister. - </p> - <p> - “You stood before the altar in St Stephens's with her and promised, - promised, promised everything. I heard you. I sat with my mother and - turned to ice, but I heard you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that you - promised naught but happiness to each other. She was twenty-one. She - was lovely; ah, far lovelier than that wretched photograph lying there in - front of you. It was made when she was eighteen. She did not write those - words on the back of the card. I wrote them, not more than a month ago, - before I gave it to Frederic. To this house she came twenty-three - years ago. You brought her here the happiest girl in all the world. How - did you send her away? How?” - </p> - <p> - He stirred in the chair. A spasm of pain crossed his face. - </p> - <p> - “And I was the happiest man in all the world,” he said hoarsely. “You are - forgetting one thing, Thérèse.” He fell into the way of calling her - Thérèse as if he had known her by no other name. “Your sister was not - content to preserve the happiness that———” - </p> - <p> - “Stop!” she commanded. “You are not to speak evil of her now. You will - never think evil of her after what I am about to tell you. You will curse - yourself. Somehow I am glad that my plans have gone awry. It gives me the - opportunity to see you curse yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Her sister!” muttered the man unbelievingly. “I have married the child - Thérèse. I have held her sister in my arms all these months and never - knew. It is a dream. I———” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but you have <i>felt</i>, even though———” - </p> - <p> - He struck the table violently with his fist. His eyes were blazing. - </p> - <p> - “What manner of woman are you? What were you planning to do to that - unhappy boy—her son? Are you a fiend to———” - </p> - <p> - “In good time, James, you will know what manner of woman I am,” she - interrupted quietly. Sinking back in the chair, she resumed the broken - strain, all the time watching him through half—closed eyes. “She - died ten years ago. Her boy was twelve years old. She never saw him after - the night you turned her away from this house. On her death-bed, as - she was releasing her pure, undefiled soul to God's keeping, she repeated - to the priest who went through the unnecessary form of absolving her, she - repeated her solemn declaration that she had never wronged you by thought - or deed. I had always believed her, the holy priest believed her, God - believed her. You would have believed her, too, James Brood. She was a - good woman. Do you hear? And you put a curse upon her and drove her out - into the night. That was not all. You persecuted her to the end of her - unhappy life. You did that to my sister!” - </p> - <p> - “And yet you married me,” he muttered thickly. - </p> - <p> - “Not because I loved you; oh, no! She loved you to the day of her death, - after all the misery and suffering you had heaped upon her. No woman ever - endured the anguish that she suffered throughout those hungry years. You - kept her child from her. You denied him to her, even though you denied him - to yourself. Why did you keep him from her? She was his mother. She had - borne him; he was all hers. But no! It was your revenge to deprive her of - the child she had brought into the world. You worked deliberately in this - plan to crush what little there was left in life for her. - </p> - <p> - “You kept him with you, though you branded him with a name I cannot utter; - you guarded him as if he were your most precious possession, and not a - curse to your pride; you did this because you knew that you could drive - the barb more deeply into her tortured heart. You allowed her to die, - after years of pleading, after years of vain endeavour, without one - glimpse of her boy, without ever having heard the word mother on his lips. - That is what you did to my sister. For twelve long years you gloated over - her misery. Man, man, how I hated you when I married you!” She paused, - breathless. - </p> - <p> - “You are creating an excuse for your devilish conduct!” he exclaimed - harshly. “You are like Matilde, false to the core. You married me for the - luxury I could provide, notwithstanding the curse I had put upon your - sister. I don't believe a word of what you are saying to———” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you believe that I am her sister?” - </p> - <p> - “You, yes; I must believe that. Why have I been so blind? You are the - little Thérèse, and you hated me in those other days. I remember well the———” - </p> - <p> - “A child's despairing hatred because you were taking away the being she - loved best of all. Will you believe me when I say that my hatred did not - endure for long? When her happy, joyous letters came back to us filled - with accounts of your goodness, your devotion, I allowed my hatred to die. - I forgot that you had robbed me. I came to look upon you as the fairy - prince, after all. It was not until she came all the way across the ocean - and began to die before our eyes—she was years in dying—it was not - until then that I began to hate you with a real, undying hatred.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet you gave yourself to me!” he cried. “You put yourself in her - place! In Heaven's name, what was to be gained by such an act as that?” - </p> - <p> - “I wanted to take Matilde's boy away from you,” she hurried on, and for - the first time her eyes began to waver. “The idea suggested itself to me - the night I met you at the comtesse's dinner. It was a wonderful, a - tremendous thought that entered my brain. At first my real self revolted, - but as time went on the idea became an obsession. I married you, James - Brood, for the sole purpose of hurting you in the worst possible way: by - having Matilde's son strike you where the pain would be the greatest. Ah, - you are thinking that I would have permitted myself to have become his - mistress, but you are mistaken. I am not that bad. I would not have damned - his soul in that way. I would not have betrayed my sister in that way. Far - more subtle was my design. I confess that it was my plan to make him fall - in love with me and in the end to run away with him, leaving you to think - that the very worst had happened. But it would not have been as you think. - He would have been protected, my friend, amply protected. He———” - </p> - <p> - “But you would have wrecked him; don't you see that you would have wrecked - the life you sought to protect? How blind and unfeeling you were. You say - that he was my son and Matilde's, honestly born. What was your object, may - I inquire, in striking me at such cost to him? You would have made a - scoundrel of him for the sake of a personal vengeance. Are you forgetting - that he regarded himself as my son?” - </p> - <p> - “No; I do not forget, James. There was but one way in which I could hope - to steal him away from you, and I went about it deliberately, with my eyes - open. I came here to induce him to run away with me. I would have taken - him back to his mother's home, to her grave, and there I would have told - him what you did to her. If, after hearing my story, he elected to return - to the man who had destroyed his mother, I should have stepped aside and - offered no protest. - </p> - <p> - “But I would have taken him away from you in the manner that would have - hurt you the worst. My sister was true to you. I would have been just as - true, and after you had suffered the torments of hell, it was my plan to - reveal everything to you. But you would have had your punishment by that - time. When you were at the very end of your strength, when you trembled on - the edge of oblivion, then I would have hunted you out and laughed at you - and told you the truth. But you would have had years of anguish—years, - I say.” - </p> - <p> - “I have already had years of agony, pray do not overlook that fact,” said - he. “I suffered for twenty years. I was at the edge of oblivion more than - once, if it is a pleasure for you to hear me say it, Thérèse.” - </p> - <p> - “It does not offset the pain that her suffering brought to me. It does not - counterbalance the unhappiness you gave to her boy, nor the stigma you put - upon him. I am glad that you suffered. It proves to me that you secretly - considered yourself to be in the wrong. You doubted yourself. You were - never sure, and yet you crushed the life out of her innocent, bleeding - heart. You let her die without a word to show that you———” - </p> - <p> - “I was lost to the world for years,” he said. “There were many years when - I was not in touch with———” - </p> - <p> - “But her letters must have reached you. She wrote a thousand of————” - </p> - <p> - “They never reached me,” he said significantly. - </p> - <p> - “You ordered them to be destroyed?” she cried in sudden comprehension. - </p> - <p> - “I must decline to answer that question.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him a curious, incredulous smile and then abruptly returned to - her charge. - </p> - <p> - “When my sister came home, degraded, I was nine years of age, but I was - not so young that I did not know that a dreadful thing had happened to - her. She was blighted beyond all hope of recovery. It was to me, little - me, that she told her story over and over again, and it was I to whom she - read all of the pitiful letters she wrote to you. My father wanted to come - to America to kill you. He did come later on to plead with you and to kill - you if you would not listen to him. But you had gone—to Africa, they - said. I could not understand why you would not give to her that little - baby boy. He was hers, and———” - </p> - <p> - She stopped short in her recital and covered her eyes with her hands. He - waited for her to go on, sitting as rigid as the image that faced him from - beyond the table's end. - </p> - <p> - “Afterward my father and my uncles made every effort to get the child away - from you, but he was hidden; you know how carefully he was hidden so that - she might never find him. For ten years they searched for him, and you. - For ten years she wrote to you, begging you to let her have him, if only - for a little while at a time. She promised to restore him to you. You - never replied. You scorned her. We were rich, very rich. But our money was - of no help to us in the search for her boy. You had secreted him too well. - At last, one day, she told me what it was that you accused her of doing. - She told me about Guido Feverelli, her music-master. I knew him, - James. He had known her from childhood. He was one of the finest men I - have ever seen.” - </p> - <p> - “He was in love with her,” grated Brood. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps. Who knows? But if so, he never uttered so much as one word of - love to her. He challenged you. Why did you refuse to fight him?” - </p> - <p> - “Because she begged me not to kill him. Did she tell you that?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. But that was not the real reason. It was because you were not sure - of your ground.” - </p> - <p> - “I deny that!” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind! It is enough that poor Feverelli passed out of her life. She - did not see him again until just before she died. He was a noble - gentleman. He wrote but one letter to her after that wretched day in this - house. I have it here in this packet.” - </p> - <p> - She drew a package of letters, tied with a white ribbon, from her bosom - and laid it upon the table before him. - </p> - <p> - “But one letter from him,” she went on. “I have brought it here for you to - read. But not now. There are other letters and documents here for you to - consider. They are from the grave. Ah, I do not wonder that you shrink and - draw back from them. They convict you, James.” - </p> - <p> - “Now I can see why you have taken up this fight against me. You—you - knew she was innocent,” he said in a low, unsteady voice. - </p> - <p> - “And why I have hated you, <i>aïe?</i> But what you do not understand is - how I could have brought myself to the point of loving you.” - </p> - <p> - “Loving me! Good Heaven, woman, what do you———” - </p> - <p> - “Loving you in spite of myself,” she cried, beating upon the table with - her hands. “I have tried to convince myself that it was not I, but the - spirit of Matilde that had come to lodge in my treacherous body. I hated - you for myself and I loved you for Matilde. She loved you to the end. She - never hated you. That was it. The pure, deathless love of Matilde was - constantly fighting against the hatred I bore for you. I believe as firmly - as I believe that I am alive that she has been near me all the time, - battling against my insane desire for vengeance. You have only to recall - to yourself the moments when you were so vividly reminded of Matilde - Valeska. At those times I am sure that something of Matilde was in me. I - was not myself. You have looked into my eyes a thousand times with a - question in your own. Your soul was striving to reach the soul of Matilde. - Ah, all these months I have known that you love Matilde, not me. You loved - Matilde that was in me. You———” - </p> - <p> - “I have thought of her, always of her, when you were in my arms.” - </p> - <p> - “I know how well you loved her,” she declared slowly. “I know that you - went to her tomb long after her death was revealed to you. I know that - years ago you made an effort to find Feverelli. You found his grave, too, - and you could not ask him, man to man, if you had wronged her. But in - spite of all that you brought up her boy to be sacrificed as———” - </p> - <p> - “I—I—am I to believe you? If he should be my son!” he cried, - starting up, cold with dread. - </p> - <p> - “He is your son. He could be no other man's son. I have her dying word for - it. She declared it in the presence of her God. Wait! Where are you - going?” - </p> - <p> - “I am going down to him!” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet, James. I have still more to say to you, more to confess. Here! - Take this package of letters. Read them as you sit beside his bed—not - his death-bed, for I shall restore him to health, never fear. If he - were to die I should curse myself to the end of time, for I and I alone - would have been the cause. Here are her letters, and the one Feverelli - wrote to her. This is her death-bed letter to you. And this is a - letter to her son and yours. You may some day read it to him. And here—this - is a document requiring me to share my fortune with her son. It is a - pledge that I took before my father died a few years ago. If the boy ever - appeared he was to have his mother's share of the estate, and it is not an - inconsiderable amount, James. He is independent of you. He need ask - nothing of you. I was taking him home to his own.” - </p> - <p> - She shrank slightly as he stood over her. There was more of wonder and - pity in his face than condemnation. She looked for the anger she had - expected to arouse in him, and was dumbfounded to see that it was not - revealed in his steady, appraising eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Your plan deserved a better fate than this, Yv—Thérèse. It was - prodigious! I—I can almost pity you.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you no pain, no regret, no grief?” she cried weakly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty. “Yes, I know all - these and more.” He picked up the package of letters and glanced at the - superscription on the outer envelope. Suddenly he raised them to his lips - and, with his eyes closed, kissed the words that were written there. Her - head drooped and a sob came into her throat. She did not look up until he - began speaking to her again, quietly, even patiently. - </p> - <p> - “But why should you, even in your longing for revenge, have planned to - humiliate and degrade him even more than I could have done? Was it just to - your sister's son that you should blight his life, that you should turn - him into a skulking, sneaking betrayer? What would you have gained in the - end? His loathing, his scorn. Thérèse, did you not think of all this?” - </p> - <p> - “I have told you that I thought of everything. I was mistaken. I did not - stop to think that I would be taking him away from happiness in the shape - of love that he might bear for someone else. I did not know that there was - a Lydia Desmond. When I came to know my heart softened and my purpose lost - most of its force. He would have been safe with me, but would he have been - happy? I could not give him the kind of love that Lydia promised. I could - only be his mother's sister to him. He was not in love with me. He has - always loved Lydia. I fascinated him, just as I fascinated you. He would - not have gone away with me, even after you had told him that he was not - your son. He would not do that to you, James, in spite of the blow you - struck him. He was loyal to Lydia and to himself.” - </p> - <p> - “And what did he think of <i>you?</i>” demanded Brood scornfully. - </p> - <p> - “If you had not come upon us here he would have known me for who I am, and - he would have forgiven me. I had asked him to go away with me. He refused. - Then I was about to tell him the whole story of my life, of his life, and - of yours. Do you think he would have refused forgiveness to me? No! He - would have understood.” - </p> - <p> - “But up to that hour he thought of you as—what shall I say?” - </p> - <p> - “A bad woman? Perhaps. I did not care. It was part of the price I was to - pay in advance. I would have told him everything as soon as the ship on - which we sailed was outside the harbour yonder. That was my intention, and - I know you believe me when I say that there was nothing more in my mind. - Time would have straightened everything out for him. He could have had his - Lydia, even though he went away with me. Once away from here, do you think - that he would ever return? No! Even though he knew you to be his father, - he would not forget that he has never been your son. You have hurt him - since he was a babe. Would he forget? Would he forgive? No! When you came - into this room and found us, I was about to go down on my knees to him to - thank him for saving me from my own designs. I realised then, as I had - come to suspect in the past few months, that I had not counted on my own - conscience. - </p> - <p> - “James, I—I would not have carried out my plan. I had faltered, and - my cause was lost. What have I accomplished? Am I able to gloat over you? - What have I wrought, after all? I weakened under the love she bore for - you, I permitted it to creep in and fill my heart. Do you understand? I do - not hate you now. It is something to know that you have worshipped her all - these years. You were true to her. What you did long, long ago was not - your fault. You believed that she had wronged you. But you went on loving - her. That is what weakened my resolve. You loved her to the end, she loved - you to the end. Well, in the face of that, could I go on hating you? You - must have been worthy of her love. She knew you better than all the world. - You came to me with love for her in your heart. You took me, and you loved - her all the time. I am not sure, James, that you are not entitled to this - miserable, unhappy love I have come to feel for you—my own love, not - Matilde's.” - </p> - <p> - “You are saying this so that I may refrain from throwing you out into the - street———” - </p> - <p> - “No!” she cried, coming to her feet. “I shall ask nothing of you. If I am - to go, it shall be because I have failed. I have been a blind, - vainglorious fool. The trap has caught me instead of you, and I shall take - the consequences. I have lost everything!” - </p> - <p> - “You have lost <i>everything</i>,” said he steadily. - </p> - <p> - “'You despise me?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot ask you to stay here after this.” - </p> - <p> - “But I shall not go. I have a duty to perform before I leave this house. I - intend to save the life of that poor boy downstairs, so that he may not - die believing me to be an evil woman, a faithless wife. Thank God, I have - accomplished something! You know that he is your son. You know that my - sister was as pure as snow. You know that you killed her, and that she - loved you in spite of the death you brought to her. That is something.” - </p> - <p> - Brood dropped into the chair and buried his face on his quivering arms. In - muffled tones came the cry from his soul: - </p> - <p> - “They've all said that he is like me. I have seen it at times, but I would - not believe. I fought against it resolutely, madly, cruelly! Now it is too - late and I <i>see!</i> I see, I feel! You curse of mankind, you have - driven me to the killing of my own son!” - </p> - <p> - She stood over him, silent for a long time, her hand hovering above his - head. - </p> - <p> - “He is not going to die,” she said at last, when she was sure that she had - full command of her voice. “I can promise you that, James. I shall not go - from this house until he is well. I shall nurse him to health and give him - back to you and Matilde, for now I know that he belongs to both of you and - not to her alone. Now, James, you may go down to him. He is not conscious. - He will not hear you praying at his bedside. He———” - </p> - <p> - A knock came at the door—a sharp, imperative knock. It was repeated - several times before either of them could summon the courage to call out. - They were petrified with the dread of something that awaited them beyond - the closed door. It was she who finally called out: - </p> - <p> - “Come in!” - </p> - <p> - Dr Hodder, coatless and bare-armed, came into the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he doctor blinked - for a moment. The two were leaning forward with alarm in their eyes, their - hands gripping the table. - </p> - <p> - “Well, are we to send for an undertaker?” demanded Hodder irritably. - </p> - <p> - Brood started forward. - </p> - <p> - “Is—is he dead?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not, but he might as well be!” exclaimed the doctor. It was - plain to be seen that he was very much out of patience. “You've called in - another doctor and a priest, and now I hear that a Presbyterian parson is - in the library. Hang it all, Brood, why don't you send for the coroner and - undertaker and have done with it! I'm blessed if I———” - </p> - <p> - Yvonne came swiftly to his side. - </p> - <p> - “Is he conscious? Does he know?” - </p> - <p> - “Hodder, is there any hope?” cried Brood. - </p> - <p> - “I'll be honest with you, Jim. I don't believe there is. It went in here, - above the heart, and it's lodged back here by the spine somewhere. We - haven't located it yet, but we will. Had to let up on the ether for a - while, you see. He opened his eyes a few minutes ago, Mrs Brood, and my - assistant is certain that he whispered Lydia Desmond's name. Sounded that - way to him, but, of course———” - </p> - <p> - “There! You see, James?” she cried, whirling upon her husband. - </p> - <p> - “I think you'd better step in and see him now, Jim,” said the doctor, - suddenly becoming very gentle. “He may come to again, and it may be the - last time he'll ever open his eyes. Yes, it's as bad as that.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll go,” said Brood, his face ashen. “You must revive him for a few - minutes, Hodder. There's something I've got to say to him. He must be able - to hear and understand me. It is the most important thing in the———” - He choked up suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “You'll have to be careful, Jim. He's ready to collapse. Then it's all - off.” - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, Dr Hodder, my husband has something to say to his son that - cannot be put off for an instant. I think it will mean a great deal to him - in his fight for recovery. It will make life worth living for him.” - </p> - <p> - Hodder stared for a second or two. - </p> - <p> - “He'll need a lot of courage, and if anything can put it into him he'll - make a better fight. If you get a chance, say it to him, Jim. If it's got - anything to do with his mother, say it. He has moaned the word a dozen - times———” - </p> - <p> - “It has to do with his mother!” Brood cried out. “Come! I want you to hear - it, too, Hodder.” - </p> - <p> - “There isn't much time to lose, I'm afraid,” began Hodder, shaking his - head. His gaze suddenly rested on Mrs Brood's face. She was very erect, - and a smile such as he had never seen before was on her lips, a smile that - puzzled and yet inspired him with a positive, undeniable feeling of - encouragement. - </p> - <p> - “He is not going to die, Dr Hodder,” she said quietly. Something went - through his body that warmed it curiously. He felt a thrill, as one who is - seized by a great, overpowering excitement. - </p> - <p> - She preceded them into the hall. Brood came last. He closed the door - behind him after a swift glance about the room that had been his most - private retreat for years. - </p> - <p> - He was never to set foot inside its walls again. In that single glance he - bade farewell to it for ever. - It was a hated, unlovely spot. He had spent an age in it during those - bitter morning hours, an age of imprisonment. - </p> - <p> - On the landing below they came upon Lydia. She was seated on a window-ledge, - leaning wearily against the casement. She did not rise as they approached, - but watched them with steady, smouldering eyes in which there was no - friendliness, no compassion. They were her enemies; they had killed the - thing she loved. - </p> - <p> - Brood's eyes met hers for an instant, and then fell before the bitter look - they encountered. His shoulders drooped as he passed close by her - motionless figure and followed the doctor down the hall to the bedroom - door. It opened and closed an instant later and he was with his son. - </p> - <p> - For a long time Lydia's sombre, piteous gaze hung upon the door through - which he had passed and which was closed so cruelly against her, the one - who loved him best of all. At last she looked away; her attention was - caught by a queer, clicking sound near at hand. She was surprised to find - Yvonne Brood standing close beside her, her eyes closed and her fingers - telling the beads that ran through her fingers, her lips moving in - voiceless prayer. - </p> - <p> - The girl watched her dully for a few moments, then with growing - fascination. The incomprehensible creature was praying! To Lydia this - seemed to be the most unnatural thing in all the world. She could not - associate prayer with this woman's character; she could not imagine her - having been in all her life possessed of a fervent religious thought. It - was impossible to think of her as being even hypocritically pious. - </p> - <p> - Lydia began to experience a strange feeling of irritation. She turned her - face away, unwilling to be a witness to this shallow mockery. She was - herself innately religious. In her secret soul she resented an appeal to - Heaven by this luxurious worldling; she could not bring herself to think - of her as anything else. Prayer seemed a profanation on her scarlet lips. - </p> - <p> - Lydia believed that Frederic had shot himself. She put Yvonne down as the - real cause of the calamity that had fallen upon the house. But for her, - James Brood never would have had a motive for striking the blow that - crushed all desire to live out of the unhappy boy. She had made of her - husband an unfeeling monster, and now she prayed! She had played with the - emotions of two men, and now she begged to be pardoned for her folly! An - inexplicable desire to laugh at the plight of the trifler came over the - girl, but even as she checked it another and more unaccountable force - ordered her to obey the impulse to turn once more to look into the face of - her companion. - </p> - <p> - Yvonne was looking at her. She had ceased telling the beads, and her hands - hung limply at her sides. For a full minute, perhaps, the two regarded - each other without speaking. - </p> - <p> - “He is not going to die, Lydia,” said Yvonne gravely. - </p> - <p> - The girl started to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think it is your prayer, and not mine, that has reached God's - ears?'” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “The prayer of a nobler woman than either of you or I has gone to the - throne,” said the other. - </p> - <p> - Lydia's eyes grew dark with resentment. - </p> - <p> - “You could have prevented all———” - </p> - <p> - “Be good enough to remember that you have said all that to me before, - Lydia.” - </p> - <p> - “What is your object in keeping me away from him at such a time as this, - Mrs Brood?” demanded Lydia. “You refuse to let me go in to him. Is it - because you are afraid of what———” - </p> - <p> - “There are trying days ahead of us, Lydia,” interrupted Yvonne. “We will - have to face them together. I can promise you this: Frederic will be saved - for you. To-morrow, next day, perhaps, I may be able to explain - everything to you. You hate me to-day. Everyone in this house hates - me, even Frederic. There is a day coming when you will not hate me. That - was my prayer, Lydia. I was not praying for Frederic, but for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “For yourself? I might have known you———” - </p> - <p> - “You hesitate? Perhaps it is just as well.” - </p> - <p> - “I want to say to you, Mrs Brood, that it is my purpose to remain in this - house as long as I can be———” - </p> - <p> - “You are welcome, Lydia. You will be the one great tonic that is to - restore him to health of mind and body. Yes, I shall go further and say - that you are commanded to stay here and help me in the long fight that is - ahead of us.” - </p> - <p> - “I thank you, Mrs Brood,” the girl was surprised into saying. - </p> - <p> - Both of them turned quickly as the door to Frederic's room opened and - James Brood came out into the hall. His face was drawn with pain and - anxiety, but the light of exaltation was in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Come, Lydia,” he said softly, after he had closed the door behind him. - “He knows me. He is conscious. Hodder can't understand it, but he seems to - have suddenly grown stronger. He———” - </p> - <p> - “Stronger?” cried Yvonne, the ring of triumph in her voice. “I knew! I - could feel it coming—his strength—even out here, James. Yes, - go in now, Lydia. You will see a strange sight, my dear. James Brood will - kneel beside his son and tell him———” - </p> - <p> - “Come!” said Brood, spreading out his hands in a gesture of admission. - “You must hear it, too, Lydia. Not you, Thérèse! You are not to come in.” - </p> - <p> - “I grant you ten minutes, James,” she said with the air of a dictator. - “After that I shall take my stand beside him and you will not be needed.” - She struck her breast sharply with her clenched hand. “His one and only - hope lies here, James. I am his salvation. I am his strength. When you - come out of that room again it will be to stay out until I give the word - for you to re-enter. Go, now, and put spirit into him. That is all I - ask of you.” - </p> - <p> - He stared for a moment and then lowered his head. A moment later Lydia - followed him into the room and Yvonne was alone in the hall. Alone? Ranjab - was ascending the stairs. He came and stood before her and bent his knee. - </p> - <p> - “I forgot,” she said, looking down upon him without a vestige of the old - dread in her eyes. “I have a friend, after all.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n a warm morning, - toward the middle of June, Frederic and Lydia sat in the quaint, old-world - courtyard, almost directly beneath the balcony of Yvonne's boudoir. He - lounged comfortably, yet weakly, in the invalid-chair that had been - wheeled to the spot by Ranjab, and she sat on a pile of cushions at his - feet. - </p> - <p> - Looking at him, one would not have thought that he had passed through the - valley of the shadow of death and was but now emerging into the sunshine - of security. His face was pale, but there was a healthy gloss to the skin - and a clear light in the eye. - </p> - <p> - For a week or more he had been permitted to walk about the house and into - the garden, always leaning on the arm of his father or the faithful Hindu. - Each succeeding day saw his strength and vitality increase, and each night - he slept with the peace of a care-free child. He was filled with - contentment; he loved life as he had never dreamed it would be possible - for him to love it. There was a song in his heart and there was a bright - star always on the edge of his horizon. - </p> - <p> - As for Lydia, she was radiant with happiness. The long fight was over. She - had gone through the campaign against death with loyal, unfaltering - courage; there had never been an instant when her staunch heart had failed - her; there had been distress, but never despair. If the strain told on her - it did not matter, for she was of the fighting kind. Her love was the - sustenance on which she throve, despite the beggarly offerings that were - laid before her during those weeks of famine. Her strong, young body lost - none of its vigour; her splendid spirit gloried in the tests to which it - was subjected, and now she was as serene as the June day that found her - wistfully contemplating the results of victory. - </p> - <p> - Times there were when a pensive mood brought the touch of sadness to her - grateful heart. She was happy and Frederic was happy, but what of the one - who actually had wrought the miracle? That one alone was unhappy, - unrequited, undefended. There was no place for her in the new order of - things. When Lydia thought of her, as she often did, it was with an - indescribable craving in her soul. She longed for the hour to come when - Yvonne Brood would lay aside the mask of resignation and demand tribute; - when the strange defiance that held all of them at bay would disappear, - and they could feel that she no longer regarded them as adversaries. - </p> - <p> - There was no longer a symptom of rancour in the heart of Lydia Desmond. - She realised that her beloved's recovery was due almost entirely to the - remarkable influence exercised by this woman at a time when mortal - agencies appeared to be of no avail. Her absolute certainty that she had - the power to thwart death, at least in this instance, had its effect not - only on the wounded man, but on those who attended him. - </p> - <p> - Dr Hodder and the nurses were not slow to admit that her magnificent - courage, her almost scornful self-assurance, supplied them with an - incentive that otherwise might never have got beyond the form of a mere - hope. There was something positively startling in her serene conviction - that Frederic was not to die. No less a sceptic than the renowned Dr - Hodder confided to Lydia and her mother that he now believed in the - supernatural and never again would say “there is no God.” - </p> - <p> - Hodder had gone to James Brood at the end of the third day and, with the - sweat of the haunted on his brow, had whispered hoarsely that the case was - out of his hands. He was no longer the doctor, but an agent governed by a - spirit that would not permit death to claim its own. And somehow Brood - understood far better than the man of science. - </p> - <p> - The true story of the shooting had long been known to Lydia and her - mother. Brood confessed everything to them. He assumed all of the blame - for what had transpired on that tragic morning. He humbled himself before - them, and when they shook their heads and turned their backs upon him he - was not surprised, for he knew they were not convicting him of assault - with a deadly firearm. Later on the story of Thérèse was told by him to - Frederic and the girl. He did his wife no injustice in the recital. - </p> - <p> - Frederic laid his hand upon the soft brown head at his knee and voiced the - thought that was in his mind. - </p> - <p> - “You are wondering, as I am, too, what is to become of Yvonne after to-day,” - he said. “There must be an end, and if it doesn't come now, when will it - come? To-morrow we sail. It is certain that she is not to accompany - us. She has said so herself, and father has said so. So to-day must - see the end of things.” - </p> - <p> - “Frederic, I want you to do something for me,” said Lydia earnestly. - “There was a time when I could not have asked this of you, but now I - implore you to speak to your father in her behalf. I love her, Freddy - dear. I cannot help it. She asks nothing of any of us; she expects - nothing, and yet she loves all of us. If he only would unbend toward her a - little———” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, Lyddy dear. I don't believe it's altogether up to him. There is a - barrier that we can't see, but they do, both of them. My mother stands - between them. You see, I've come to know my father lately, dear. He's not - a stranger to me any longer. I know what sort of a heart he's got. He - never got over loving my mother, and he'll never get over knowing that - Yvonne knows that <i>she</i> loved him to the day she died. - </p> - <p> - “We know what it was in Yvonne that attracted him from the first, and she - knows. He's not likely to forgive himself so easily. He didn't play fair - with either of them, that's what I'm trying to get at. I don't believe he - can forgive himself any more than he can forgive Yvonne for the thing she - set about to do. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Lyddy, she married him without love. She debased herself, even - though she can't admit it even now. I love her, too. She's the most - wonderful woman in the world. But she did give herself to the man she - hated with all her soul and—well, there you are. He can't forget <i>that</i>, - you know, and she can't. She loves him for herself now, and that's what - hurts both of them. It hurts because they both know that he still loves my - mother.” - </p> - <p> - “She's his wife, however,” said Lydia, with a stubborn pursing of the - lips. “She didn't wrong him, and, after all, she's only guilty of—well, - she isn't guilty of anything except being a sister of the girl <i>he</i> - wronged.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll have a talk with him if you think best,” said he, an eager gleam in - his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “And I with Yvonne,” she said quickly. “You see, it's possible she is the - one to be persuaded.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, you've observed that they never see one another alone,” said - he. “They never meet except when someone else is about. He rather resents - the high-handed way in which she ordered him to stay away from me - until I was safely out of danger. He says she saved my life. He says she - performed a miracle. But he has never uttered a word of thanks or - gratitude or appreciation to her. I'm sure of that, for she has told me - so. And she is satisfied to go without his thanks.” - </p> - <p> - “I see what you mean,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose we just can't - understand things.” - </p> - <p> - “You've no idea how beautiful you are to-day, Lyddy,” he cried - suddenly, and she looked up into his glowing eyes with a smile of - ineffable happiness. Her hand found his, and her warm, red lips were - pressed to its palm in a hot, impassioned kiss. “It's great to be alive! - Great!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is,” she cried, “it is!” - </p> - <p> - They might better have said that it is great to be young, for that is what - it all came to in the analysis. - </p> - <p> - Later on Brood joined them in the courtyard. He stood, with his hand on - his son's shoulder, chatting carelessly about the coming voyage, all the - while smiling upon the radiant girl to whom he was promising paradise. She - adored the gentle, kindly gleam in those one-time steady, steel-like - eyes. His voice, too, of late was pitched in a softer key, and there was - the ring of happiness in its every note. It was as if he had discovered - something in life that was constantly surprising and pleasing him. He - seemed always to be venturing into fresh fields of exploration and finding - there something that was of inestimable value to his new estate. - </p> - <p> - Lydia left father and son after a few minutes, excusing herself on the - ground that she wished to have a good, long chat with Yvonne. She did not - delay her departure, but hurried into the house, having rather adroitly - provided Frederic with an opening for an intercession in behalf of his - lovely stepmother. Her meaning glance was not wasted on the young man. - </p> - <p> - He lost no time in following up the advantage. - </p> - <p> - “See here, father, I don't like the idea of leaving Yvonne out in the - cold, so to speak. It's pretty darned rough, don't you think? Down in your - heart you don't blame her for what she started out to do, and, after all, - she's only human. Whatever happened in the past we—well, it's all in - the past. She———” - </p> - <p> - Brood stopped him with a gesture. - </p> - <p> - “My son, I will try to explain something to you. You may be able to - understand things better than I. I fell in love with her once because an - influence that was not her own overpowered me. There was something of your - mother in her. She admits that to be true, and I now believe it. Well, - that something, whatever it was, is gone. She is not the same. Yvonne is - Thérèse. She is not the woman I loved two months ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor am I the boy you hated two months ago,” argued Frederic. “Isn't there - a parallel to be seen there, father? I am your son. She is your wife. You———” - </p> - <p> - “There was never a time when I really hated you, my son. I tried to, but - that is all over. We will not rake up the ashes. As for my wife—well, - I have tried to hate her. It is impossible for me to do so. She is a - wonderful woman. But you must understand, on the other hand, that I do not - love her. I did when she looked at me with your mother's eyes and spoke to - me with your mother's lips. But she is not the same.” - </p> - <p> - “Give yourself a chance, dad. You will come to love her for herself if - only you will let go of yourself. You are trying to be hard. You———” - </p> - <p> - Again Brood interrupted. His face was pale, his eyes grew dark with pain. - </p> - <p> - “You don't know what you are saying, Frederic. Let us discontinue the - subject.” - </p> - <p> - “I want you to be happy, I want———” - </p> - <p> - “I shall be happy. I am happy. Have I not found out the truth? Are you not - my beloved son? Are———” - </p> - <p> - “And who convinced you of all that, sir? Who is responsible for your - present happiness, and mine?” - </p> - <p> - “I know, I know!” exclaimed the father in some agitation. - </p> - <p> - “You'll regret it all your life if you fail her now, dad. Why, hang it - all, you're not an old man! You are less than fifty. Your heart hasn't - dried up yet. Your blood is still hot. And she is glorious. Give yourself - a chance. You know that she's one woman in a million, and she's yours! She - has made you happy, she can make you still happier.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I am not old. I am far younger than I was fifteen years ago. That's - what I am afraid of—this youth I really never possessed till now. If I - gave way to it now I'd—well, I would be like putty in her hands. She - could go on laughing at me, trifling with me, fooling me to———” - </p> - <p> - “She wouldn't do that!” exclaimed his son hotly. - </p> - <p> - “I don't blame you for defending her. It's right that you should. You are - forgetting the one important condition, however. She can never reconcile - herself to the position you would put her in if I permitted you to - persuade me that———” - </p> - <p> - “I can tell you one thing, father, that you ought to know, if you are so - blind that you haven't discovered it for yourself. She loves you.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very young, my boy.” Brood shook his head and smiled faintly. - </p> - <p> - “What's to become of her? You are leaving her without a thought for her - future. You———” - </p> - <p> - “I fancy she is quite capable of arranging her future. As a matter of - fact, she had arranged it pretty definitely before this thing happened. - Leave it to her, Frederic. It is impossible for me to take her away with - us. It is not to be considered.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, but bear this in mind: Lydia loves Yvonne, and she's heart-broken. - Now we'll talk about her, if you like.” - </p> - <p> - Lydia had as little success in her rather more tactful interview with - Yvonne. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, dear, I am satisfied,” said she. “Everything has turned out as - it should. The wicked enchantress has been foiled and virtue triumphs. - Don't be unhappy on my account, Lydia. It will not be easy to say good-bye - to you and Frederic, but—<i>là! là!</i> What are we to do? Now please - don't speak of it again. Hearts are easily mended. Look at my husband—<i>aïe!</i> - He has had his heart made over from top to bottom—in a rough - crucible, it's true, but it's as good as new, you'll admit. In a way, I am - made over, too. I am happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm in love - with my husband, I'm in love with you and Frederic, and I am more than - ever in love with myself. So there! Don't feel sorry for me. I shall have - the supreme joy of knowing that not one of you will ever forget me or my - deeds, good and bad. Who knows? I am still young, you know. Time has the - chance to be very kind to me before I die.” - </p> - <p> - That last observation lingered in Lydia's mind. - </p> - <p> - But despite her careless treatment of the situation, Yvonne awaited with - secret dread the coming of that hour when James Brood would say goodbye to - her and, instead of turning her away from his house, would go out of it - himself without a single <i>command</i> to her. He would not tell her that - it was no longer her home, nor would he tell her that it was. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day came, bright and sweet. - </p> - <p> - The ship was to sail at noon. - </p> - <p> - At ten o'clock the farewells were being said. There were tears and - heartaches, and there was fierce rebellion in the hearts of two of the - voyagers. Yvonne had declined to go to the pier to see them off, and Brood - was going away without a word to her about the future. That was manifest - to the anxious, soul-tried watchers. - </p> - <p> - In silence they made their way out to the waiting automobile. As Brood was - about to pass through the broad front door a resolute figure confronted - him. For a moment master and man stared hard into each other's eyes, and - then, as if obeying an inflexible command, the former turned to glance - backward into the hallway. Yvonne was standing in the library door. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sahib!</i>” said the Hindu, and there was strange authority in his - voice. “Tell her, <i>sahib</i>. It is not so cruel to tell her as it would - be to go away without a word. She is waiting to be told that you do not - want her to remain in your home.” - </p> - <p> - Brood closed his eyes for a second, and then strode quickly toward his - wife. - </p> - <p> - “Yvonne, they all want me to take you along with us,” he said, his voice - shaking with the pent-up emotion of weeks. - </p> - <p> - She met his gaze calmly, almost serenely. - </p> - <p> - “But, of course, it is quite impossible,” she said. “I understand, James.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not possible,” he said, steadying his voice with an effort. - </p> - <p> - “That is why I thought it would be better to say good-bye here and - not at the pier. We must have some respect for appearances, you know.” - </p> - <p> - He searched her eyes intently, looking for some sign of weakening on her - part. He did not know whether to feel disappointed or angry at what he - saw. - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe you would have gone if I had——” - </p> - <p> - “You need not say it, James. You did not ask me, and I have not asked - anything of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Before I go,” he said nervously, “I want to say this to you: I have no - feeling of resentment toward you. I am able to look back upon what you - would have done without a single thought of anger. You have stood by me in - time of trouble. I owe a great deal to you, Yvonne. You will not accept my - gratitude—it would be a farce to offer it to you under the - circumstances. But I want you to know that I am grateful. You———” - </p> - <p> - “Go on, please. This is the moment for you to say that your home cannot be - mine. I am expecting it.” - </p> - <p> - His eyes hardened. - </p> - <p> - “I shall never say that to you, Yvonne. You are my wife. I shall expect - you to remain my wife to the very end.” - </p> - <p> - Now, for the first time, her eyes flew open with surprise. A bewildered - expression came into them almost at once. He had said the thing she least - expected. She put out her hand to steady herself against the door. - </p> - <p> - “Do—do you mean that, James?” she said wonderingly. - </p> - <p> - “You are my property. You are bound to me. I do not intend that you shall - ever forget that, Yvonne. I don't believe you really love me, but that is - not the point. Other women have not loved their husbands, and yet—yet - they have been true and loyal to them.” - </p> - <p> - “You amaze me!” she cried, watching his eyes with acute wonder in her own. - “Suppose that I should refuse to abide by your—what shall I call - it?” - </p> - <p> - “Decision is the word,” he supplied grimly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then?” - </p> - <p> - “You will abide by it, that's all. I am leaving you behind without the - slightest fear for the future. This is your home. You will not abandon - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Have I said that I would?” - </p> - <p> - “No.” - </p> - <p> - She drew herself up. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I shall now tell you what I intend to do, and have intended to do - ever since I discovered that I could think for myself and not for Matilde. - I intend to stay here until you turn me out as unworthy. I love you, - James. You may leave me here feeling very sure of that. I shall go on - caring for you all the rest of my life. I am not telling you this in the - hope that you will say that you have a spark of love in your soul for me. - I don't want you to say it now, James. But you will say it to me one day, - and I will be justified in my own heart.” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>have</i> loved you. There was never in this world anything like the - love I had for you. I know it now. It was not Matilde I loved when I held - you in my arms. I know it now. I loved <i>you</i>; I loved your body, your - soul———” - </p> - <p> - “Enough!” she cried out sharply. “I was playing at love then. Now I love - in earnest. You've never known love such as I can really give. I know you - well, too. You love nobly, and without end. Of late I have come to believe - that Matilde could have won out against your folly if she had been - stronger, less conscious of the pain she felt. If she had stood her - ground, here, against you, you would have been conquered. But she did not - have the strength to stand and fight as I would have fought. To-day - I love my sister none the less, but I no longer fight to avenge her - wrongs. I am here to fight for myself. You may go away thinking that I am - a traitor to her, but you will take with you the conviction that I am - honest, and that is the foundation for my claim against you.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you are not a traitor to her cause,” he replied. “You are its - lifelong supporter. You have done more for Matilde than———” - </p> - <p> - “Than Matilde could have done for herself? Isn't that true? I have forced - you to confess that you loved her for twenty-five years with all - your soul. I have done my duty for her. Now I am beginning to take myself - into account. Some day we will meet again and—well, it will not be - disloyalty to Matilde that moves you to say that you love me.” - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a long time. When at last he spoke his voice was full of - gentleness. - </p> - <p> - “I do not love you, Yvonne. I cannot allow you to look forward to the - happy ending that you picture. You say that you love me. I shall give you - the opportunity to prove it to yourself, if not to me. I order you, - Thérèse, to remain in this house until I come to set you free.” - </p> - <p> - She stared at him for a moment, and then an odd smile came into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “A prisoner serving her time? Is that it, my husband?” - </p> - <p> - “If you are here when I return, I shall have reason to believe that your - love is real, that it is good and true and enduring. I am afraid of you - now. I do not trust you.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that your sentence?” - </p> - <p> - “Call it that if you like, Thérèse.” - </p> - <p> - “My keepers? Who are they to be? The old men of the sea——” - </p> - <p> - “Your keeper will be the thing you call love,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Do you expect me to submit to this———” - </p> - <p> - He held up his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I did not intend to impose this condition upon you by word of mouth. I - was going away without a word, but you would have received from Mr Dawes a - sealed envelope as soon as the ship sailed. It contains this command in - writing. He will hand it to you, of course, but now that you know the - contents it will not be necessary to———” - </p> - <p> - “And when you <i>do</i> come back, am I to hope for something more than - your pardon and a release?” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “I will not promise anything,” said he. - </p> - <p> - She drew a long breath and there was the light of triumph in her eyes. - Laying her slim hand on his arm, she said: - </p> - <p> - “I am content, James. I am sure of you now. You will find me here when you - choose to come back, be it one year or twenty. Now go; they are waiting - for you. Be kind to them, and tell to them all that you have just told me. - It will make them happy. They love me, you see.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they <i>do</i> love you,” said he, putting his hands upon her - shoulders. They smiled into each other's eyes. “Good-bye, Thérèse. I - <i>will</i> return.” - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, James. No, do not kiss me. It would be mockery. Good - luck, and God speed you home again.” Their hands met in a warm, firm - clasp. “I will go with you as far as the door of my prison.” - </p> - <p> - From the open door she smiled out upon the young people in the motor and - waved her handkerchief in gay farewell. Then she closed the door and - walked slowly down the hallway to the big library. - </p> - <p> - “He has taken the only way to conquer himself,” she mused, half aloud. “He - is a wise man, a very wise man. I might have expected this of him.” - </p> - <p> - She pulled the bell-cord, and Jones came at once to the room. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “When Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs return from the ship, tell them that I shall - expect them to have luncheon with me. That's all, thank you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, madam.” - </p> - <p> - “By the way, Jones, you may always set the table for three.” - </p> - <p> - Jones blinked. He felt that he had never behaved so wonderfully in all the - years of service as he did when he succeeded in bowing in his habitual - manner, despite the fact that he was “everlawstingly bowled over, so to - speak.” - </p> - <p> - “For three, madam. Very well.” - </p> - <p> - A cold, blustery night in January, six months after the beginning of - Yvonne's voluntary servitude in the prison to which her husband had - committed her. In the big library, before a roaring fire, sat the two old - men, very much as they had sat on the December night that heralded the - approach of the new mistress of the house of Brood, except that on this - occasion they were eminently sober. On the corner of the table lay a long, - yellow envelope, a cablegram addressed to Mrs James Brood. - </p> - <p> - “It's been here for two hours, and she don't even think of opening it to - see what's inside,” complained Mr Riggs, but entirely without reproach. - </p> - <p> - “It's her business, Joe,” said Mr Dawes, pulling hard at his cigar. - </p> - <p> - “Maybe someone's dead,” said Mr Riggs dolorously. - </p> - <p> - “Like as not, but what of it?” - </p> - <p> - “What of it, you infernal—but, excuse me, Danbury, I won't say it. - It's against the rules, God bless 'em. If anybody's dead, she ought to - know it.” - </p> - <p> - “But supposing nobody is dead.” - </p> - <p> - “There's no use arguing with you.” - </p> - <p> - “She'll read it when she gets good and ready. At present she prefers to - read the letters from Freddy and Lyddy.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe it's from Jim,” said his friend, a wistful look in his old eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I—I hope it is, by gee!” exclaimed the other, and then they got up - and went over to examine the envelope for the tenth time. “I wish he'd - telegraph or write, or do something, Dan. She's never had a line from him. - Maybe this is something at last.” - </p> - <p> - “What puzzles me is that she always seems disappointed when there's - nothing in the post from him, and here's a cablegram that might be the - very thing she's looking for, and she pays no attention to it. It - certainly beats me.” - </p> - <p> - “You know what puzzles me more than anything else? I've said it a hundred - times. She never goes outside this here house, except in the garden, day - or night.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Sh—h!</i>” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Brood was descending the stairs, lightly, eagerly. In another instant - she entered the room. - </p> - <p> - “How nice the fire looks!” she cried. Never had she been more radiantly, - seductively beautiful. “My cablegram, where is it?” - </p> - <p> - The old men made a simultaneous dash for the long-neglected - envelope. Mr Dawes succeeded in being the first to clutch it in his eager - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Better read it, Mrs Brood,” he panted, thrusting it into her hand. “Maybe - it's bad news.” - </p> - <p> - She regarded him with one of her most mysterious smiles. - </p> - <p> - “No, my friend, it is <i>not</i> bad news. It is good news; it's from my - husband.” - </p> - <p> - “But you haven't read it,” gasped Mr Riggs. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but I know, just the same.” She deliberately slit the envelope with a - slim finger and held it out to them. “Read it if you like.” - </p> - <p> - They solemnly shook their heads, too amazed for words. She unfolded the - sheet and sent her eyes swiftly over the printed contents. Then, to their - further stupefaction, she pressed the bit of paper to her red lips. Her - eyes flashed like diamonds. - </p> - <p> - “Listen! Here is what he says: 'Come by the first steamer. I want you to - come to me, Thérèse.' And see! It is signed 'Your husband.'” - </p> - <p> - “Hurray!” shouted the two old men. - </p> - <p> - “But,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “I shall not obey.” - </p> - <p> - “What! You—you won't go?” gasped Mr Riggs. - </p> - <p> - “No!” she cried, the ring of triumph in her voice. She suddenly clapped - her hands to her breast and uttered a long, deep sigh of joy. “No, I shall - not go to him.” - </p> - <p> - The old men stared helplessly while she sank luxuriously into a big chair - and stuck her little feet out to the fire. They felt their knees grow weak - under the weight of their suddenly inert bodies. - </p> - <p> - “He will come and unlock the door,” she went on serenely. “Ring for Jones, - please.” - </p> - <p> - “Wha—what are you going to do?” Mr Dawes had the temerity to ask. - </p> - <p> - “Send a cablegram to my husband saying———” - </p> - <p> - She paused to smile at the flaming logs on the broad hearth, a sweet, - rapturous smile that neither of the old men could comprehend. - </p> - <p> - “Saying—what?” demanded Mr Riggs anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “That I cannot go to him,” she said, as she stretched out her arms toward - the East. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Black is White, by George Barr McCutcheon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK IS WHITE *** - -***** This file should be named 54097-h.htm or 54097-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/9/54097/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-Title: Black is White
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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACK IS WHITE ***
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-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
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-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- BLACK IS WHITE
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By George Barr Mccutcheon
- </h2>
- <h3>
- Author Of “Graustark,” “Brewster's Millions,” “Truxton King,” “Rose In The
- Ring,” “Mary Midthorne,” Etc.
- </h3>
- <h4>
- London
- </h4>
- <h5>
- Everett & Co., Ltd.
- </h5>
- <h3>
- 1915
- </h3>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0005.jpg" alt="0005 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0005.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>BLACK IS WHITE</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- BLACK IS WHITE
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he two old men sat
- in the library, eyeing the blue envelope that lay on the end of the long
- table nearest the fireplace, where a merry but unnoticed blaze crackled in
- the vain effort to cry down the shrieks of the bleak December wind that
- whistled about the corners of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Someone had come into the room—they did not know who nor when—to
- poke up the fire and to throw fresh coals into the grate. No doubt it was
- the parlourmaid. She was always doing something of the sort. It seemed to
- be her duty. Or, it might have been the housekeeper, in case the
- parlourmaid was out for the evening. Whoever it was, she certainly had
- poked up the fire, and in doing so had been compelled to push two pairs of
- feet out of the way to avoid trampling upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still they couldn't recall having seen her. For that matter, it wasn't of
- the slightest consequence. Of course, they might have poked it up
- themselves and saved her the trouble, but these ancients were not in the
- habit of doing anything that could be done by menials in the employ of Mr
- Brood. Their minds were centred upon the blue envelope that had arrived
- shortly after dinner. The fire was an old story; the blue envelope was a
- novelty.
- </p>
- <p>
- From some shifting spot far out upon the broad Atlantic the contents of
- that blue envelope had come through the air, invisible, mysterious,
- uncanny. They could not understand it at all. A wireless message! It was
- the first of its kind they had seen, and they were very old men, who had
- seen everything else in the world—if one could believe their
- boastful tales.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had sailed the seven seas and they had traversed all the lands of the
- earth, and yet here was mystery. A man had spoken out of the air a
- thousand miles away, and his words were lying there on the end of a
- library-table, in front of a cheerful hearthstone, within reach of their
- wistful fingers; and someone had come in to poke up the fire without their
- knowledge. How could they be expected to know?
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something maddening in the fact that the envelope would have to
- remain unopened until young Frederic Brood came home for the night. They
- found themselves wondering if by any chance he would fail to come in at
- all. Their hour for retiring was ten o'clock, day in, day out. As a rule
- they went to sleep about half-past eight. They seldom retired unless
- someone made the act possible by first awakening them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The clock on the wide mantelpiece had declared some time before, in
- ominous tones, that half-past ten had arrived, and yet they were not
- sleepy. They had not been so thoroughly wideawake in years.
- </p>
- <p>
- Up to half-past nine they discussed the blue envelope with every inmate of
- the house, from Mrs John Desmond, the housekeeper, down to the voiceless
- but eloquent decanter of port that stood between them, first on the arm of
- one chair, then the other. They were very old men; they could soliloquise
- without in the least disturbing each other. An observer would say, during
- these periods of abstraction, that their remarks were addressed to the
- decanter, and that the poor decanter had something to say in return. But,
- for all that, their eyes seldom left the broad blue envelope that had lain
- there since half-past eight.
- </p>
- <p>
- They knew that it came directly or indirectly from the man to whom they
- owed their present condition of comfort and security after half a century
- of vicissitudes; from the man whose life they had saved more than once in
- those old, evil days when comforts were so few that they passed without
- recognition in the maelstrom of events. From mid-ocean James Brood was
- speaking to his son. His words—perhaps his cry for help—were
- lying there on the end of the table, confined in a flimsy blue envelope,
- and no one dared to liberate them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic Brood deserved a thrashing for staying out so late—at
- least, so the decanter had been told a dozen times or more, and the clock,
- too, for that matter, to say nothing of the confidences reposed in the
- coal-scuttle, the fire implements, and other patient listeners of a like
- character.
- </p>
- <p>
- It may be well to state that these bosom friends and comrades of half a
- hundred years had quarrelled at seven o'clock that evening over a very
- important matter—the accuracy of individual timepieces. The watch of
- Mr Danbury Dawes had said it was five minutes before seven; that of Mr
- Joseph Riggs three minutes after. Since then neither had spoken to the
- other, but each slyly had set his watch by the big clock in the hall
- before going into dinner, and was prepared to meet any argument.
- </p>
- <p>
- Twenty years ago these two old cronies had met James Brood in one of the
- blackest holes of Calcutta, a derelict being swept to perdition with the
- swiftness and sureness of a tide that knows no pause. They found him when
- the dregs were at his lips and the stupor of defeat in his brain. Without
- meaning to be considered Samaritans, good or bad, they dragged him from
- the depths and found that they had revived <i>a man</i>. Those were the
- days when James Brood's life meant nothing to him, days when he was
- tortured by the thought that it would be all too long for him to endure;
- yet he was not the kind to murder himself as men do who lack the courage
- to go on living.
- </p>
- <p>
- Weeks after the rescue in Calcutta, these two soldiers of fortune, and
- another John Desmond, learned from the lips of the man himself that he was
- not such as they, but rich in this world's goods, richer than the Solomon
- of their discreet imagination. Shaken, battered, but sobered, he related
- portions of his life's story to them, and they guessed the rest, being men
- who had lived by correctly guessing for half the years of their
- adventurous lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like Brood they were Americans. But, unlike him, they had spent most of
- their lives in the deserts of time and had sown seeds which could never be
- reaped except in the form of narrative. Ever in pursuit of the elusive
- thing called luck, they had found it only in hairbreadth escapes from
- death, in the cunning avoidance of catastrophe, in devil-may-care leaps in
- the dark, in all the ways known to men who find the world too small.
- </p>
- <p>
- Never had luck served them on a golden platter. For twenty-five years and
- more these three men, Dawes, Riggs, and poor John Desmond, had thrashed
- through the world in quest of the pot of gold at the foot of the rainbow,
- only to find that the rainbow was for ever lifting, for ever shifting; yet
- they complained not. They throve on misfortune, they courted it along with
- the other things in life, and they were unhappy only when ill luck singled
- one of them out and spared the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- What Brood told them of his life brought the grim smile of appreciation to
- the lips of each. He had married a beautiful foreigner—an Austrian,
- they gathered—of excellent family, and had taken her to his home in
- New York City, a house in lower Fifth Avenue where his father and
- grandfather had lived before him. And that was the very house in which two
- of the wayfarers, after twenty years, now sat in rueful contemplation of a
- blue envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- A baby boy came to the Broods in the second year of their wedded life, but
- before that there had come a man—a music-master, dreamy-eyed,
- handsome, Latin; a man who played upon the harp as only the angels are
- believed to play. In his delirious ravings Brood cursed this man and the
- wife he had stolen away from him; he reviled the baby boy, even denying
- him; he laughed with blood-curdling glee over the manner in which he had
- cast out the woman who had broken his heart and crushed his pride; he
- wailed in anguish over the mistake he had made in allowing the man to live
- that he might gloat in triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- This much the three men who lifted him from hell were able to learn from
- lips that knew not what they said, and they were filled with pity. Later
- on, in a rational weakness, he told them more, and without curses. A deep,
- silent, steadfast bitterness succeeded the violent ravings. He became a
- wayfarer with them, quiet, dogged, fatal; where they went he also went;
- what they did so also did he.
- </p>
- <p>
- Soon he led, and they followed. Into the dark places of the world they
- plunged. Perils meant little to him, death even less. They no longer knew
- days of privation, for he shared his wealth with them; but they knew no
- rest, no peace, no safety. Life had been a whirlwind before they came upon
- James Brood; it was a hurricane afterward.
- </p>
- <p>
- Twice John Desmond, younger than Dawes and Riggs, saved the life of James
- Brood by acts of unparalleled heroism: once in a South African jungle when
- a lioness fought for her young, and again in upper India when,
- single-handed, he held off a horde of Hindus for days while his comrade
- lay wounded in a cavern. Dawes and Riggs, in the Himalayas, crept down the
- wall of a precipice, with five thousand feet between them and the bottom
- of the gorge, to drag him from a narrow ledge upon which he lay
- unconscious after a misstep in the night. More than once—aye, more
- than a dozen times—one or the other of these loyal friends stood
- between him and death, and times without number he, too, turned the grim
- reaper aside from them.
- </p>
- <p>
- John Desmond, gay, handsome, and still young as men of his kind go, met
- the fate that brooks no intervention. He was the first to drop out of the
- ranks. In Cairo, during a curious period of inactivity some ten months
- after the advent of James Brood, he met the woman who conquered his
- venturesome spirit; a slim, clean, pretty English governess in the employ
- of a British admiral's family. They were married inside of a fortnight.
- After the quiet little ceremony, from which the sinister presence of James
- Brood was missing, he shook the bronzed hands of his older comrades, and
- gave up the life he had led for the new one she promised. At the pier
- Brood appeared and wished him well, and he sailed away on a sea that bade
- fair to remain smooth to the end of time. He was taking her home to the
- little Maryland town that had not seen him in years.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ten years passed before James Brood put his foot on the soil of his native
- land. Then he came back to the home of his fathers, to the home that had
- been desecrated, and with him came the two old men who now sat in his huge
- library before the crackling fire. He could go on with life, but they were
- no longer fit for its cruel hardships. His home became theirs. They were
- to die there when the time came.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's son was fifteen years of age before he knew, even by sight, the
- man whom he called father. Up to the time of the death of his mother who
- died heart-broken in her father's home—he had been kept in
- seclusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- There had been deliberate purpose in the methods of James Brood in so far
- as this unhappy child was concerned. When he cast out the mother he set
- his hand heavily upon her future.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fearing, even feeling, the infernal certainty that this child was not his
- own, he planned with diabolical cruelty to hurt her to the limit of his
- powers and to the end of her days. He knew she would hunger for this baby
- boy of hers, that her heart could be broken through him, that her
- punishment could be made full and complete.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sequestered the child in a place where he could not be found, and went
- his own way, grimly certain that he was making her pay! She died when
- Frederic was twelve years old, without having seen him again after that
- dreadful hour when, protesting her innocence, she had been turned out into
- the night and told to go whither she would, but never to return to the
- house she had disgraced. James Brood heard of her death when in the heart
- of China, and he was a haggard wreck for months thereafter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had worshipped this beautiful Viennese. He could not wreak vengeance
- upon a dead woman; he could not hate a dead woman. He had always loved
- her. It was after this that he stood on the firing-line of many a fiercely
- fought battle in the Orient, inviting the bullet that would rip through
- his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not courage, but cowardice, that put him in spots where the bullets
- were thickest; it was not valour that sent him among the bayonets and
- sabres of a fanatical enemy. It was the thing at the bottom of his soul
- that told him she would come to him once more when the strife was ended,
- and that she was waiting for him somewhere beyond the border to hear his
- plea for pardon! Of such flimsy shreds is man's purpose made!
- </p>
- <p>
- Five years after his return to New York he brought her son back to the
- house in lower Fifth Avenue and tried, with bitterness in his soul, to
- endure the word “father” as it fell from lips to which the term was almost
- strange.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old men, they who sat by the fire on this wind-swept night and waited
- for the youth of twenty-two to whom the blue missive was addressed, knew
- the story of James Brood and his wife Matilde, and they knew that the
- former had no love in his heart for the youth who bore his name. Their
- lips were sealed. Garrulous on all other subjects, they were as silent as
- the grave on this.
- </p>
- <p>
- They, too, were constrained to hate the lad. He made not the slightest
- pretence of appreciating their position in the household. To him they were
- pensioners, no more, no less; to him their deeds of valour were offset by
- the deeds of his father; there was nothing left over for a balance on that
- score. He was politely considerate; he was even kindly disposed toward
- their vagaries and whims; he endured them because there was nothing else
- left for him to do. But, for all that, he despised them; justifiably, no
- doubt, if one bears in mind the fact that they signified more to James
- Brood than did his long-neglected son.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold reserve that extended to the young man did not carry beyond him
- in relation to any other member of the household so far as James Brood was
- concerned. The unhappy boy, early in their acquaintance, came to realise
- that there was little in common between him and the man he called father.
- After a while the eager light died out of his own eyes and he no longer
- strove to encourage the intimate relations he had counted upon as a part
- of the recompense for so many years of separation and loneliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It required but little effort on his part to meet his father's
- indifference with a coldness quite as pronounced. He had never known the
- meaning of filial love; he had been taught by word of mouth to love the
- man he had never seen, and he had learned as one learns astronomy—by
- calculation. He hated the two old men because his father loved them.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a measure, this condition may serve to show how far apart they stood
- from each other, James Brood and Frederic. Wanderlust and a certain
- feeling of unrest that went even deeper than the old habits kept James
- Brood away from his home many months out of the year. He was not an old
- man; in fact, he was under fifty, and possessed of the qualities that make
- for strength and virility even unto the age of fourscore years. While his
- old comrades, far up in the seventies, were content to sit by the fire in
- winter and in the shade in summer, he, not yet so old as they when their
- long stretch of intimacy began, was not resigned to the soft things of
- life. He was built of steel, and the steel within him called for the clash
- with flint. He loved the spark of fire that flashed in the contact.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a harsh December night when the two old men sat guard over the
- message from the sea, and it was on a warm June day that they had said
- good-bye to him at the outset of his most recent flight.
- </p>
- <p>
- The patient butler, Jones, had made no less than four visits to the
- library since ten o'clock to awaken them and pack them off to bed. Each
- time he had been ordered away, once with the joint admonition to “mind his
- own business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is nearly midnight,” protested Jones irritably, with a glance at
- the almost empty decanter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jones,” said Danbury Dawes with great dignity and an eye that deceived
- him to such a degree that he could not for the life of him understand why
- Jones was attending them in pairs, “Jones, you ought to be in—hic—bed,
- damn you both of you. Wha' you mean, sir, by coming in—hic—here thish time
- o' night dis-disturbing—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You infernal ingrate,” broke in Mr Riggs fiercely, “don't you dare to
- touch that bottle, sir! Let it alone!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's time you were in bed,” pronounced Jones, taking Mr Dawes by the arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes sagged heavily in his chair and grinned triumphantly. He was a
- short, very fat old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “People who live in—hic—glass houses————” he began
- amiably, and then suddenly was overtaken by the thought of the moment
- before. “Take your hand off of me, confoun' you! D' you sup-supposh I can
- go to bed with my bes' frien' out there—hic—in the mid-middle of Atlan'ic
- Oc-o-shum, sinking in four miles of wa-wa'er and calling f-far help?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take him to bed, Jones,” said Mr Riggs firmly. “He's drunk and-and
- utterly useless at a time like this. Take him along.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who the dev—hic—il are you, sir?” demanded Mr Dawes, regarding Mr Riggs
- as if he had never seen him before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are both drunk,” said Jones succinctly. Mr Riggs began to whimper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My bes' frien' is drawnin' by inches, and you come in here and tell me
- I'm drunk. It's most heartless thing I ever heard of. Isn't it, Danbury,
- ol' pal? Isn't it, damn you? Speak up!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drawnin' by inches—hic—in four miles of wa-water,” admitted Mr Dawes
- miserably. “My God, Jo-Jones, do you know how many—hic—inches there
- are in four miles?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Moved by the same impulse, the two old men struggled to their feet and
- embraced each other, swayed by an emotion so honest that all sense of the
- ludicrous was removed. Even Jones, though he grinned, allowed a note of
- gentleness to creep into his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come along, gentlemen, like good fellows. Let's go to bed. I'm sure the
- message to Mr Frederic is not as bad as you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs, who was head and shoulders taller than Mr Dawes, made a gesture
- of despair with both arms, forgetting that they encircled his friend's
- neck, with the result that both of his bony elbows came in violent contact
- with Mr Dawes's ears, almost upsetting him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't argue, Jones,” he interrupted dismally. “I know it's bad news. So
- does Mr Dawes. Don't you, Danbury?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What d' you mean by—hic—knockin' my hat off?” demanded Mr Dawes
- furiously, shaking his fist at Mr Riggs from rather close quarters—so
- close, in fact, that Mr Riggs suddenly clapped his hands to his stomach
- and emitted a surprised groan.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jones inserted his figure between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, come, gentlemen; don't forget yourselves. What now, Mr Riggs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm lookin' for the gentleman's hat, sir,” said Mr Riggs impressively
- from a stooping posture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His hat is on the rack in the hall,” said Jones sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I shan't ex-expect an—hic—'pology,” said Mr Dawes magnanimously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs opened his mouth to retort, but as he did so his eyes fell upon
- the blue envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Jim—poor old Jim Brood!” he groaned. “We mustn't lose a
- minute, Danbury. He needs us, old pal. We must start relief exp'ition'
- fore mornin'. Not a minute to be lost, Jones—not a——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The heavy front door closed with a bang at that instant, and the sound of
- footsteps, came from the hall—a quick, firm tread that had decision
- in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jones cast a furtive, nervous glance over his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry to have Mr Frederic see you like this,” he said, biting his
- lip. “He hates it so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two old men made a commendable effort to stand erect, but no effort to
- stand alone. They linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Show him in,” said Mr Riggs magnificently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now we'll fin' out wass in telegram off briny deep,” said Mr Dawes,
- straddling his legs a little farther apart in order to declare a staunch
- front.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's worth waiting up for,” said Mr Riggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Abs'lutely,” said his staunch friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic Brood appeared in the door, stopping short just inside the heavy
- curtains. There was a momentary picture, such as a stage-director would
- have arranged. He was still wearing his silk hat and top-coat, and one
- glove had been halted in the process of removal. Young Brood stared at the
- group of three, a frank stare of amazement. A crooked smile came to his
- lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Somewhat later than usual, I see,” he said, and the glove came off with a
- jerk. “What's the matter, Jones? Rebellion?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir. It's the wireless, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wireless?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, vaguely pointing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said young Brood, crossing slowly to the table. He picked up the
- envelope and looked at the inscription. “Oh,” said he again in quite a
- different tone on seeing that it was addressed to him. “From father, I
- dare say,” he went on, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old men leaned forward, fixing their blear eyes upon the missive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Le's hear the worst, Freddy,” said Mr Riggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man ran his finger under the flap and deliberately drew out the
- message. There ensued another picture. As he read, his eyes widened and
- then contracted; his firm young jaw became set and rigid. Suddenly a
- short, bitter execration fell from his lips and the paper crumpled in his
- hand. Without another word he strode to the fireplace and tossed it upon
- the coals. It flared for a second and was wafted up the chimney, a
- charred, feathery thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without deigning to notice the two old men who had sat up half the night
- to learn the contents of that wonderful thing from the sea, he whirled on
- his heel and left the room. One might have noticed that his lips were
- drawn in a mirthless, sardonic smile, and that his eyes were angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Lordy!” sighed Danbury Dawes, blinking, and was on the point of
- sitting down abruptly. The arm of Jones prevented.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never was so insulted in my——” began
- Joseph Riggs feebly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady, gentlemen,” said Jones. “Lean on me, please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ames Brood's home
- was a remarkable one. That portion of the house which rightly may be
- described as “public” in order to distinguish it from other parts where
- privacy was enforced, was not unlike any of the richly furnished,
- old-fashioned places in the lower part of the city where there are still
- traces left of the Knickerbockers and their times. Dignified, stately,
- almost gloomy, it was a mansion in which memories dwelt, where the past
- strode unseen among sturdy things of mahogany and walnut and worn but
- priceless brocades and silks.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crystal chandelier in the long drawing-room had shed light for the
- Broods since the beginning of the nineteenth century; the great old
- sideboard was still covered with the massive plate of a hundred years ago;
- the tables, the chairs, the high-boys, the chests of drawers, and the huge
- four-posters were like satin to the eye and touch; the rugs, while older
- perhaps than the city itself, alone were new to the house of Brood. They
- had been installed by the present master of the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Age, distinction, quality attended one the instant he set foot inside the
- sober portals. This was not the home of men who had been merely rich; it
- was not wealth alone that stood behind these stately investments.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the top of the house were the rooms which no one entered except by the
- gracious will of the master. Here James Brood had stored the quaint,
- priceless treasures of his own peculiar fancy: exquisite, curious things
- from the mystic East, things that are not to be bought and sold, but come
- only to the hand of him who searches in lands where peril is the price.
- </p>
- <p>
- Worlds separated the upper and lower regions of that fine old house; a
- single step took one from the sedate Occident into the very heart of the
- Orient; a narrow threshold was the line between the rugged West and the
- soft, languorous, seductive East. In this part of the house James Brood,
- when at home for one of his brief stays, spent many of his hours in
- seclusion, shut off from the rest of the establishment as completely as if
- he were the inhabitant of another world. Attended by his Hindu servant, a
- silent man named Ranjab, and on occasions by his secretary, he saw but
- little of the remaining members of his rather extensive household.
- </p>
- <p>
- For several years he had been engaged in the task of writing his memoirs—so-called—in
- so far as they related to his experiences and researches of the past
- twenty years. It was not his intention to give this long and elaborate
- account of himself to the world at large, but to publish privately a very
- limited edition without regard for expense, copies of which were to find
- their way into exclusive collections and libraries given over to science
- and travel. This work progressed slowly because of his frequent and
- protracted absences. When at home, he laboured ardently and with a purpose
- that more than offset the periods of indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- His secretary and amanuensis was Lydia Desmond, the nineteen-year-old
- daughter of his one-time companion and friend, the late John Desmond, whose
- death occurred when the girl was barely ten years of age.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood, on hearing of his old comrade's decease, immediately made inquiries
- concerning the condition in which he had left his wife and child, with the
- result that Mrs Desmond was installed as housekeeper in the New York house
- and the daughter given every advantage in the way of an education.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desmond had left nothing in the shape of riches except undiminished love
- for his wife and a diary kept during those perilous days before he met and
- married her. This diary was being incorporated in the history of James
- Brood's adventures, by consent of the widow, and was to speak for Brood in
- words he could not with modesty utter for himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- In those pages John Desmond was to tell his own story in his own way, for
- Brood's love for his friend was broad enough even to admit of that. He was
- to share his life in retrospect with Desmond and the two old men, as he
- had shared it with them in reality.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia's room, adjoining her mother's, was on the third floor at the foot
- of the small stairway leading up to the proscribed retreat at the top of
- the house. There was a small sitting-room off the two bed-chambers, given
- over entirely to Mrs Desmond and her daughter. In this little room
- Frederic Brood spent many a quiet, happy hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Desmonds, mother and daughter, understood and pitied the lonely boy
- who came to the big house soon after they were themselves installed. His
- heart, which had many sores, expanded and glowed in the warmth of their
- kindness and affection; the plague of unfriendliness that was his by
- absorption gave way before this unexpected kindness, not immediately, it
- is true, but completely in the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- By nature he was slow to respond to the advances of others; his life had
- been such that avarice accounted for all that he received from others in
- the shape of respect and consideration. He was prone to discount a
- friendly attitude, for the simple reason that in his experience all
- friendships were marred by the fact that their sincerity rested entirely
- upon the generosity of the man who paid for them—his father. No one
- had loved him for himself; no one had given him an unselfish thought in
- all the years of his boyhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- The family with whom he had lived in a curious sort of retirement up to
- the time he was fifteen had no real feeling for him beyond the bounds of
- duty; his tutors had taken their pay in exchange for all they gave; his
- companions were men and women who dealt with him as one deals with a
- precious investment. He represented ease and prosperity to them—no
- more. As he grew older he understood all this. What warmth there may have
- been in his little heart was chilled by contact with these sordid
- influences.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first he held himself aloof from the Desmonds; he was slow to
- surrender. He suspected them of the same motives that had been the basis
- of all previous attachments. When at last he realised that they were not
- like the others, his cup of joy, long an empty vessel, was filled to the
- brim and his happiness was without bounds.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were amazed by the transformation. The rather sullen, unapproachable
- lad became at once so friendly, so dependent, that, had they not been
- acquainted with the causes behind the old state of reticence, his very joy
- might have made a
- nuisance of him. He followed Mrs Desmond
- about in very much the same spirit that inspires a
- hungry dog; he watched her with eager, half-famished eyes; he was on her
- heels four-fifths of the time.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Lydia, pretty little Lydia, he adored her. His heart began for the
- first time to sing with the joy of youth, and the sensation was a novel
- one. It had seemed to him that he could never be anything but an old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not a day passed during his career at Harvard that he failed to write to
- one or other of these precious friends. His vacations were spent with
- them; his excursions were never carried out unless they found it possible
- to accompany him. He followed Mrs Desmond, met many
- women, but he thought of only two. They appeared to constitute all
- femininity so far as he was concerned. Through their awakening influence
- he came to find pleasure in the companionship of other young men, and, be
- it said for him, despite a certain unconquerable aloofness, he was one of
- the most popular men in his class.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was his custom, on coming home for the night, no matter what the hour,
- to pause before Lydia's door on the way to his own room at the other end
- of the long hall. There was always a tender smile on his lips as he
- regarded the white panels before tapping gently with the tips of his
- fingers. Then he would wait for the sleepy “Good night, Freddy,” which
- invariably came from within, and he would sing out “Good night” as he made
- off to bed. Usually, however, he was at home long before her bedtime, and
- they spent the evenings together. That she was his father's secretary was
- of no moment. To him she was Lydia—his Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the past three months or more he had been privileged to hold her close
- in his arms and to kiss her good night at parting. They were lovers now.
- The slow fuse of passion had reached its end and the flame was alive and
- shining with radiance that enveloped both of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this night, however, he passed her door without knocking. His dark,
- handsome face was flushed and his teeth were set in sullen anger. With his
- hand on the knob of his own door, he suddenly remembered that he had
- failed Lydia for the first time, and stopped. A pang of shame shot through
- him. For a moment he hesitated and then started guiltily toward the
- forgotten door. Even as he raised his hand to sound the loving signal, the
- door was opened and Lydia, fully dressed, confronted him. For a moment
- they regarded each other in silence, she intently, he with astonishment
- not quite free from confusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm—I'm sorry, dearest——” he began, his first desire
- being to account for his oversight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It <i>is</i> bad news?” she demanded, anxiously watching his face. “I was
- afraid, dear. I couldn't go to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You, too?” he exclaimed bitterly. “The old chaps—but it's a shame
- for you to have waited up, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what has happened. It can't be that your father is ill—or
- in danger. You are angry, Frederic; so it can't be that. What is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked away sullenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it's really nothing, I suppose. Just an unexpected jolt, that's all.
- I was angry for a moment——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are still angry,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. She was a
- tall, slender girl. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own. “Don't
- you want to tell me, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He never gives me a thought,” he said, compressing his lips. “He thinks
- of no one but himself. God, what a father!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy, dear! You must not speak——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Haven't I some claim on his consideration? Is it fair that I should be
- ignored in everything, in every way? I won't put up with it, Lydia! I'm
- not a child. I'm a man and I am his son. But I might as well be a dog in
- the street for all the thought he gives to me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She put her finger to her lips, a scared look stealing into her dark eyes.
- Jones was conducting the two old men to their room on the floor below. A
- door closed softly. The voices died away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a strange man,” she said. “He is a good man, Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To everyone else, yes. But to me? Why, Lydia, I—I believe he hates
- me. You know what——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! A man does not hate his son. I've tried for years to drive that
- silly notion out of your mind. You——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I know I'm a fool to speak of it, but I—I can't help feeling as
- I do. You've seen enough to know that I'm not to blame for it, either. And
- then—oh, what's the use whining about it? I've got to make the best
- of it, so I'll try to keep my mouth closed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is the message?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I threw it into the fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was furious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won't you tell me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you think he has done? Can you guess what he has done to all of
- us?” She did not answer. “Well, I'll tell you just what he said in that
- wireless. It was from the <i>Lusitania</i>, twelve hundred miles off
- Sandy Hook—relayed, I suppose, so that the whole world might know—sent
- at four this afternoon. I remember every word of the cursed thing,
- although I merely glanced at it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Send the car to meet Mrs Brood and me at the Cunard pier Thursday. Have
- Mrs Desmond put the house in order for its new mistress. By the way, you
- might inform her that I was married last Wednesday in Paris.' It was
- signed 'James Brood,' not even 'father.' What do you think of that for a
- thunderbolt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Married?” she gasped. “Your father married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Put the house in order for its new mistress,'” he almost snarled.
- “'Inform her that I was married last Wednesday'! Of course he's married.
- Am I not to inform your mother? Isn't the car to meet Mrs Brood and him?
- Does he say anything about his son meeting him at the pier? No! Does he
- cable his son that he is married? No! Does he do anything that a real,
- human father would do? No! That message was a deliberate insult to me,
- Lydia, a nasty, rotten slap in the face. I mean the way it was worded.
- Just as if it wasn't enough that he had gone and married some cheap
- show-girl or a miserable foreigner or Heaven knows——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy! You forget yourself. Your father would not marry a cheap
- show-girl. You know that. And you must not forget that your mother was a
- foreigner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry I said that,” he exclaimed hoarsely. Then fiercely: “But can't
- you see what all this will come to? A new mistress of the house! It means
- your mother will have to go—that maybe you'll go. Nothing will be as
- it has been. All the sweetness gone—all the goodness! A woman in the
- house who will also treat me as if I didn't belong here! A woman who
- married him for his money, an adventuress. Oh, you can't tell me; I know!
- 'You might inform Mrs Desmond that I was married'! Good Lord!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to pace the floor, striking one fist viciously in the palm of the
- other hand. Lydia, pale and trembling, seemed to have forgotten his
- presence. She was staring fixedly at the white surface of a door down the
- hall, and there was infinite pain in her wide eyes. Her lips moved once or
- twice; there was a single unspoken word upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why couldn't he have wired me last week?” the young man was muttering.
- “What was his object in waiting until to-day? Wouldn't any other father in
- the world have telegraphed his only son if he were going to—to bring
- someone home like this? 'Have the car meet Mrs Brood and me'! If that
- isn't the quintessence of scorn! He orders me to do these things. He
- doesn't even honour me with a direct, personal message. He doesn't tell <i>me</i>
- he is married. He asks me to inform someone else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia, leaning rather heavily against the door, spoke to him in a low,
- cautious voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you tell Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped short.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! And they waited up to see if they could be of any assistance to him
- in an hour of peril! What a joke! Poor old beggars! I've never felt sorry
- for them before, but, on my soul, I do now. What will she do to the poor
- old chaps? I shudder to think of it. And she'll make short work of
- everything else she doesn't like around here, too. Your mother, Lydia—why,
- God help us, you know what will just have to happen in her case. It's——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't speak so loudly, dear—please, please! She is asleep. Of
- course, we—we shan't stay on, Freddy. We'll have to go as soon as——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes filled with tears. He seized her in his arms and held her close.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a beastly, beastly shame, darling. Oh, Lord, what a fool a man can
- make of himself!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must not say such things,” she murmured, stroking his cheek with
- cold, trembling fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A fine trick to play on all of us!” he grated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, Freddy darling: your father has a right to do as he chooses. He
- has a right to companionship, to love, to happiness. He has done
- everything for us that man could——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why couldn't he have done the fine, sensible thing, Lydia? Why
- couldn't he have—have fallen in love with—with your mother?
- Why not have married her if he had to marry someone in——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy!” she cried, putting her hand over his mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not to be stopped. He gently removed her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your mother is the finest woman in the world. Perhaps she wouldn't have
- him, but that's not the point. Good Lord, how I would have loved him for
- giving her to me as a mother. And here he comes, bringing some devil of a
- stranger into—oh, it's sickening!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, keeping his eyes fixed on
- the door down the hall. The girl lay very still in his arms. Suddenly a
- wild sob broke in her throat, and she buried her face on his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why—why, don't cry, dearest! Don't!” he whispered miserably. “What
- a rotter I am! Inflicting you with my silly imaginings! Don't cry! I dare
- say everything will turn out all right. It's my beastly disposition. Kiss
- me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She kissed him swiftly. Her wet cheek lay for a second against his own,
- and then, with a stifled good night, she broke away from him. An instant
- later she was gone; her door was closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somewhat sobered, and not a little perturbed by her outburst, he stood
- still for a moment, staring at the door. Then he turned and passed slowly
- into his own room.
- </p>
- <p>
- A fire smouldered in the grate. In this huge, old-fashioned house there
- were grates in all of the spacious bedrooms, and not infrequently fires
- were started in them by the capable Jones. Frederic stood for he knew not
- how long above the half-dead coals, staring at them with a new and more
- bitter complaint at the back of his mind. Was there anything between Mrs
- Desmond and his father? What was back of that look of anguish in Lydia's
- eyes? He suddenly realised that he was muttering oaths, not of anger, but
- of pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning he came down earlier than was his custom. His night had
- been a troubled one. Forgetting his own woes, or belittling them, he had
- thought only of what this news from the sea would mean to the dear woman
- he loved so well. No one was in the library, but a huge fire was blazing.
- A blizzard was raging.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once upon a time, when he first came to the house, a piano had stood in
- the drawing-room. His joy at that time knew no bounds; he loved music. For
- his age he was no mean musician. But one evening his father, coming in
- unexpectedly, heard the player at the instrument. For a moment he stood
- transfixed in the doorway watching the eager, almost inspired face of the
- lad, and then, pale as a ghost, stole away without disturbing him. Strange
- to say, Frederic was playing a waltz of Ziehrer's, a Waltz that his mother
- had played when the honeymoon was in the full. The following day the piano
- was taken away by a storage company. The boy never knew why it was
- removed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic picked up the morning paper. His eye traversed the front page
- rapidly. There were reports of fearful weather at sea. Ships in touch with
- wireless stations flashed news of the riotous gales far out on the
- Atlantic, of tremendous seas that wreaked damage to the staunchest of
- vessels. The whole seaboard was strewn with the wreckage of small craft; a
- score of vessels were known to be ashore and in grave peril. The movement
- of passenger-vessels, at the bottom of the page, riveted his attention.
- The <i>Lusitania</i> was reported seven hundred miles out, and in the
- heart of the hurricane. She would be a day late.
- </p>
- <p>
- The newspaper was slightly crumpled, as if someone else had read it before
- him. He found himself wondering how he would feel if the <i>Lusitania</i>
- never reached New York! He wondered what his sensations would be if a call
- for help came from the great vessel, if the dreadful news came that she
- was sinking with all on board!
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up from the paper with what actually seemed to him to be a
- guilty feeling. Someone had entered the room. Mrs Desmond was coming
- toward him, a queer little smile on her lips. She was a tall, fair woman,
- an English type, and still extremely handsome. Hers was an honest beauty
- that had no fear of age.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is a staunch ship, Frederic,” she said, without any other form of
- greeting. “She will be late, but there's really nothing to worry about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not worrying,” he said confusedly. “Lydia has told you the—the
- news?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather staggering, isn't it?” he said with a wry smile. In spite of
- himself he watched her face with curious intentness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather,” she said briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was instructed to inform you that he was married last Wednesday,” he
- said, and his face hardened. “And to have the car meet them at the dock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It won't be necessary, Frederic. I have given Jones his instructions. You
- will not even have to carry out the orders.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you don't approve of the way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know just how you feel, poor boy. Don't try to explain. I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You always understand,” he said, lowering his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not always,” she said quietly. There was something cryptic in the remark.
- He kept his eyes averted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's going to play hob with everything,” he said, jamming his hands
- deep into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to hunch forward and to
- contract.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am especially sorry for Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs,” she said. Her voice was
- steady and full of earnestness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do they know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were up and about at daybreak, poor souls. Do you know, Freddy, they
- were starting off in this blizzard when I met them in the hall!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The deuce! I—I hope it wasn't on account of anything I may have
- said to them last night,” he cried in contrition.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled. “No. They had their own theory about the message. The storm
- strengthened it. They were positive that your father was in great peril. I
- don't like to tell you this, but they seemed to think that you couldn't be
- depended upon to take a hand in—in—well, in helping him. They
- were determined to charter a vessel of some sort and start off in all this
- blizzard to search the sea for Mr Brood. Oh, aren't they wonderful?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no feeling of resentment toward the old men for their opinion of
- him. Instead, his eyes glowed with an honest admiration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By George, Mrs Desmond, they <i>are</i> great! They are <i>men</i>, bless
- their hearts. Seventy-five years old and still ready to face anything for
- a comrade! It <i>does</i> prove something, doesn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It proves that your father has made no mistake in selecting his friends,
- my dear. My husband used to say that he would cheerfully die for James
- Brood, and he knew that James Brood would have died for him just as
- readily. There is something in friendships of that sort that we can't
- understand. We never have been able to test our friends, much less
- ourselves. We——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would die for you, Mrs Desmond,” cried Frederic, a deep flush
- overspreading his face. “For you and Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You come by that naturally,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm.
- “Blood will tell. Thank you, Frederic.” She smiled. “I am sure it will not
- be necessary for you to die for me, however. As for Lydia, you must live,
- not die, for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll do both,” he cried impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before you go in to breakfast I want to say something else to you,
- Frederic,” said she seriously. “Lydia has repeated everything you said to
- her last night. My dear boy, my husband has been dead for twelve years. I
- loved him, and he died loving me. I shall never marry another man. I am
- still the wife of John Desmond; I still consider myself bound to him. Can
- you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I talked like a lunatic last night, I fear,” he confessed. “I might have
- known. You, too, belong to the list of loyal ones. Forgive me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing to forgive, dear,” she said simply. “And now, one more
- word, Frederic. You must accept this new condition of affairs in the right
- spirit. Your father has married again, after all these years. It is not
- likely that he has done so without deliberation. Therefore, it is
- reasonable to assume that he is bringing home with him a wife of whom he
- at least is proud, and that should weigh considerably in your summing up
- of the situation. She will be beautiful, accomplished, refined, and good,
- Frederic. Of that you may be sure. Let me implore you to withhold judgment
- until a later day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not object to the situation, Mrs Desmond,” said he, the angry light
- returning to his eyes, “so much as I resent the wording of that telegram.
- It is always just that way. He loses no chance to humiliate me. He——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! You are losing your temper again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, who wouldn't? And here's another thing, the very worst of all. How
- is this new condition going to affect you, Mrs Desmond?” She was silent
- for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, I shan't stay on here, Frederic. I shall not be needed now. As
- soon as Mrs Brood is settled here I shall go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you expect me to be cheerful and contented!” he cried bitterly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a man, Frederic. It is for you to say yea and nay; women must say
- one or the other. A man may make his own bed, but he doesn't always have
- to lie in it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sounds rather like Solomon,” he said ruefully. “I suppose you mean that
- if I'm not contented here I ought to get out and look for happiness
- elsewhere, reserving the right to come back if I fail?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something of the sort,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father objects to my going into business or taking up a profession. I
- am dependent on him for everything. But why go into that? We've talked it
- over a thousand times. I don't understand, but perhaps you do. It's a
- dog's way of living.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your father is making a man of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he is, eh?” with great scorn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He will make you see some day that the kind of life you lead is not
- the kind you want. Your pride, your ambition will rebel. Then you will
- make something out of life for yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think that is in his mind, if you'll pardon me. I sometimes
- believe he actually wants me to stay as I am, always a dependent. Why, how
- can he expect me to marry and——” He stopped short, his face
- paling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on, please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it looks to me as if he means to make it impossible for me to
- marry, Mrs Desmond. I've thought of it a good deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And is it impossible?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I shall marry Lydia, even though I have to dig in the streets for
- her. It isn't that, however. There's some other reason back of his
- attitude, but for the life of me I can't get at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't try to get at it, my dear,” she said. “Wait and see. Come, you
- must have your coffee. I am glad you came down early. The old gentlemen
- are at breakfast now. Come in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed her dejectedly, a droop to his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs were seated at the table. Lydia, a trifle pale and
- distrait, was pouring their third cup of coffee. The old men showed no
- sign of their midnight experience. They were very wideawake, clear-eyed,
- and alert, as old men will be who do not count the years of life left in
- the span appointed for them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good morning, Freddy,” said they, almost in one voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he passed behind their chairs on his way to Lydia's side, he slapped
- each of them cordially on the back. They seemed to swell with relief and
- gratitude. He was not in the habit of slapping them on the back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good morning, gentlemen,” said he. Then he lifted Lydia's slim fingers to
- his lips. “Good morning, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She squeezed his fingers tightly and smiled. A look of relief leaped into
- her eyes; she drew a long breath. She poured his coffee for him every
- morning. Her hand shook a little as she lifted the tiny cream-pitcher.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't sleep very well,” she explained in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment in a gentle caress. Then he
- sat down in the chair Jones had drawn out for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, gentlemen, when does the relief boat start?” he asked, with a
- forced attempt at humour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes regarded him with great solemnity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy, it's too late. A man can be saved from the scourge, tigers,
- elephants, lions, snakes, and almost everything else in God's world, but,
- blast me, he can't be protected against women! They are deadly. They can
- overpower the strongest of men, sir. Your poor father is lost for ever. I
- never was so sorry for anyone in my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he had only called for help a week or so ago, we could have saved
- him,” lamented Mr Riggs. “But he never even peeped. Lordy, Lordy, and just
- think of it, he yelled like an Indian when that lion leaped on him at
- Nairobi!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Jim!” sighed Mr Dawes. “He'll probably have to ask us to pull
- out, too. I imagine she'll insist on making a spare bedroom out of our
- room, so's she can entertain all of her infernal relations. Jones, will
- you give me some more bacon and another egg?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I thought it was nothing but a shipwreck,” murmured Mr Riggs
- plaintively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic hurried through breakfast. Lydia followed him into the library.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going out, dear?” she asked anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I've got to do something. I can't sit still and think of what's
- going to happen. I'll be back for luncheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Half an hour later he was in the small bachelor apartment of two college
- friends, a few blocks farther up-town, and he was doing the thing he did
- nearly every day of his life in a surreptitious way. He sat at the cheap
- upright piano in their disordered living-room and, unhampered by the
- presence of young men who preferred music as it is rendered for the
- masses, played as if his very soul was in his fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next three or
- four days passed slowly for those who waited. A spirit of uneasiness
- pervaded the household. Among the servants, from Jones down, there was
- dismay. It was not even remotely probable that Mrs Desmond would remain,
- and they confessed to a certain affection for her, strange as it may
- appear to those who know the traits of servants who have been well treated
- by those above them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic flatly refused to meet the steamer when she docked. As if swayed
- by his decision, Dawes and Riggs likewise abandoned a plan to greet the
- returning master and his bride as they came down the gangplank. But for
- the almost peremptory counsel of Mrs Desmond, Brood's son would have
- absented himself from the house on the day of their arrival. Jones and a
- footman went to the pier with the chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was half-past two in the afternoon when the automobile drew up in front
- of the house and the fur-coated footman nimbly hopped down and threw open
- the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood, a tall, distinguished-looking man of fifty, stepped out of
- the limousine. For an instant, before turning to assist his wife from the
- car, he allowed his keen eyes to sweep the windows on the lower floor. In
- one of them stood his son, holding the lace curtains apart and smiling a
- welcome that seemed sincere. He waved his hand to the man on the
- side-walk. Brood responded with a swift, almost perfunctory gesture, and
- then held out his hand to the woman who was descending.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic's intense gaze was fixed on the stranger who was coming into his
- life. At a word from Brood she glanced up at the window. The smile still
- lingered on the young man's lips, but his eyes were charged with an
- expression of acute wonder. She smiled, but he was scarcely aware of the
- fact. He watched them cross the side-walk and mount the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never looked upon a more beautiful creature in all his life. A kind
- of stupefaction held him motionless until he heard the door close behind
- them. In that brief interval a picture had been impressed upon his senses
- that was to last for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was slightly above the medium height, slender and graceful even in the
- long, thick coat that enveloped her. She did not wear a veil. He had a
- swift but enduring glimpse of dark, lustrous eyes; of long lashes that
- drooped; of a curiously pallid, perfectly modelled face; of red lips and
- very white teeth; of jet-black hair parted above a broad, clear brow to
- curtain the temple and ear; of a firm, sensitive chin. Somehow he received
- the extraordinary impression that the slim, lithe body was never cold;
- that she expressed in some indefinable way the unvarying temperature of
- youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried into the hall, driven by the spur of duty. They were crossing
- the vestibule. Jones, who had preceded them in a taxicab, was holding open
- the great hall door. Dawes and Higgs, shivering quite as much with
- excitement as from the chilly blast that swept in through the storm-doors,
- occupied a point of vantage directly behind the butler. They suggested a
- reception committee. Frederic was obliged to remain in the background.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard his father's warm, almost gay response to the greetings of the
- old men, whose hands he wrung with fervour that was unmistakable. He heard
- him present them to the new Mrs Brood as “the best old boys in all the
- world,” and they were both saying, with spasmodic cackles of pleasure,
- that she “mustn't believe a word the young rascal said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was struck by the calm, serene manner in which she accepted these
- jocular contributions to the occasion. Her smile was friendly, her
- handshake cordial, and yet there was an unmistakable air of tolerance, as
- of one who is accustomed to tribute. The rather noisy acclamations of the
- old adventurers brought no flush of embarrassment to her cheek; not the
- flicker of an eyelid, nor a protesting word or frown. She merely smiled
- and thanked them in simple, commonplace phrases.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic, who was given to forming swift impressions, most of which sprang
- from his own varying moods and were seldom permanent, formed an instant
- and rather startling opinion of the newcomer. She was either a remarkable
- actress or a woman whose previous station in life had been far more
- exalted than the one she now approached. He had an absurd notion that he
- might be looking upon a person of noble birth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice was low-pitched and marked by huskiness that was peculiar in
- that it was musical, not throaty. Frederic, on first seeing her, had
- leaped to the conclusion that her English would not be perfect. He was
- somewhat surprised to discover that she had but the faintest trace of an
- accent.
- </p>
- <p>
- The exchange of greetings at the door seemed to him unnecessarily
- prolonged. He stood somewhat apart from the little circle, uncomfortable
- and distinctly annoyed with the old men who, in their garrulous gallantry,
- blocked the way in both directions. He awoke suddenly, however, to the
- realisation that he had been looking into his new stepmother's eyes for a
- long time and that she was returning his gaze with some intensity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And this?” she said, abruptly breaking in upon one of Danbury's hasty
- reminiscences, effectually ending it. “This is Frederic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came directly toward the young man, her small, gloved hand extended.
- Her eyes were looking into his with an intentness that disconcerted him.
- There was no smile on her lips. It was as if she regarded this moment as a
- pronounced crisis.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic mumbled something fatuous about being glad to see her, and felt
- his face burn under her steady gaze. His father came forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; this is Frederic, my dear,” he said, without a trace of warmth in
- his voice. As she withdrew her hand from Frederic's clasp James Brood
- extended his. “How are you, Frederic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite well, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They shook hands in the most perfunctory manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I need not ask how you are, father,” said the son, after an instant's
- hesitation. “You never looked better, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you. I <i>am</i> well. Ah, Mrs Desmond! It is good to be home again
- with you all. My dear, permit me to introduce Mrs John Desmond. You have
- heard me speak of my old comrade and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard you speak of Mr Desmond a thousand times,” said his wife.
- There may have been a shade of emphasis on the prefix, but it was so
- slight that no one remarked it save the widow of John Desmond, who had
- joined the group.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best pal a man ever had,” said Mr Dawes with conviction. “Wasn't he,
- Riggs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was,” said Mr Riggs loudly, as if expecting someone to dispute it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you go to your room at once, Mrs Brood?” asked Mrs Desmond.
- </p>
- <p>
- The new mistress of the house had not offered to shake hands with her, as
- James Brood had done. She had moved closer to Frederic and was smiling in
- a rather shy, pleading way, in direct contrast to her manner of the moment
- before. The smile was for her stepson. She barely glanced at Mrs Desmond.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, no. I see a nice big fire, and—oh, I have been so cold!”
- She shivered very prettily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come!” cried her husband. “That's just the thing.” No one spoke as they
- moved toward the library. “We must try to thaw out,” he added dryly, with
- a faint smile on his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- His wife laid her hand on Frederic's arm. “It is cold outside, Frederic,”
- she said; “very cold. I am not accustomed to the cold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If anyone had told him beforehand that his convictions, or his prejudices,
- could be overthrown in the twinkling of an eye, he would have laughed him
- to scorn. He was prepared to dislike her. He was determined that his hand
- should be against her in the conflict that was bound to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, in a flash, his incomprehensible heart proved treacherous. She
- had touched some secret spring in the bottom of it, and a strange, new
- emotion rushed up within him, like the flood which finds a new channel and
- will not be denied by mortal ingenuity. A queer, wistful note of sympathy
- in her voice had done the trick. Something in the touch of her fingers on
- his arm completed the mystery. He was conscious of a mighty surge of
- relief. The horizon cleared for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall do our best to keep you warm,” he said quite gaily, and was
- somewhat astonished at himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had preceded the others into the library. James Brood was divesting
- himself of his coat in the hall, attended by the leechlike old men. Mrs
- Desmond stood in the doorway, a detached figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must love me, Frederic. You must be very, very fond of me, not for
- your father's sake, but for mine. Then we shall be great friends, not
- antagonists.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was helping her with her coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I confess I looked forward to you with a good deal of animosity,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was quite natural,” she said simply. “A stepmother is not of one's own
- choosing, as a rule.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's usually resented,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I shall not be a stepmother,” she said quickly. Her eyes were serious
- for an instant, then filled with a luminous smile. “I shall be Yvonne to
- you, and you Frederic to me. Let it be a good beginning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are splendid,” he cried. “It's not going to be at all bad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure you will like me,” she said composedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood joined them at the fireside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear, Mrs Desmond will show you over the house when you are ready. You
- will be interested in seeing the old place. Later on I shall take you up
- to my secret hiding-place, as they say in books. Ranjab will have the
- rooms in order by this evening. Where is your daughter, Mrs Desmond?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is at work on the catalogue, Mr Brood, in the jade room. In your last
- letter you instructed her to finish that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But this is a holiday, Mrs Desmond,” said he, frowning. “Jones, will you
- ask Miss Lydia to join us for tea at half-past four?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will adore Lydia,” said Frederic to Mrs Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Apparently she did not hear him, for she gave no sign. She was looking
- about the room with eyes that seemed to take in everything. For the moment
- her interest appeared to be centred on the inanimate, to the complete
- exclusion of all other objects. Frederic had the odd notion that she was
- appraising her new home with the most calculating of minds.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even as he watched her he was struck by the subtle change that came into
- her dark eyes. It lingered for the briefest moment, but the impression he
- got was lasting. There was something like dread in the far-away look that
- settled for a few seconds and then lifted. She caught him looking at her,
- and smiled once more, but nervously. Then her glance went swiftly to the
- face of James Brood, who was listening to something that Mrs Desmond was
- saying. It rested there for a short but intense scrutiny, and the smile
- began to die.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure I shall be very happy in this dear old house,” she said
- quietly. “Your own mother must have loved it, Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood started. Unnoticed by the others, his fingers tightened on the
- gloves he carried in his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knew my mother,” said the young man. “She died when I was a
- baby.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But of course this was her home, was it not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know,” said Frederic uncomfortably. “I suppose so. I—I came
- here a few years ago, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But even though you never knew her, there must still be something here
- that—that—how shall I say it? I mean, you must feel that she
- and you were here together years and years ago. One may never have seen
- his mother, yet he can always feel her. There is something—shall I
- say spiritual, in——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her husband broke in upon these unwelcome reflections. His voice was
- curiously harsh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs Desmond is waiting, Yvonne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew herself up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you in such great haste, Mrs Desmond?” she asked in a voice that cut
- like a knife. Instinctively she glanced at Frederic's face. She saw the
- muscles of the jaw harden and an angry light leap into his eyes. Instantly
- her arrogance fell away. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Desmond. I have many bad
- habits. Now will you kindly show me to my room? I prefer that you and not
- one of the servants should be my guide. <i>Au revoir</i>, Frederic. Till
- tea-time, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were sparkling, her husky voice once more full of the appealing
- quality that could not be denied. The flush of injured pride faded from
- Mrs Desmond's brow and a faint look of surprise crept into her eyes. She
- was surprised at her own inclination to overlook the affront, and not by
- the change in Mrs Brood's manner. She smiled an unspoken pardon and stood
- aside for the new mistress to pass in front of her. To her further
- amazement the younger woman laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a gentle,
- friendly pressure.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men watched them in silence as they left the room side by side. A
- moment later they heard the soft laughter of the two women as they mounted
- the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic drew a long breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's splendid, father,” he said impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's face was still clouded. He did not respond to the eager tribute.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes cleared his throat and cast a significant glance toward the
- dining-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you say to a drink to the bride, Jim?” he said, somewhat
- explosively. He had been silent for a longer period than usual. It wasn't
- natural for him to be voiceless, even when quite alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good idea,” added Mr Riggs. “I was just thinking of it myself. A health
- to the bride, my boy, and good luck to you both.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A glass to prosperity,” said Mr Dawes, with a wave of his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And two for posterity,” added Mr Riggs in an ecstasy of triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- A flush mounted to Brood's cheek. Young Frederic abruptly turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, my friends,” said Brood, after a moment. “I'll leave the
- bumpers to you, if you don't mind. It isn't meet that the groom should
- drink to himself, and that's what you are suggesting. Go and have your
- drinks, gentlemen, but leave me out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They looked disappointed, aggrieved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said posterity,” expostulated Mr Riggs. “No harm in your drinking to <i>that</i>,
- is there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shut up, Riggs,” hissed Mr Dawes, nudging him with some violence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” said his friend, with a quick look at Frederic. Then, as if
- inspired: “Come on, Freddy. Join us. Come and drink to the—to your—er—stepmother.”
- He floundered miserably. “My God!” he gasped under his breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, Mr Riggs. I'm not drinking,” said Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dawes conducted Riggs to the dining-room door. There he turned and
- remarked:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stick to that resolution, Freddy. See what old man Riggs has come to! If
- it wasn't for me and your father he'd be in the gutter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right, Freddy,” agreed Mr Riggs with rare amiability. He felt that
- he owed something to Frederic in the way of apology.
- </p>
- <p>
- Father and son faced each other after the old men had disappeared. They
- were a striking pair, each in his way an example of fine, clean manhood.
- The father was taller by two inches than the son, and yet Frederic was
- nearly six feet in his stockings. Both were spare men, erect and
- gracefully proportioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood gave out the impression of great strength, of steel sinews, of
- invincible power; Frederic did not suggest physical strength, and yet he
- was a clean-limbed, well-built fellow. He had a fine head, a slim body
- whose every movement proclaimed nervous energy, and a face that denoted
- temperament of the most pronounced character. His hair was black and
- straight, growing thickly above the forehead and ears; his eyes were of a
- deep gray, changeable at the dictates of his emotions. A not unhealthy
- pallor lay on the surface of his skin, readily submissive to the
- sensations which produce colour at the slightest provocation. His eyebrows
- were rather thick, but delicately arched, and the lashes were long. It was
- not a strong face, nor was it weak; it represented character without
- force.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the other hand, James Brood's lean, handsome face was full of power.
- His gray eyes were keen, steady, compelling, and seldom alight with
- warmth. His jaw was firm, square, resolute, and the lines that sank
- heavily into the flesh in his cheeks were put there not by age but by the
- very vigour of manhood. His hair was quite gray.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic waited for his father to speak. He had ventured a remark before
- the departure of the old men and it had been ignored. But James Brood had
- nothing to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is very attractive, father,” said the young man at last, almost
- wistfully. He did not realise it, but he was groping for sympathy. Brood
- had been in the house for a quarter of an hour, after an absence of nearly
- a year, and yet he might have been away no longer than a day for all that
- he revealed in his attitude toward his son. His greeting had been cold,
- casual, matter-of-fact. Frederic expected little more than that; still he
- felt in a vague way that now, if never again, the ice of reserve might be
- broken between them, if only for a moment. He was ready and willing to do
- his part.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was studying the young man's face with an intensity that for the
- moment disconcerted him. He seemed bent on fixing certain features in his
- mind's eye, as if his memory had once played him false and should not do
- so again. It was a habit of Brood's, after prolonged separations, to look
- for something in the boy's face that he wanted to see and yet dreaded,
- something that might have escaped him when in daily contact with him. Now,
- at the end of the rather offensive scrutiny, he seemed to shake his head
- slightly, although one could not have been sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And as charming as she is attractive, Frederic,” he said, with a faint
- flush of the enthusiasm he suppressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is she?” asked his son, without realising the bluntness of his
- question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who <i>is</i> she?” repeated his father, raising his eyebrows slightly.
- “She is Mrs James Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I beg your pardon,” stammered Frederic. “I didn't mean to put it
- in that way. Who was she? Where did you meet her, and—oh, I want to
- know all there is to tell, father. I've heard nothing. I am naturally
- curious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood stopped him with a gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was Yvonne Lestrange before we were married, Mlle Lestrange; we met
- some time ago at the house of a mutual friend in Paris. I assure you her
- references are all that could be desired.” His tone was sarcastic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry I asked the questions, sir,” he said stiffly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood suddenly laughed, a quiet laugh that had some trace of humour and a
- touch of compunction in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon, Frederic. Come up to my room and smoke a cigar with me
- while I'm changing. I'll tell you about her. She is wonderful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To his own surprise, and to Frederic's astonishment, he linked his arm in
- the young man's and started toward the hall. Afterward he was to wonder
- even more than he wondered then what it was that created the sudden desire
- to atone for the hurt look he had brought into the eyes of Matilde's son
- and the odd longing to touch his arm gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ydia met Brood and
- Frederic at the top of the stairs. She had received the message through
- Jones and was on her way to dress for tea. The master of the house greeted
- her most cordially. He was very fond of this lovely, gentle daughter of
- John Desmond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Into their association had stolen an intimate note that softened the cold
- reserve of the man to a marked degree. There was something brave and
- joyous in this girl that had always appealed to James Brood. He seldom
- failed to experience a sense of complete relaxation when with her; his
- hard eyes softened, his stern mouth took on the quiet smile of
- contentment.
- </p>
- <p>
- His chief joy was to chat with her over the work he was doing, and to
- listen to her frank, honest opinions. There was no suggestion of
- constraint in her manner. She was not afraid of him. That was the thing
- about her, perhaps, that warmed his stone-cold heart, although he hardly
- would have admitted it to be the case.
- </p>
- <p>
- She regarded herself as his secretary, or his amanuensis, in the strict
- way of speaking, but he considered her to be a friend as well, and treated
- her with a freedom that was not extended to others.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint gleam of astonishment lurked in the girl's eyes as she stood
- before the two men. Never, in her experience, had there been such an
- exhibition of friendliness between father and son. A curious throb of joy
- rushed up from her heart and lodged in her throat. For the first time she
- found it difficult to respond with composure to Brood's lively comments.
- Tears were lying close to the surface of her eyes; tears of relief and
- gratitude. The buoyant expression in Frederic's told a new story. Her
- heart rejoiced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” said Brood, when she announced that she was going in to change
- her gown. “You never looked so pretty, my dear, as you do at this instant.
- I want Mrs Brood to see you for the first time just as you are. You are a
- shirt-waist girl, Lydia. You couldn't be lovelier than you are now. Isn't
- that true, Frederic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll spoil her, father,” said Frederic, his face glowing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her prettiest frown opposed them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you, after all, you are not women,” she said. “Women don't look at
- each other through masculine eyes. They look at a girl not to see how
- pretty she is, but to see what it is that makes her pretty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But this is to be a family tea-party,” protested Brood. “It isn't a
- function, as the society reporter would say. Come just as you are to
- please me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A tea-party and an autopsy are very much alike, Mr Brood,” said she. “One
- can learn a lot at either. Still, if you'd like to have Mrs Brood see me
- as I really am, I'll appear <i>sans</i> plumage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd like it,” said he promptly. “I am sure you will like each other,
- Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you did not say we would admire each other,” said she quaintly.
- “You look very happy, Mr Brood,” she went on, her eyes bright.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I <i>am</i> happy,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we shall all be happy,” was her rejoinder.
- </p>
- <p>
- She returned to the jade room on the upper floor, where she had been at
- work on the catalogue. Brood had a very large and valuable collection of
- rare jade. A catalogue, she knew, would have but little significance, in
- view of the fact that the collection was not likely to be exhibited to
- public view. Still it was his whim, and she had found considerable
- pleasure in carrying out his belated orders.
- </p>
- <p>
- The jade room, so called, was little more than a large closet off the
- remarkable room which James Brood was pleased to call his “hiding-place,”
- or, on occasions, his “retreat.” No one ventured into either of these
- rooms except by special permission.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab, his Indian servant, slept in an adjoining room, and it was
- whispered about the house that not even James Brood had viewed its
- interior. This silent, unapproachable man from the mysterious heart of
- India locked his door when he entered the room and locked it when he came
- out. No one, not even the master, thought of entering. Mr Dawes in his
- cups, or out of them, was responsible for the impression that the man kept
- deadly serpents there. As a matter of fact, Ranjab was a peaceable fellow
- and desperately afraid of snakes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia loved the feel of the cold, oily lumps of jade. There were a few
- pieces of porcelain of extreme rarity and beauty as well, and several
- priceless bits of cloisonné, but it was the jade she loved. There were two
- or three hundred objects of various sizes and colours, and all were what
- might be called museum pieces. To each was attached a tag disclosing
- certain facts concerning its origin, its history, and the date of its
- admission to the Brood collection. It appeared to be Lydia's task to set
- down these dates and facts in chronological order. Her imagination built
- quaint little stories about each of the ancient figures. She believed in
- fairies.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had been at work for half an hour or longer when a noise in the outer
- room attracted her attention. She had the odd feeling that someone was
- looking at her through the open door, and swiftly turned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Except when occupied by Brood, the room was darkened by means of heavy
- window-hangings; the effect was that produced by the gloaming just before
- the stars appeared. Objects were shadowy, indistinct, mysterious. The
- light from the jade room door threw a diverging ray across the full length
- of the room. In the very centre of this bright strip sat a placid effigy
- of Buddha that Brood had found in a remote corner of Siam, serenely stolid
- on top of its thick base of bronze and lacquer, with a shining shrine for
- a background.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the dim edge of the shadow, near the door at the far end of the room,
- Lydia made out the motionless, indistinct figure of a woman. The faint
- outlines of the face were discernible, but not so the features. For a
- moment the girl stared at the watcher and then advanced to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is it?” she inquired, peering.
- </p>
- <p>
- A low, husky voice replied, with a suggestion of laughter in the tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am exploring the house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia came forward at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it is Mrs Brood. I beg your pardon. Shall I switch on the lights?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are there such awful things as electric lights in this wonderful room?”
- cried the other, disappointed. “I can't believe it of my husband. He
- couldn't permit anything so bizarre as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are emergency lights,” laughed Lydia. “He never uses them, of
- course. They are for the servants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mrs Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been prowling everywhere. Your good mother deserted me when my
- maid arrived with Ranjab a short time ago. Isn't this the dread <i>Bluebeard
- room?</i> Shall I lose my head if I am discovered by the ogre?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl felt the spell stealing over her. The low voice of the woman in
- the shadow was like a sensuous caress. She experienced a sudden longing to
- be closer to the speaker, to listen for the very intake of her breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have already been discovered by the ogre, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia
- gaily, “and your head appears to be quite safe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” rather curtly, as if repelling familiarity. It was like a
- dash of cold water to Lydia's spirits. “You may turn on the lights. I
- should like to see <i>you</i>, Miss Desmond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl crossed the room, passing close to the stranger in the house. The
- fragrance of a perfume hitherto unknown to her separated itself from the
- odour of sandalwood that always filled the place; it was soft, delicate,
- refreshing. It was like a breath of cool, sweet air filtering into a
- close, stuffy enclosure. One could not help drawing in a long, full
- breath, as if the lungs demanded its revivifying qualities.
- </p>
- <p>
- A soft, red glow began to fill the room as Lydia pulled the cord near the
- door. There was no clicking sound, no sharp contact of currents; the light
- came up gradually, steadily, until the whole space was drenched with its
- refulgence. There were no shadows. Every nook and corner seemed to fill
- with the warm, pleasant hue of the setting sun, and yet no visible means
- appeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the light grew brighter and brighter the eyes of the stranger swept the
- room with undisguised wonder in their depths.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How extraordinary!” she murmured, and then turned swiftly toward the
- girl. “Where does it come from? I can see no lights. And see! There are no
- shadows, not even beneath the table yonder. It—it is uncanny—but,
- oh, how lovely!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was staring at her with wide-open eyes, frankly astonished. The
- eager, excited gleam vanished from Mrs Brood's lovely eyes. They narrowed
- slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you stare at me?” she demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” cried the girl, blushing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I couldn't help it, Mrs Brood. Why, you are young!” The
- exclamation burst from her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Young?” queried the other, frowning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I expected——” began Lydia, and stopped in pretty
- confusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see. You expected a middle-aged lady? And why, pray, should James Brood
- marry a middle-aged person?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I don't know. I'm sorry if I have offended you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood smiled, a gay, pleased little smile that revealed her small,
- even teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't offended me, my dear,” she said. “You offend my husband by
- thinking so ill of him, that's all.” She took the girl in from head to
- foot with critical eyes. “He said you were very pretty and very lovable.
- You are lovely. Isn't it a horrid word? Pretty! No one wants to be pretty.
- Yes, you are just what I expected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was the taller of the two women—a matter of two inches perhaps—and
- yet she had the curious feeling that she was looking upward as she gazed
- into the other's eyes. It was the way Mrs Brood held herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has known me since I was a little girl,” she said, as if to account
- for Brood's favourable estimate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he knew your mother before you were born,” said the other. “She, too,
- is—shall I say pretty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My mother isn't pretty, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia, conscious of a sudden
- feeling of resentment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is handsome,” said Mrs Brood with finality. Sending a swift glance
- around the room, she went on: “My husband delights in having beautiful
- things about him. He doesn't like the ugly things of this world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia flinched, she knew not why. There was a sting to the words, despite
- the languidness with which they were uttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Risking more than she suspected, she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “He never considers the cost of a thing, Mrs Brood, if its beauty appeals
- to him.” Mrs Brood gave her a quizzical, half-puzzled look. “You have only
- to look about you for the proof. This one room represents a fortune.” The
- last was spoken hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How old are you, Miss Desmond?” The question came abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am nineteen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were surprised to find me so young. Will it add to your surprise if I
- tell you that I am ten years older than you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should have said not more than three or four years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am twenty-nine—seven years older than my husband's son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It doesn't seem credible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you wondering why I tell you my age?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Lydia bluntly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In order that you may realise that I am ten years wiser than you, and
- that you may not again make the mistake of under-estimating my
- intelligence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The colour faded from Lydia's face. She grew cold from head to foot.
- Involuntarily she moved back a pace. The next instant, to her unbounded
- surprise, Mrs Brood's hands were outstretched in a gesture of appeal, and
- a quick, wistful smile took the place of the imperious stare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There! I am a nasty, horrid thing. Forgive me. Come! Don't be stubborn.
- Shake hands with me and say that you're sorry I said what I did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a quaint way of putting it, and her voice was so genuinely
- appealing that Lydia, after a moment's hesitation, extended her hands. Mrs
- Brood grasped them in hers and gripped them tightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I should like to know that you are my friend, Lydia. Has it
- occurred to you that I am utterly without friends in this great city of
- yours? I have my husband, that is all. Among all these millions of people
- there is not one who knows that I exist. Isn't it appalling? Can you
- imagine such a condition? There is not one to whom I can give an honest
- smile. Nor am I likely to have many friends here. Indeed, I shall not lift
- my finger to gain them. You will know me better one day, Lydia, and you
- will understand. But now—to-day, to-morrow—now—I must
- have someone to whom I may offer my friendship and have something to hope
- for in return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia could hardly credit her ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure you will have many friends, Mrs Brood,” she began, vaguely
- uncomfortable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want them,” cried the other sharply. “Poof! Are friends to be
- made in a day? No! Admirers, yes. Enemies, yes. But friends, no. I shall
- have no real friends here. It isn't possible. I am not like your people. I
- cannot become like them. I shall know people and like them, no doubt, but—poof!
- I shall not have them for friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't understand why you want me for a friend,” said Lydia stiffly. “My
- position here is not what——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood had not released the girl's hands. She interrupted her now by
- dropping them as if they were of fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't want to be my friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes—of course——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are my husband's friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, Mrs Brood. He is <i>my</i> friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is <i>your</i> position here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia's face was flaming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you knew. I am his secretary, if I may be allowed to
- dignify my——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you are Frederic's friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Despite your position?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand you, Mrs Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more the warm, enchanting smile broke over the face of the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't it perfectly obvious, Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl could no more withstand the electric charm of the woman than she
- could have fought off the sunshine. She was bewildered and completely
- fascinated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's—it is very good of you,” she murmured, her own eyes softening
- as they looked into the deep velvety ones that would not be denied. Even
- as she wondered whether she could ever really like this magnetic creature,
- she felt herself surrendering to the spell of her. “But perhaps you will
- not like me when you know me better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps,” said Mrs Brood calmly, almost indifferently, and dismissed the
- subject. “What an amazing room! One can almost feel the presence of the
- genii that created it at the wish of the man with the enchanted lamp. As a
- rule, Oriental rooms are abominations, but this—ah, this is not an
- Oriental room after all. It is a part of the East itself—of the real
- East. I have sat in emperors' houses out there, my dear, and I have slept
- in the palaces of kings. I have seen just such things as these, and I know
- that they could not have been transported to this room except by magic. My
- husband is a magician.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “These came from the palaces of kings, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia
- enthusiastically. “Kings in the days when kings were real. This rug——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” interrupted the other. “It was woven by five generations of
- royal weavers. Each of these borders represents the work of a lifetime. It
- is the carpet of rubies, and a war was prolonged for years because an
- emperor would not give it up to the foe who coveted it above all other
- riches. His heart's blood stains it to this day. His empire was wiped out
- by the relentless foe, his very name effaced, but the heart's blood still
- is there, Lydia. That can never be wiped out. My husband told me the
- story. It must have cost him a fortune.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is worth a fortune,” said Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- A calculating squint had come into Mrs Brood's eyes while she was
- speaking. To Lydia it appeared as if she were trying to fix upon the value
- of the wonderful carpet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A collector has offered him—how much? A hundred thousand dollars,
- is not that it? Ah, how rich he must be!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The collector you refer to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was referring to my husband,” said Mrs Brood, unabashed. “He is very
- rich, isn't he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia managed to conceal her annoyance. “I think not, as
- American fortunes are rated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It doesn't matter,” said the other carelessly.
- “I have my own fortune. And it is not my face,” she added with her quick
- smile. “Now let us look farther. I must see all of these wonderful things.
- We will not be missed, and it is still half an hour till tea-time. My
- husband is now telling his son all there is to be told about me—who
- and what I am, and how he came to marry me. Not, mind you, how I came to
- marry him, but—the other way round. It's the way with men past
- middle age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia hesitated before speaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood does not confide
- in Frederic. I am afraid they have but little in common. Oh, I shouldn't
- have said that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood regarded her with narrowing eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He doesn't confide in Frederic?” she repeated in the form of a question.
- Her voice seemed lower than before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry I spoke as I did, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, annoyed with
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is there a reason why he should dislike his son?” asked the other,
- regarding her fixedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not,” cried poor Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a moment of silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some day, Lydia, you will tell me about Mr Brood's other wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She died many years ago,” said the girl evasively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” said Mrs Brood. “Still, I should like to hear more of the woman
- he could not forget in all those years—until he met me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She grew silent and preoccupied, a slight frown marking her forehead as
- she resumed her examination of the room and its contents.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is quite impossible adequately to describe the place in which the two
- women met for the first time. Suffice to say, it was long, narrow, and,
- being next below the roof, low-ceilinged. The walls were hung with rich,
- unusual tapestries whose subdued tones seemed to lure one back to the
- undimmed glory of Solomon's days, to the even more remote realms of those
- gods and goddesses on whom our fancy thrives despite the myths they were.
- </p>
- <p>
- Silks of a weight and lustre that taxed credulity; golden threads
- interweaving gems of the purest ray; fringe and galloons with the solemn
- waste of ages in their thin, lovely sheen; over all the soft radiance of
- an <i>Arabian Night</i> and the gentle touch of a <i>Scheherazade.</i>
- Here hung transported the fabulous splendours of Ind, the shimmering
- treasures of Ming, and the loot of the <i>Forty Thieves</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ceiling, for want of a better name, was no less than a canopy
- constructed out of a single rug of enormous dimensions and incalculable
- value, gleaming with the soft colours of the rainbow, shedding a serene
- iridescence over the entire room to shame the light of day.
- </p>
- <p>
- The furniture, the trappings, the ornaments throughout were of a most
- unusual character. A distinctly regal atmosphere prevailed. No article
- there but had come from the palace of a ruler in the East, from the
- massive gold and lacquered table to the tiniest piece of bronze or the
- lowliest hassock. Chairs that had served as thrones, chests that had
- contained the treasures of potentates, robes that had covered the bodies
- of kings and queens, couches on which had nestled the favourites of
- sultans, screens and mirrors that had reflected the jewels of an empire—<i>all</i>
- were here to feed the senses with dreams imperial.
- </p>
- <p>
- Great lanterns hung suspended beside the shrine at the end of the room,
- but were now unlighted. On the table at which Brood professed to work
- stood a huge lamp with a lacelike screen of gold. When lighted, a soft,
- mellow glow oozed through the shade to create a circle of golden
- brilliance over a radius that extended but little beyond the edge of the
- table, yet reached to the benign countenance of Buddha close by.
- </p>
- <p>
- Over all this fairylike splendour reigned the serene, melting influence of
- the god to whom James Brood was wont to confess himself. The spell of the
- golden image dominated everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the midst of this magnificence moved the two women—one absurdly
- out of touch with her surroundings, yet a thing of beauty; the other
- blending intimately with the warm tones that enveloped her. She was lithe,
- sinuous, with the grace of the most seductive of dancers. Her dark eyes
- reflected the mysteries of the Orient; her pale, smooth skin shone with
- the clearness of alabaster; the crimson in her lips was like the fresh
- stain of blood; the very fragrance of her person seemed to steal out of
- the unknown. She was a part of the marvellous setting, a gem among gems.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had attired herself in a dull Indian-red afternoon gown of chiffon.
- The very fabric seemed to cling to her supple body with a sensuous joy of
- contact. Even Lydia, who watched her with appraising eyes, experienced a
- swift, unaccountable desire to hold this intoxicating creature close to
- her own body.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were two windows in the room, broad openings that ran from near the
- floor almost to the edge of the canopy. They were so heavily curtained
- that the light of day failed to penetrate to the interior of the
- apartment. Mrs Brood approached one of these windows. Drawing the curtains
- apart, she let in an ugly gray light from the outside world. The illusion
- was spoiled at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How cold and pallid the world really is!” she cried, a shiver passing
- over her slim body.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sky above the housetops was bleak and drab in the waning light of late
- afternoon. Over the summits of loft-buildings to the south and west hung
- the smoke from the river beyond, smudgy clouds that neither drifted nor
- settled.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked down into a sort of courtyard and garden that might have been
- transplanted from distant Araby. Uttering an exclamation of wonder, she
- turned to Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this New York or am I bewitched?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood transformed the old carriage yard into a—I think Mr Dawes
- calls it a Persian garden. It is rather bleak in winter-time, Mrs Brood,
- but in the summer it is really enchanting. See, across the court on the
- second floor, where the windows are lighted, those are your rooms. It is
- an enormous house, you'll find. Do you see the little balcony outside your
- windows, and the vines creeping up to it? You can't imagine how sweet it
- is of a summer night with the moon and stars——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how desolate it looks to-day, with the dead vines and the colourless
- stones! Ugh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She dropped the curtains. The soft, warm glow of the room came back, and
- she sighed with relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hate things that are dead,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the sound of a soft tread and the gentle rustle of draperies, they
- turned. Ranjab, the Hindu, was crossing the room toward the small door
- which gave entrance to his closet. He paused for an instant before the
- image of Buddha, but did not drop to his knees, as all devout Buddhists
- do. Mrs Brood's hand fell lightly upon Lydia's arm. The man turned toward
- them a second or two later.
- </p>
- <p>
- His dark, handsome face was hard set and emotionless as he bowed low to
- the new mistress of the house. The fingers closed tightly on Lydia's arm.
- Then he smiled upon the girl, a glad smile of devotion. His swarthy face
- was transfigured. A moment later he unlocked his door and passed into the
- other room. The key turned in the lock with a slight rasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not like that man,” said Mrs Brood. Her voice was low and her eyes
- were fixed steadily on the closed door.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he ensuing
- fortnight brought the expected changes in the household. James Brood, to
- the surprise of not only himself, but others, lapsed into a curious state
- of adolescence. His infatuation was complete. The once dominant influence
- of the man seemed to slink away from him as the passing days brought up
- the new problems of life. Where he had lived to command he now was content
- to serve.
- </p>
- <p>
- His friends, his son, his servants viewed the transformation with wonder,
- not to say apprehension. It was not difficult to understand his
- infatuation for the—shall we say enchantress? He was not the only
- one there to fall under the spell. But it was almost unbelievable that he
- should submit to thraldom with the complacency of a weakling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Love, which had been lying bruised and unconscious within him for twenty
- years and more, arose from its stupor and became a thing to play with, as
- one would play with a child. The old, ugly vistas melted into dreamy,
- adolescent contemplations of a paradise in which he could walk
- hand-in-hand with the future and find that the ghosts of the past no
- longer attended him along the once weary way.
- </p>
- <p>
- It would not be true to say that the remarkable personality of the man had
- suffered. He was still the man of steel, but re-tempered. The rigid
- broadsword was made over into the fine, flexible blade of Toledo. He could
- be bent but not broken.
- </p>
- <p>
- It pleased him to submit to Yvonne's commands,
- </p>
- <p>
- Not that they were arduous or peremptory; on the contrary, they were
- suggestions in which his own comfort and pleasure appeared to be the
- inspiration. He found something like delight in being rather amiably
- convinced of his own shortcomings; in learning from her that his life up
- to this hour had been a sadly mismanaged affair; that there were soft,
- fertile spots in his heart where things would grow in spite of him. He
- enjoyed the unique spectacle of himself in the process of being made over
- to fit ideals that he would have scorned a few months before.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was too wise to demand, too clever to resort to cajolery. She was a
- Latin. Diplomacy was hers as a birthright. Complaints, appeals, sulks
- would have gained nothing from James Brood. It would not have occurred to
- her to employ these methods. From the day she entered the house she was
- its mistress. She was sure of her ground, sure of herself, fettered by no
- sense of doubt as to her position there, bound by no feminine notion of
- gratitude to man, as many women are who find themselves married. It might
- almost be said of her that she ruled without making a business of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- To begin with, she miraculously transferred the sleeping quarters of
- Messrs Dawes and Riggs from the second floor front to the third floor back
- without arousing the slightest sign of antagonism on the part of the
- crusty old gentlemen who had occupied one of the choice rooms in the house
- with uninterrupted security for a matter of nine or ten years. This was a
- feat that James Brood himself would never have tried to accomplish. They
- had selected this room at the first instant of occupation, because it
- provided something of a view up and down the street from the big bow
- window, and they wouldn't evacuate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood explained the situation to them so graciously, so convincingly,
- that they even assisted the servants in moving their heterogeneous
- belongings to the small, remote room on the third floor, and applauded her
- plan to make a large sitting-room of the chamber they were deserting. It
- did not occur to them for at least three days that they had been imposed
- upon, cheated, maltreated, insulted, and then it was too late. The
- decorators were in the big room on the second floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps they would not have arrived at a sense of realisation even then if
- it had not come out in the course of conversation that it was not to be a
- <i>general</i> sitting-room, but one with reservations. The discovery of
- what they secretly were pleased to call duplicity brought an abrupt end to
- the period of abstemiousness that had lasted since the day of her arrival,
- when, out of courtesy to the bride, they had turned their backs upon the
- tipple.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, however, the situation was desperate. She had tricked them with her
- wily politeness. They had been betrayed by the wife of their bosom friend.
- Is it small cause for wonder, then, that the poor gentlemen as manfully
- turned back to the tipple and got gloriously, garrulously drunk in the
- middle of the afternoon and also in the middle of the library, where tea
- was to have been served to a few friends asked in to meet the bride?
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning a fresh edict was issued. It came from James Brood, and
- it was so staggering that the poor gentlemen were loath to believe their
- ears. As a result of this new command they began to speak of Mrs Brood in
- the privacy of their own room as “that woman.” Of course, it was entirely
- due to her mischievous, malevolent influence that a spineless husband put
- forth the order that they were to have nothing more to drink while they
- remained in his house.
- </p>
- <p>
- This command was modified to a slight extent later on. Brood felt sorry
- for the victims. He loved them, and he knew that their pride was injured a
- great deal more than their appetite. In its modified form the edict
- allowed them a small drink in the morning and another at bedtime, but the
- doses (as they sarcastically called them) were to be administered by Jones
- the butler, who held the key to the situation and—the sideboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this a dispensary?” wailed Mr Dawes in weak horror. “Are we to stand
- in line and solicit the common necessities of life? Answer me, Riggs!
- Confound you, don't stand there like a wax figure! Say something!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs shook his head bleakly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Jim,” was all that he said, and rolled his eyes heavenward.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes reflected. After many minutes the tears started down his rubicund
- cheeks. “Poor old Jim,” he sighed. And after that they looked upon Mrs
- Brood as the common enemy of all three.
- </p>
- <p>
- The case of Mrs John Desmond was disposed of in a summary but tactful
- manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Mrs Desmond is willing to remain, James, as housekeeper instead of
- friend, all well and good,” said Mrs Brood, discussing the matter in the
- seclusion of her boudoir. “I doubt, however, whether she can descend to
- that. You have spoiled her, my dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was manifestly pained and uncomfortable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was the wife of my best friend, Yvonne. I have never permitted her to
- feel——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she interrupted, “the wives of best friends! Nearly every man has
- the wife of a best friend somewhere in his life's history.” She shook her
- head at him with mock mournfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flushed. “I trust you do not mean to imply that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what you would say. No, I do not mean anything of the sort. Still,
- you now have a wife of your own. Is it advisable to have also the wife of
- a best friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Yvonne, all this sounds very suspicious and—unpleasant. Mrs
- Desmond is the soul of——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear man, why should you defend her? I am not accusing her. I am
- merely going into the ethics of the situation. If you can forget that Mrs
- Desmond is the wife of your friend and come to regard her as a servant in
- your establishment, no one will be more happy than I to have her about the
- place. She is fine, she is competent, she is a lady. But she is not my
- equal here. Can't you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was thoughtful for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you are right. The conditions are peculiar. I can't go to her
- and say that she must consider herself as—oh, no, that would be
- impossible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to have Mrs Desmond as my friend, not as my housekeeper,”
- said his wife simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove, and that's just what I should like,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is but one way, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She must be one or the other, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Precisely,” she said with firmness. “In my country, James, the wives of
- best friends haven't the same moral standing that they appear to have in
- yours. Oh, don't scowl so! Shall I tell you again that I do not mean to
- reflect on Mrs Desmond's virtue—or discretion? Far from it. If she
- is to be my friend, she cannot be your housekeeper. That's the point. Has
- she any means of her own? Can she——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has a small income, and an annuity which I took out for her soon
- after her poor husband's death. We were the closest of friends——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand, James. You are very generous and very loyal. I quite
- understand. Losing her position here, then, will not be a hardship?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said he soberly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am quite competent, James,” she said brightly. “You will not miss her,
- I am sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn't that, Yvonne,” he sighed. “Mrs Desmond and Lydia have been
- factors in my life for so long that—— But, of course, that is
- neither here nor there. I will explain the situation to her to-morrow. She
- will understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, James. You are really quite reasonable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you laughing at me, darling?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him one of her searching, unfathomable glances, and she smiled
- with roguish mirth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't it your mission in life to amuse and entertain me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love you, Yvonne. Good God, how I love you!” he cried abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes burned with a sudden flame of passion as he bent over her. His
- face quivered; his whole being tingled with the fierce spasm of an
- uncontrollable desire to crush the warm, adorable body to his breast in
- the supreme ecstasy of possession.
- </p>
- <p>
- She surrendered herself to his passionate embrace. A little later she
- withdrew herself from his arms, her lips still quivering with the
- fierceness of his kisses. Her eyes, dark with wonder and perplexity,
- regarded his transfigured face for a long, tense moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this love, James?” she whispered. “Is this the real, true love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What else, in Heaven's name, can it be?” he cried. He was sitting upon
- the arm of her chair, looking down at the strangely pallid face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But should love have the power to frighten me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frighten, my darling?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it is not you who are frightened,” she cried. “You are the man. But I—ah,
- I am only the woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared. “What an odd way to put it, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he drew back, struck by the curious gleam of mockery in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it like this twenty-five years ago?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you love her—like this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He managed to smile. “Are you jealous?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me about her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face hardened. “Some other time, not now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you loved her, didn't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't be silly, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she loved you. If you loved her as you love me, she could not have
- helped——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please, please, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, a dull red setting in his cheek.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have never told me her name——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He faced her, his eyes as cold as steel. “I may as well tell you now,
- Yvonne, that her name is never mentioned in this house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed to shrink down farther in the chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” she asked, an insistent note in her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn't necessary to explain.” He walked away from her to the window and
- stood looking out over the bleak little courtyard. Neither spoke for many
- minutes, and yet he knew that her questioning gaze was upon him and that
- when he turned to her again she would ask still another question. He tried
- to think of something to say that would turn her away from this hated
- subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't it time for you to dress, dearest? The Gunnings live pretty far up
- north and the going will be bad with Fifth Avenue piled up with snow——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn't Frederic ever mention his mother's name?” came the question that
- he feared before it was uttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not certain that he knows her name,” said he levelly. The knuckles
- of his hands, clenched tightly behind his back, were white. “He has never
- heard me utter it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him darkly. There was something in her eyes that caused him
- to shift his own steady gaze uncomfortably. He could not have explained
- what it was, but it gave him a curiously uneasy feeling, as of impending
- peril. It was not unlike the queer, inexplicable, though definite, sensing
- of danger that more than once he had experienced in the silent, tranquil
- depths of great forests.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you loved her just the same, James, up to the time you met me. Is not
- that true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” he exclaimed loudly. “It is not true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what could have happened to make you so bitter toward her,” she
- went on, still watching him through half-closed eyes. “Was she unfaithful
- to you? Was——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God, Yvonne!” he cried, an angry light jumping into his eyes—the
- eyes that so recently had been ablaze with love.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't be angry, dearest,” she cried plaintively. “We Europeans speak of
- such things as if they were mere incidents. I forget that you Americans
- take them seriously, as tragedies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He controlled himself with an effort. The pallor in his face would have
- alarmed anyone but her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must never speak of—of that again, Yvonne,” he said, a queer
- note of hoarseness in his voice. “Never, do you understand?” He was very
- much shaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive me,” she pleaded, stretching out her hand to him. “I am foolish,
- but I did not dream that I was being cruel or unkind. Perhaps, dear, it is
- because I am—jealous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no one—nothing to be jealous of,” he said, passing a hand
- over his moist brow. Then he drew nearer and took her hand in his. It was
- as cold as ice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your hand is cold, darling,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yours, too,” she said, looking down at their clasped hands, a faint
- smile on her lips. Suddenly she withdrew her fingers from his strong grip.
- A slight shiver ran over her frame. “Ugh! I don't like cold hands!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed rather desolately. “Suppose that I were to say the same to
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am temperamental; you are not,” she replied coolly. “Sit down, dear.
- Let us be warm again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I have the fire replenished——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said with her slow smile, “you don't understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lounged again on the arm of her chair. She leaned back and sighed
- contentedly, the smile on her red lips growing sweeter with each breath
- that she took. He felt his blood warming once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long time they sat thus, looking into each other's eyes without
- speaking. He was trying to fathom the mystery that lurked at the bottom of
- those smiling wells; she, on the other hand, deluded herself with the idea
- that she was reading his innermost thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been considering the advisability of sending Frederic abroad for a
- year or two,” said he at last.
- </p>
- <p>
- She started. She had been far from right in her reading.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now? This winter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He has never been abroad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed? And he is half European, too. It seems—forgive me, James.
- Really, you know, I cannot always keep my thoughts from slipping out. You
- shouldn't expect it, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you know that his—his mother was a European?” he inquired
- abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear me! What manner of woman do you think I am? Without curiosity? I
- should be a freak. I have inquired of Mrs Desmond. There was no harm in
- that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did she tell you? But no! It doesn't matter. We shan't discuss it.
- We——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She told me little or nothing,” she broke in quickly. “You may rest quite
- easy, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my word, Yvonne, I don't understand——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us speak of Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it is only natural that you should inquire,” he said
- resignedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of my servants,” she added pointedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flushed slightly. “I dare say I deserve the rebuke. It will not be
- necessary to pursue that line of inquiry, however. I shall tell you the
- story myself some day, Yvonne. Will you not bear with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She met the earnest appeal in his eyes with a slight frown of annoyance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is to tell me the wife's side of the story?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The question was like a blow to him. He stared at her as if he had not
- heard aright. Before he could speak she went on coolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say there are two sides to it, James. It's usually the case.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He winced. “There is but one side to this one,” he said, a harsh note in
- his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is why I began my inquiries with Mrs Desmond,” she said
- enigmatically. “But I shan't pursue them any farther. You love <i>me</i>;
- that is all I care to know—or that I require.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>do</i> love you,” he said, almost imploringly. She stroked his gaunt
- cheek. “Then we may let the other woman—go hang, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt the cold sweat start on his brow. Her callous remark slashed his
- finer sensibilities like the thrust of a dagger. He tried to laugh, but
- only succeeded in producing a painful grimace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” she went on, as if the matter were fully disposed of, “we will
- discuss something tangible, eh? Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said he, rather dazedly. “Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very, very fond of your son, James,” she said. “How proud you must
- be to have such a son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He eyed her narrowly. How much of the horrid story did she know? How much
- of it had John Desmond told to his wife?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am surprised at your liking him, Yvonne. He is what I'd call a
- difficult young man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't found him difficult.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Morbid and unresponsive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not by nature, however. There is a joyousness, a light-heartedness in his
- character that has never got beyond the surface until now, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Until now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. And you talk of sending him away. Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has wanted to go abroad for years. This is a convenient time for him
- to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I am quite sure he will not care to go at present—not for a
- while, at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why not, may I ask?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because he is in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In love!” he exclaimed, his jaw setting hard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is in love with Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll put a stop to that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why, may I ask?” she mimicked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because—why——” he burst out, but instantly collected
- himself. “He is not in a position to marry, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Financially?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swallowed hard. “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poof!” she exclaimed, dismissing the obstacle with a wave of her slim
- hand. “A cigarette, please. There is another reason why he shouldn't go—an
- excellent one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The reason you've already given is sufficient to convince me that he
- ought to go at once. What is the other one, pray?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lighted a cigarette from the match he held. “What would you say if I
- were to tell you that I object to his going away—at present?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should ask the very obvious question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I like him, I want him to like me, and I shall be very lonely
- without him,” she answered calmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are frank, to say the least,” said he, laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And serious. I don't want him to go away at present. Later on, yes; but
- not now. I shall need him, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will be lonely, you say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. You forget that I am young.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see,” said he, a sudden pain in his heart. “Perhaps it would be more to
- the point if you were to say that I forget that I am old.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed. It was a soft, musical laugh that strangely stilled the
- tumult in his breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are younger than Frederic,” she said. “Unless we do something to
- prevent it, your son will be an old man before he is thirty. Don't send
- him away now, James. Let me have him for a while. I mean it, dear. He is a
- lonely boy, and I know what it is to be lonely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You?” he cried. “Why, you've never known anything but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One can be lonely even in the heart of a throng,” she said cryptically.
- “No, James, I will not have him sent away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He resented the imputation. “Why do you say that I am sending him away?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because you are,” she replied boldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a moment. “We will leave it to Frederic,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face brightened. “That is all I ask. He will stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another pause. “You two have become very good friends, Yvonne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is devoted to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't spoil him in making him over,” he said dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She blew cigarette—smoke in his face and laughed. There was a knock
- at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in!” she called.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> certain element
- of gaiety invaded the staid old house in these days. The new mistress was
- full of life and the joy of living. She was accustomed to adulation, she
- was used to the tumult of society. Her life, since she left the convent
- school, evidently had been one in which rest, except physical, was
- unknown.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne Lestrange, in a way, had been born to purple and fine linen. She
- had never known deprivation of any description. Neither money, position,
- nor love had been denied her during the few years in which her charm and
- beauty had flashed across the great European capitals, penetrating even to
- the recesses of royal courts.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is doubtful if James Brood knew very much concerning her family when he
- proposed marriage to her, but it is certain that he did not care. He first
- saw her at the home of a British nobleman, but did not meet her. Something
- in the vivid, brilliant face of the woman made a deep and lasting
- impression on him. There was an instant when their eyes met through an
- opening in the throng which separated them. He was not only conscious of
- the fact that he was staring at her, but that she was looking at him in a
- curiously penetrating way.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a mocking smile on her lips at the time. He saw it fade away,
- even as the crowd came between. He knew that the smile had not been
- intended for him, but for someone of the eager cavaliers who surrounded
- her, and yet there was something singularly direct in the look she gave
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on he made inquiries of his host, with whom he had hunted big game
- in Africa, and learned that she was a guest in the home of the Russian
- ambassador. He did not see her again until they met in the south of France
- a few months later. On this occasion they were guests at the same house,
- and he took her into dinner. He had not forgotten her, and it gratified
- him immensely to discover that she remembered him.
- </p>
- <p>
- That single glance in the duke's house proved to be a fatal one for both.
- They were married inside of a month. The virile, confident American had
- conquered where countless suppliants of a more or less noble character had
- gone down to defeat.
- </p>
- <p>
- He asked but one question of her; she asked none of him. The fact that she
- was the intimate friend and associate of the woman in whose home he met
- her was sufficient proof of her standing in society, although that would
- have counted for little so far as Brood was concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was the daughter of a baron; she had spent much of her life in Paris,
- coming from St Petersburg when a young girl; and she was an orphan with an
- independent fortune of her own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her home in Paris, where she had lived with some degree of permanence for
- the past four or five years, was shared with an estimable, though
- impoverished, lady of rank, the Countess de Rochambert, of middle age and
- undeniable qualifications as a chaperon, even among those who are prone to
- laugh at locksmiths. Such common details as these came to Brood in the
- natural way and were not derived from any effort on his part to secure
- information concerning Mlle Lestrange. Like the burned child, he asked a
- question which harked back to an unforgotten pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever loved a man deeply, devotedly, Yvonne—so deeply that
- there is pain in the thought of him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She replied without hesitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no such man, James. You may be sure of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am confident that I can hold your love against the future, but no man
- is vital enough to compete with the past. Love doesn't really die, you
- know. If a man cannot hold a woman's love against all new-comers, he
- deserves to lose it. It doesn't follow, however, that he can protect
- himself against the man who appears out of the past and claims his own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You speak as though the past had played you an evil trick,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not mince words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Years ago a man came out of the past and took from me the woman I loved
- and cherished.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your—your wife?” she asked in a voice suddenly lowered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent for a long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder at your courage in taking the risk again,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I wonder at it myself,” said he. “No, I am not afraid,” he went
- on, as if convincing himself that there was no risk. “I shall make you
- love me to the end, Yvonne. I am not afraid. But why do you not ask me for
- all the wretched story?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not unlike all stories of its kind, my dear,” she said with an
- indifference that amazed him. “They are all alike. Why should I ask? The
- wife takes up with an old lover; she deceives her husband; the world
- either does or does not find out about it; the home is wrecked; the
- husband takes to drink; the wife pretends she is happy; the lover takes to
- women; and the world goes on just the same in spite of them. Sometimes the
- husband kills. It is of no moment. Sometimes the wife destroys herself. It
- is a trifle. The whole business is like the magazine story that is for
- ever being continued in our next. No, I do not ask you for your story,
- James. Some time you may tell me, but not to-day. I shouldn't mind hearing
- it if it were an original tale, but God knows it isn't. It's as old as the
- Nile. But you may tell me more about your son. Is he like you, or like his
- mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's lips were compressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't say that he is like either of us,” he said shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She raised her eyebrows slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she said. “That makes quite a difference. Perhaps, after all, I
- shall be interested in the story.” Her manner was so casual, so serenely,
- matter-of-fact, that he could hardly restrain the sharp exclamation of
- annoyance that rose to his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bit his lip and allowed the frank insinuation to go unanswered. He
- consoled himself with the thought that she must have spoken in jest
- without intention. He had the uncomfortable feeling that she would make
- light of his story, too, when the time came for revelations. A curious
- doubt took root in his mind: Would he ever be able to understand the
- nature of this woman whom he loved and who appeared to love him so
- unreservedly? As time went on the doubt became a conviction. She proved to
- be utterly beyond Brood's comprehension.
- </p>
- <p>
- The charm and beauty of the new mistress of James Brood's heart and home
- was to become the talk of the town. Already, in the first month of her
- reign, she had drawn to the old house the attention not only of the
- parasites who feed on novelty, but of families that had long since given
- up Brood as a representative figure in the circle into which he had been
- born.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had dropped out of their lives so completely in the passing years that
- no one took the trouble to interest himself in the man's affairs. His
- self-effacement had been complete. The story of his ill-fated marriage was
- an almost forgotten page in the history of the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- Old friends now cudgelled their brains to recall the details of the break
- between him and the first Mrs Brood, who, they were bound to remember, was
- also beautiful, fascinating, and an adornment to the rather exclusive
- circle in which they moved. No one could point to the real cause of the
- separation, however, for the excellent reason that the true conditions
- were never revealed to anyone outside the four walls of the house from
- which she was banished.
- </p>
- <p>
- Memory merely brought to mind the fact that the young husband became a
- wanderer on the face of the earth, and that his once joyous face was an
- almost forgotten object.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood, in the full pride of possession, awoke to the astounding
- realisation that he wanted people to envy him this wonderful creature. He
- wanted men to covet her! He longed to have the world see her at his side,
- and to feel that the world was saying: “She belongs to James Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not the cheap, ordinary New York society, the insufferably rich and
- vulgar of the metropolis that he sought to conquer, but the fine old
- families with whom rests the real verdict. He knew that those families
- were not many in these days of haste and waste, but he also knew that the
- rush of frivolity had not weakened their position. Their word was still
- the law. Serenely confident, he revealed his wife to the few, and waited.
- </p>
- <p>
- It cannot be said that she conquered, for that would be to imply design on
- her part. Possibly she considered the game unworthy of the effort. For, in
- truth, Yvonne Brood despised Americans. She made small pretence of liking
- them. The rather closely knit circle of Parisian aristocracy which she
- affected is known to tolerate, but not to invite, the society of even the
- best of Americans.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was no larger than her environment. Her views upon and her attitude
- toward the Americans were not created by her but for her. The fact that
- James Brood had reached the inner shrine of French self-worship no doubt
- put him in a class apart from all other Americans, so far as she was
- concerned. At least it may account for an apparent inconsistency, in that
- she married him without much hesitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- She welcomed the admiration and attention of the friends he brought to the
- house by one means or another during the first few weeks. If she was
- surprised to find them cultured, clever, agreeable specimens, she failed
- to mention the discovery to him. They amused her and therefore served a
- purpose. She charmed them in exchange for the tribute they paid to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Those whom she liked the least she took no pains to please; in fact, she
- endured them so politely that while they may have secretly resented her
- indifference, they could do no less than openly profess admiration for
- her. She offended no one, yet she managed with amazing adroitness to rid
- herself of the bores. It happened, however, that the so-called bores were
- the very people that Brood particularly wanted her to cultivate. She found
- them stupid, but respectable.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were for ever telling her that she would like New York when she got
- used to it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her warmest friend and admirer—one might almost say slave—was
- Frederic Brood. She had transformed him. He was no longer the silent,
- moody youth of other days, but an eager, impetuous playmate, whose
- principal object in life was to amuse her. If anyone had tried to convince
- him that he could have regarded Mrs Desmond's dethronement and departure
- with equanimity he would have protested with all the force at his command.
- But that would have been a month ago!
- </p>
- <p>
- When the time came for his old friend to leave the house over which she
- had presided for ten of the gentlest years of his life, his heart was sore
- and his throat was tight with pain, but he accepted the inevitable with a
- resignation that once would have been impossible.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the outset he realised that Mrs Desmond would have to go. At first he
- rebelled within himself against the unspoken edict. Afterward he was
- surprised to find that he regarded himself as selfish in even wishing that
- she might stay, when it was so palpably evident that the situation could
- not long remain pleasant for either Mrs Desmond or Mrs Brood. He saw Lydia
- and her mother leave without the slightest doubt in his mind that it was
- all for the best.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Desmonds took a small apartment just around the corner from Brood's
- home, in a side street, and in the same block. Their windows looked down
- into the courtyard in the rear of Brood's home. Frederic assisted them in
- putting their new home in order. It was great fun for Lydia and him, this
- building of what they were pleased to call “a nest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia may have seen the cloud in their sky, but he did not. To him the
- world was bright and gladsome, without a shadow to mar its new beauty. He
- was enthusiastic, eager, excited. She fell in with his spirit, but her
- pleasure was shorn of some of its keenness by the odd notion that it was
- not to endure.
- </p>
- <p>
- He even dragged Yvonne around to the little flat to expatiate upon its
- cosiness with visual proof to support his somewhat exaggerated claims. Her
- lazy eyes took in the apartment at a glance and she was done with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is very charming,” she said with her soft drawl. “Have you no
- cigarettes, Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl flushed and looked to Frederic for relief. He promptly produced
- his own cigarettes. Yvonne lighted one and then stretched herself in the
- Morris chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should learn to smoke,” she went on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother wouldn't like me to smoke,” said Lydia rather bluntly.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint frown appeared on Frederic's brow, only to disappear with Yvonne's
- low, infectious laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Freddy doesn't like you to smoke either, <i>aïe?</i>” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He may have changed his mind recently, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, smiling
- so frankly that the edge was taken off of a rather direct implication.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't mind women smoking,” put in Frederic hastily. “In fact, I rather
- like it, the way Yvonne does it. It's a very graceful accomplishment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I am too clumsy to——” began Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” interrupted the Parisienne, carelessly flicking the ash into a
- <i>jardinière</i> at her elbow, “it is very naughty to smoke, and clumsy
- women never should be naughty. If you really feel clumsy, don't, for my
- sake, ever try to do anything wicked. There is nothing so distressing as
- an awkward woman trying to be devilish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Lydia couldn't be devilish if she tried!” cried Frederic, with a
- quick glance at the girl's half-averted face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't say that, Frederic,” she cried. “That's as much as to say that I <i>am</i>
- clumsy and awkward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you are not,” said Yvonne decisively. “You are very pretty and
- graceful and adorable, and I am sure you could be very wicked if you set
- about to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said Lydia dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way, this window looks almost directly down into our courtyard,”
- said Yvonne abruptly. She was leaning on her elbow, looking out upon the
- housetops below. “There is my balcony, Freddy. And one can almost look
- into your father's lair from where I sit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew back from the window suddenly, a passing look of fear in her
- eyes. It was gone in a second, and would have passed unnoticed but for the
- fact that Frederic was, as usual, watching her face with rapt interest. He
- caught the curious transition and involuntarily glanced below.
- </p>
- <p>
- The heavy curtains in the window of his father's retreat were drawn apart,
- and the dark face of Ranjab, the Hindu, was plainly distinguishable.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was looking up at the window in which Mrs Brood was sitting. Although
- Frederic was far above, he could see the gleaming white of the man's eyes.
- The curtains fell quickly together and the gaunt, brown face was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- An odd feeling of uneasiness came over the young man. It was the feeling
- of one who suddenly realises that he is being spied upon. He could not
- account for the faint chill that ran through his body, leaving him
- strangely cold and drear.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was the meaning of that intense scrutiny from his father's window?
- Was Ranjab alone in the room? How did he happen to expose himself at the
- very instant Yvonne appeared in the window above? These and other
- questions raced through Frederic's puzzled brain. Out of them grew a
- queer, almost uncanny feeling that the Hindu had called to her in the
- still, mysterious voice of the East, and, although no sound had been
- uttered, she had heard as plainly as if he actually had shouted to her
- across the intervening space.
- </p>
- <p>
- He recalled the tales of the old men, in which they spoke of the
- unaccountable swiftness with which news leaped across the unpopulated
- deserts, far in advance of any material means of transmission. Along the
- reaches of the Nile and in the jungles of India, weird instances of the
- astonishing projection of thought across vast spaces were constantly being
- reported. There was magic in the air. News travelled faster than the
- swiftest steed, even faster than the engines of man, into the most remote
- places, and yet there was no visible, tangible force behind the remarkable
- achievement.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father had said more than once that the Hindu and the Egyptian
- possessed the power to be in two distinct places at the same time. He was
- wont to establish his theory by reciting the single instance of a sick
- dragoman who had been left behind in a village on the edge of the desert,
- with no means of crossing the vast stretch. And yet, when the caravan
- reached its destination after a long but record-breaking march, the man
- himself met them on the outskirts of the town with the astonishing report
- that he was quite well and strong after a two weeks' rest in his own house
- just inside of the city gates.
- </p>
- <p>
- How he had passed them on the desert, and how he had reached his home a
- fortnight ahead of them, was one of the greatest mysteries James Brood had
- ever sought to unravel. The man's presence there created no surprise among
- the native members of the caravan. To them it was a most ordinary thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again, in the depths of an Indian jungle Brood expressed the wish that he
- had brought with him a certain rifle he had left at home. Not a man left
- the camp, and yet at the end of the week a strange Hindu appeared with the
- rifle, having traversed several hundred miles of practically unexplored
- country in the time that would have been required to get the message to
- Lahore by horse alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood, a sensible man, was a firm believer in magic.
- </p>
- <p>
- This much Frederic knew of Ranjab: if James Brood needed him, no matter
- what the hour or the conditions, the man appeared before him as if out of
- nowhere and in response to no audible summons.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was there, then, between these two, the beautiful Yvonne and the silent
- Hindu, a voiceless pact that defied the will or understanding of either?
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not failed to note a tendency on her part to avoid the Hindu as
- much as possible. She even confessed to an uncanny dread of the man, but
- could not explain the feeling. Once she requested her husband to dismiss
- the faithful fellow. When he demanded the reason, however, she could only
- reply that she did not like the man and would feel happier if he were sent
- away. Brood refused, and from that hour her fear of the Hindu increased.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now she was speaking in a nervous hurried manner to Lydia, her back toward
- the window. In the middle of a sentence she suddenly got up from the chair
- and moved swiftly to the opposite side of the room, where she sat down
- again as far as possible from the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic found himself watching her face with curious interest. All the
- time she was speaking her eyes were fixed on the window. It was as if she
- expected something to appear there. There was no mistaking the expression.
- After studying her face in silence for a few minutes, Frederic himself
- experienced an irresistible impulse to turn toward the window. He half
- expected to see the Hindu's face there, looking in upon them, a perfectly
- absurd notion when he remembered that they were at least one hundred feet
- above the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she arose to go. No, she could not wait for Mrs Desmond's
- return.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is charming here, Lydia,” she said, surveying the little sitting-room
- with eyes that sought the window again and again in furtive darts.
- “Frederic must bring me here often. We shall have cosy times here, we
- three. It is so convenient, too, for you, my dear. You have only to walk
- around the corner, and there you are—at your place of business, as
- the men would say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was to continue as Brood's amanuensis. He would not listen to any
- other arrangement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I do hope you will come, Mrs Brood!” cried the girl earnestly. “My
- piano will be here to-morrow, and you shall hear Frederic play. He is
- really wonderful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm the rankest duffer going, Yvonne,” broke in Frederic, but his eyes
- were alight with pleasure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You play?” asked Mrs Brood, regarding him rather fixedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He disappears for hours at a time,” said Lydia, speaking for him, “and
- comes home humming fragments from—oh, but I am not supposed to tell!
- Forgive me, Frederic. Dear me! What have I done?” She was plainly
- distressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No harm in telling Yvonne,” said he, but uneasily. “You see, it's this
- way: father doesn't like the idea of my going in for music. He is really
- very much opposed to it. So I've been sort of stealing a march on him—going
- up to a chum's apartment and banging away to my heart's content. It's
- rather fun, too, doing it on the sly. Of course, if father heard of it
- he'd—he'd—well, he'd be nasty about it, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nasty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He got rid of our own piano a long time ago, just because he doesn't like
- music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he does like music,” said Yvonne, her voice a little huskier than
- usual. “In Paris we attended the opera, the concerts. I am sure he likes
- music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy it must have been my fault, then,” said Frederic wryly. “I was
- pretty bad at it in those days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will not let you have a piano in the house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say not!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave them a queer little smile. “We shall see,” she said, and that was
- all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, it would be great if you could get him to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure he would like Frederic's music now, Mrs Brood,” Lydia broke in
- eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you play—what do you like best, Frederic?” inquired Yvonne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, those wonderful little Hungarian things most of all; the plaintive
- little melodies——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stopped as she began to hum lightly the strains of one of Ziehrer's
- jaunty waltzes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove, how did you guess? Why, it's my favourite. I love it, Yvonne!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall play it for me—to-morrow, Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. The piano will be here in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how did you guess——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind! I am a witch, <i>aïe?</i> Come! I must be off now, Frederic.
- There are people coming to have tea with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they descended in the elevator Frederic, unable to contain himself,
- burst out rapturously:
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove, Yvonne, it will be fun, coming over here every day or so for a
- little music, won't it? I can't tell you how happy I shall be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is time you were happy,” said she, looking straight ahead, and many
- days passed before he had an inkling of all that lay behind her remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they entered the house Jones met them in the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood telephoned that he would be late, madam. He is at the customs
- office about the boxes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused at the foot of the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long has he been out, Jones?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since two o'clock, madam. It is now half-past four.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There will be five or six in for tea, Jones. You may serve it in Mr
- Brood's study.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of surprise flitted across the butler's impassive face. For a
- moment he had doubted his hearing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And ask Ranjab to put away Mr Brood's writing materials and
- reference-books.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall attend to it myself, madam. Ranjab went out with Mr Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Went out!” exclaimed Yvonne.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic turned upon the butler.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must be mistaken, Jones,” he said sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think not, sir. They went away together in the automobile. He has not
- returned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A long look of wonder and perplexity passed between young Brood and his
- stepmother.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed suddenly and unnaturally. Without a word she started up the
- stairs. He followed more slowly, his puzzled eyes fixed on the graceful
- figure ahead. At the upper landing she stopped. Her hand grasped the
- railing with rigid intensity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He bowed very
- deeply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The master's books and papers 'ave been removed, madam. The study is in
- order.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he two old men,
- long since relegated to a somewhat self-imposed oblivion, on a certain
- night discussed, as usual, the affairs of the household in the privacy of
- their room on the third floor. Not, however, without first convincing
- themselves that the shadowy Ranjab was nowhere within range of their
- croaking undertones. From the proscribed regions downstairs came the faint
- sounds of a piano and the intermittent chatter of many voices. Someone was
- playing “La Paloma.”
- </p>
- <p>
- These new days were not like the old ones. Once they had enjoyed, even
- commanded, the full freedom of the house. It had been their privilege,
- their prerogative, to enter into every social undertaking that was
- planned. They had come to regard themselves as hosts, or, at the very
- least, guests of honour on such occasions.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not that the occasions were many where guests came to be entertained by
- James Brood of old, but it seemed to be an accepted and quite agreeable
- duty of theirs to convince the infrequent visitors that Brood's house was
- really quite a jolly place, and that it would pay them to drop in oftener.
- They had a joyous way of lifting the responsibility of conversation from
- everyone else; and, be it said to their credit, there was no subject on
- which they couldn't talk with decision and fluency, whether they knew
- anything about it or not.
- </p>
- <p>
- And nowadays it was different. They were not permitted to appear when
- guests were in the house. The sumptuous dinners, of which they heard
- something from the servants, were no longer graced by their presence. They
- were amazed, and not a little irritated, to learn, by listening at the
- head of the stairs, that the unfortunate guests, whoever they were, always
- seemed to be enjoying themselves. They couldn't understand how such a
- condition was possible.
- </p>
- <p>
- They dined, to dignify the function somewhat, at least an hour before the
- guests arrived, and then shuffled off to their little back room, where
- they affected cribbage but indulged in something a great deal more
- acrimonious. They said many harsh things about the new mistress of the
- house. They could not understand what had come over James Brood. There was
- a time, said they, when no one could have led him around by the nose, and
- now he was as spineless as an angleworm.
- </p>
- <p>
- On nights when guests were expected they were not permitted to have a drop
- of anything to drink, Mrs Brood declaring that she could not afford to run
- the risk of having them appear in the drawing-room despite the edict. They
- also had a habit of singing rather boisterously when intoxicated,
- something about a girl in Bombay; or, when especially happy, about a
- couple of ladies in Hottentot land who didn't mind the heat.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a matter of discretion, therefore, to lock up the spirits, and,
- after a fashion, to lock up the old gentlemen as well.
- </p>
- <p>
- As a concession they were at liberty to invade the “retreat,” and to make
- themselves at home among the relics. Guests were seldom, if ever, taken up
- to Brood's room. Only the most intimate of friends were admitted. Even the
- jade room, with all of its priceless treasures, was closed to “outsiders,”
- for Brood had the idea that people as a rule did not possess a great
- amount of intelligence. So it was usually quite safe to allow Mr Dawes and
- Mr Riggs to run loose in the study, with the understanding, of course,
- that they were not to venture beyond the top of the stairs, and were not
- to smoke pipes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood had been working rather steadily at his journal during the past two
- or three weeks. He had reached a point in the history where his own memory
- was somewhat vague, and had been obliged to call upon his old comrades to
- supply the facts. For several nights they had sat with him, going over the
- scenes connected with their earliest acquaintance; those black days in
- Calcutta.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia had brought over her father's notes and certain transcripts of
- letters he had written to her mother before their marriage. The four of
- them were putting these notes and narratives into chronological order.
- Brood, after three months of married life and frivolity, suddenly had
- decided to devote himself almost entirely to the completion of the
- journal.
- </p>
- <p>
- He denied himself the theatre, the opera, and kindred features of the
- passing show, and, as he preferred to entertain rather than to be
- entertained, seldom found it necessary to go into the homes of other
- people. Yvonne made no protest. She merely pressed Frederic into service
- as an escort when she desired to go about, and thought nothing of it.
- Whatever James Brood's views of this arrangement were, he appeared to
- accept it good-naturedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the lines had returned to the corners of his mouth and the old, hard
- look to his eyes. And there were times when he spoke harshly to his son;
- times when he purposely humbled him in the presence of others without
- apparent reason.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this particular night Yvonne had asked a few people in for dinner. They
- were people whom Brood liked especially well, but who did not appeal to
- her at all. As a matter of fact, they bored her. Yet she was happy in
- pleasing him. When she told him that they were coming he favoured her with
- a dry, rather impersonal smile and asked, with whimsical good humour, why
- she chose to punish herself for the sins of <i>his</i> youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her cheek against his and purred. For a moment he held his
- breath. Then the fire in his blood leaped into flame. He clasped the slim,
- adorable body in his strong arms and crushed her against his breast. She
- kissed him, and he was again the fierce, eager, unsated lover. It was one
- of their wonderful, imperishable moments, moments that brought oblivion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, as he frequently did of late, he held her off at arm's length and
- searched her velvety eyes with a gaze that seemed to drag the very secrets
- out of her soul. She went deathly white and shivered. He took his hands
- from her shoulders and smiled. She came back into his arms like a dumb
- thing seeking protection, and continued to tremble as if frightened.
- </p>
- <p>
- When company was being entertained downstairs Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs, with
- a fidelity to convention that was almost pitiful, invariably donned their
- evening clothes. They considered themselves remotely connected with the
- festivities, and, that being the case, the least they could do was to
- “dress up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Moreover, they dressed with great care and deliberation. There was always
- the chance that they might be asked to come down; or, what was even more
- important, Mrs Brood might happen to encounter them in the upper hall, and
- in that event it was imperative that she should be made to realise how
- stupid she had been.
- </p>
- <p>
- Usually at nine o'clock they strolled into the study and smoked one of
- Brood's cigars with the gusto of real guests. It was their habit to
- saunter about the room, inspecting the treasures with critical, appraising
- eyes, very much as if they had never seen them before. They even handled
- some of the familiar objects with an air of bewilderment that would have
- done credit to a Cook's tourist.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was also a habit of theirs to try the doors of a large teakwood cabinet
- in one corner of the room. The doors were always locked, and they sighed
- with patient doggedness. Some time, they told themselves, Ranjab would
- forget to lock those doors, and then——
- </p>
- <p>
- “Joe,” said Mr Dawes, after he had tried the doors on this particular
- occasion, “I made a terrible mistake in letting poor Jim get married
- again. I'll never forgive myself.” He had said this at least a hundred
- times during the past three months. Sometimes he cried over it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Danbury, old pal, you must not take all the blame for that. I am as much
- at fault as you, blast you!” Mr Riggs always ended his confession with an
- explosion that fairly withered his friend and gave the lie to his attempt
- at humility.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right,” snapped Mr Dawes; “curse me for it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't make so much noise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you were ten years younger I'd—I'd——” blustered
- Dawes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish Jack Desmond had lived,” mused the other, paying no attention to
- the belligerent. “He would have put a stop to this fool marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat down and pondered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Jim had to marry someone, why didn't he marry right here at home?”
- demanded Dawes, turning fiercely on his friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” said Riggs, with significant solemnity, “he is in the habit of
- marrying away from home. Look at the first one. He married her, didn't he?
- And see what came of it. He ought to have had more sense the second time.
- But marrying men never do get any sense. They just marry, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jim's getting mighty cranky of late,” ruminated Dawes, puffing away at
- his unlighted cigar. “It's a caution the way he snaps Freddy off these
- days. He—he hates that boy, Joe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sh—h!</i> Not so loud!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Confound you, don't you know a whisper when you hear it?” demanded Dawes,
- who, in truth, had whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another potential silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy goes about with her a good deal more than he ought to,” said Riggs
- at last. “They're together two-thirds of the time. Why—why, he heels
- her like a trained dog. Playing the pianner morning, noon, and night, and
- out driving, and going to the theatre, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've a notion to tell Jim he ought to put a stop to it,” said the other.
- “It makes me sick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jim'll do it without being told one o' these days, so you keep out of it.
- Say, have you noticed how piqued Lydia's looking these times? She's not
- the same girl, Dan; not the same girl. Something's wrong.” He shook his
- head gloomily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's that dog-goned woman,” announced Dawes explosively, and then looked
- over his shoulder with apprehension. A sigh of relief escaped him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's got no business coming in between Lydia and Freddy,” said Riggs.
- “Looks as though she's just set on busting it up. What can she possibly
- have against poor little Lydia? She's good enough for Freddy. Too good, by
- hokey! 'Specially when you stop to think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now don't begin gossiping,” warned Dawes, glaring at him. “You're as bad
- as an old woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thinking ain't gossiping, confound you! If I wanted to gossip I'd up and
- say flatly that Jim Brood knows down in his soul that Freddy is no son of
- his. He——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've never heard him say so, Joe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; but I can put two and two together. I'm no fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd advise you to shut up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you would, would you?” with vast scorn. “I'd like to know who it was
- that talked to Mrs Desmond about it. Who put it into her head that Jim
- doubts——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, didn't she say I was a lying old busybody?” snapped Danbury
- triumphantly. “Didn't she call me down, eh? I'd like to know what more you
- could expect than that. Didn't she make me take back everything I said?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She did,” said Riggs with conviction. “And I believe she would have
- thrashed you if she'd been a man, just as she said she would. And didn't I
- advise her to do it, anyway, on the ground that you're an old woman and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's got nothing to do with the present case,” interrupted Dawes
- hastily. “What we ought to be thinking about now is how to get rid of this
- woman that's come in here to wreck our home. She's an interloper. She's a
- foreigner. She——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must admit she treats us very politely,” said Riggs weakly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly she does. She has to. If she tried to come any of her
- high-and-mighty—ahem! Yes, Joseph, I consider Mrs Brood the
- loveliest, most charming——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the wind blowing the curtain, Danbury,” said Riggs, reassuringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As I was saying,” resumed his friend, “I'd tell her what I thought of her
- almighty quick if she got uppish with me. The trouble is, she's so darned
- careful what she says to my face. I've never seen anybody as sweet as she
- is when she's with a feller. That all goes to prove that she's sly and
- unnatural. No woman ever lived who could be sweet all the time and still
- be as God made her. Why, she even comes up here and tries to be sweet on
- that 'Great Gawd Budd' thing over there. I heard her ask Ranjab one day
- why he never prostrated himself before the image.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” demanded Riggs, as the other paused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She didn't have sense enough to know that Ranjab is a Brahmin, a
- worshipper of Vishnu and Shiva. I also heard her say that you had been so
- drunk up here one night that a lady fainted when she saw you sprawled out
- on the couch. She thought you were dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't been drunk in ten years! What's more, I don't remember ever
- having seen a strange woman in this room since I came here to visit Jim
- Brood, twelve years ago. She must be crazy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She didn't say you saw the woman. She said the woman saw you,” said Dawes
- witheringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one ever thought of locking that cupboard until she came,” said Riggs,
- abruptly altering the trend of speech but not of thought. His gaze shifted
- to the cabinet. “Jim is like wax in her hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has no right to forget those days in Calcutta, when we shared our grog
- with him. No, Joe, we're not good enough for him in these days. She has
- bewitched him, poor devil. I've stuck to him like a brother for twenty
- years—both of us have for that matter——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like twin brothers,” amended Joseph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Exactly. We don't forget those old days in Tibet, Turkestan, the Congo,
- the Sahara——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say we don't! Who is really writing this book of his? Who
- supplies all the most important facts? Who—who—well, that's
- all. Who?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We do, old chap. But you'll find that we shan't have our names on the
- title-page. She'll see to that. She'll have us shunted off like a couple
- of deck-hands. Lydia can tell you how much of the material I have
- supplied. She knows, bless her heart. You furnished a lot, too, Joe, and
- John Desmond the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Jim has done his share.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll admit he has done all of the writing. I don't pose as a literary
- man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seems to me he's sticking closer to the work than ever before,” mused
- Riggs. “We ought to finish it by spring, the way we're going now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still say, however, that he ought to put a stop to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop to what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her running around with Freddy. What else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No harm in it, is there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I suppose not,” the other reflected. “Still they're pretty young, you
- know. Besides, she's French.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So was Joan of Arc,” said his friend in rebuttal.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes leaned a little closer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder how Mrs Desmond likes having her over there playing the piano
- every afternoon with Freddy, while Lydia's over here copying things for
- Jim and working her poor little head off. Ever stop to think about that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think about it all the time. And, by thunder, I'm not the only one who
- does, either. Jim thinks a good deal, and so does Lydia. It's a darned——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs happened to look up at that instant. Ranjab was standing in front
- of him, his arms folded across his breast, in the habitual pose of the
- Hindu who waits. The man was dressed in the costume of a high-caste
- Brahmin; the commonplace garments of the Occident had been laid aside, and
- in their place were the vivid, dazzling colours of Ind, from the
- bejewelled sandals to the turban which crowned his swarthy brow and
- gleamed with rubies and sapphires uncounted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs's mouth remained open as he stared blankly at this ghost of
- another day. Not since the old days in India had he seen Ranjab in native
- garb, and even then he was far from being the resplendent creature of
- to-night, for Ranjab in his home land was a poor man and without
- distinction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I awake?” exclaimed Mr Riggs in such an awful voice that Mr Dawes gave
- over staring at the cabinet and favoured him with an impatient kick on the
- ankle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess that'll wake you up if——” and then he saw the Hindu.
- “The Ranjab!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab was smiling, and when he smiled his dark face was a joy to behold.
- His white teeth gleamed and his sometime unfeeling eyes sparkled with
- delight. He liked the two old men. They had stood, with Brood, between him
- and grave peril far back in the old days when even the faintest gleam of
- hope apparently had been blotted out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Behold!” he cried, magnificently spreading his arms. “I am made glorious!
- See before you the prince of magic! See!”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a swift, deft movement he snatched the half-smoked cigar from the
- limp fingers of Mr Riggs and, first holding it before their blinking eyes,
- tossed it into the air. It disappeared!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, of all the——” began Mr Riggs, sitting up very straight.
- His eyes were following the rapid actions of the Hindu. Unlocking a drawer
- in the big table, the latter peered into it and then beckoned the old men
- to his side. There lay the cigar and beside it a much-needed match.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to smoke it,” said Mr Riggs, vigorously declining his
- property. “The darned thing's bewitched.” Whereupon Ranjab took it out of
- the drawer and again threw it into the air. Then he calmly reached above
- his head and plucked a fresh cigar out of space, obsequiously tendering it
- to the amazed old man, who accepted it with a sheepish grin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You haven't lost any of your old skill,” said Mr Dawes, involuntarily
- glancing at his own cigar to make sure that he had it firmly gripped in
- his stubby fingers. “You ought to be in a sideshow, Ranjab.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab paused, before responding, to extract a couple of billiard balls
- and a small paper-knife from the lapel of Dawes's coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am to perform to-night, <i>sahib</i>, for the mistress's guests. It is
- to be—what you call him? A side-show? Ranjab is to do his tricks for
- her, as the dog performs for his master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile had disappeared. His face was an impenetrable mask once more.
- Had their eyes been young and keen, however, they might have caught the
- flash of anger in his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going to do all the old tricks?” cried Mr Riggs eagerly. “By George, I'd
- like to see 'em again; wouldn't you, Dan? I'm glad we've got our good
- clothes on. Now you see what comes of always being prepared for——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sorry, <i>sahib</i>, but the master has request me to entertain you
- before the guests come up. Coffee is to be served here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That means we'll have to clear out?” said Riggs slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But see!” cried Ranjab, genuinely sorry for them. He became enthusiastic
- once more. “See! I shall do them all—and better, too, for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For ten minutes he astonished the old men with the mysterious feats of the
- Indian fakir. They waxed enthusiastic. He grinned over the pleasure he was
- giving them. Suddenly he whipped out a short, thin sword from its scabbard
- in his sash. The amazing, incomprehensible sword-swallowing act followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, Ranjab has not forgot,” he cried in triumph. “He have not lost
- the touch of the wizard, <i>aih</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll lose your gizzard some day, doing that,” said Dawes grimly. “It
- gives me the shivers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, before their startled, horror-struck eyes, the Hindu coolly plunged
- the glittering blade into his breast, driving it in to the hilt!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord!” shouted the two old men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab serenely replaced the sword in its scabbard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not always the knife that finds the heart,” said he, so slowly, so
- full of meaning, that even the old men grasped the significance of the
- cryptic remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A feller can be fooled, no matter how closely he watches,” said Mr Dawes,
- and he was not referring to the amazing sword trick.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir,” said Mr Riggs, with gloomy irrelevance, “I don't like that
- woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old spell of the Orient had fallen upon the ancients. They were
- hearing the vague whisperings of voices that came from nowhere, as they
- had heard them years ago in the mystic silences of the East.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sh—h!</i> One comes,” said Ranjab softly. “It will be the
- master's son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- An instant later his closet door closed noiselessly behind him and the old
- men were alone, blinking at each other. There was no sound from the hall.
- They waited, watching the curtained door. At last they heard footsteps on
- the stairs, quick footsteps of the young.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic strode rapidly into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is face was livid
- with rage. For a moment he glowered upon the two old men, his fingers
- working spasmodically, his chest heaving with the volcanic emotions he was
- trying so hard to subdue. Then he whirled about to glare into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In God's name, Freddy, what's happened?” cried Mr Riggs, all a-tremble.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had never seen him in a rage before. There had been occasions when
- they had secretly criticised James Brood's treatment of the unhappy boy,
- but from the youth himself there had come no complaint, only the hurt,
- puzzled look of one who endures because an alternative does not suggest
- itself. Intuitively the old men knew that his present condition was due to
- something his father had said or done, and that it must have been
- unusually severe to have provoked the wrath that he made no effort to
- conceal.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not in their honest old hearts to hold grievance against the lad,
- notwithstanding his frequent periods of impatience where they were
- concerned, periods when they were admittedly as much at fault as he, by
- the way. Usually he made up for these lapses by a protracted season of
- sweetness and consideration that won back not only their sympathy, but the
- affection they had felt for him since his lonely boyhood days.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some minutes passed before he could trust himself to speak. Ugly veins
- stood out on his pale temples as he paced the floor in front of them.
- Eventually Mr Dawes ventured the vital question in a somewhat hushed
- voice:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you—quarrelled with your father, Freddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man threw up his arms in a gesture of despair. There was a wail
- of misery in his voice as he answered:
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the name of God, why should he hate me as he does? What have I done?
- Am I not a good son to him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush!” implored Mr Dawes nervously. “He'll hear you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hear me!” cried Frederic, and laughed aloud in his recklessness. “Why
- shouldn't he hear me? I'll not stand it a day longer. He wouldn't think of
- treating a dog as he treats me. I—I—why, he is actually
- forcing me to hate him. I <i>do</i> hate him! I swear to Heaven it was in
- my heart to kill him down there just now. I———” He could
- not go on. He choked up and the tears rushed to his eyes. Abruptly turning
- away, he threw himself upon the couch and buried his face on his arms,
- sobbing like a little child.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old men, distressed beyond the power of speech, mumbled incoherent
- words of comfort as they slowly edged toward the door. They tiptoed into
- the hall, and neither spoke until their bedroom door was closed behind
- them. Mr Dawes even tried it to see that it was safely latched.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's got to come,” said Mr Riggs, wiping his eyes but neglecting to blow
- his nose—recollecting in good time the vociferous noise that always
- attended the performance. “Yes, sir; it's bound to come. There's going to
- be a smash, mark my words. It can't go on.” He sat down heavily and stared
- rather pathetically at his friend, who was the picture of lugubrious
- concern.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said Mr Dawes bleakly, “as sure as you're alive, Joey. That
- boy's spunk is going to assert itself some day, and then—good Lord,
- what then? He'll curse Jim to his teeth and—and Jim'll up and tell
- him the truth. I—I don't know what will happen then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Riggs swallowed hard—a gulping sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy's the kind of a feller who'll kill himself, Danny. He's as high
- strung as a harp. Something will snap. I hate to think of it. Poor lad! It—it
- ain't his fault that things are not as they ought to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Jim Brood ever tells him he's no son of his, he'll break the boy's
- heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not so sure of that,” said Riggs sagely. “Sometimes I think Freddy
- would be darned glad to know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The curtains parted and Yvonne looked in upon the wretched Frederic. There
- was a look of mingled pain and commiseration in her wide-open eyes. For a
- moment she stood there regarding him in silence. Then she swiftly crossed
- the room to the couch in the corner, where he sat huddled up, his
- shoulders still shaking with the misery that racked him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes darkened into the hungry, yearning look of one who would gladly
- share or assume all of the suffering of another whose happiness was dear
- to her—the look of a gentle mother. The mocking, seductive gleam was
- gone, and in its place was the glow of infinite pity. Her hand went out to
- touch the tousled hair, but stopped before contact. Slowly she drew back,
- with a glance of apprehension toward the door of the Hindu's closet. An
- odd expression of alarm crept into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic,” she said softly, almost timorously.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his head quickly and then sprang to his feet. His eyes were wet
- and his lips were drawn. Shame possessed him. He tried to smile, but it
- was a pitiful failure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm so ashamed of—of——” he began in a choked voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ashamed because you have cried?” she said quickly. “But no! It is good to
- cry; it is good for men to cry. But when a strong man breaks down and
- sheds tears, I am—oh, I am heartbroken. A woman's tears mean
- nothing, but a man's? Oh, they are terrible! But come! You must compose
- yourself. The others will be here in a few minutes. I ran away from them
- on the pretext that I—but it is of no consequence. It is enough that
- I am here. You must go to your room and bathe your face. Go at once.
- Your father must not know that you have cried. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Curse him!” came from between Frederic's clenched teeth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush!” she cried, with another glance at Ranjab's door. She would have
- given much to know whether the Hindu was there or still below-stairs. “You
- must not say such——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will say it, Yvonne—I'll say it to his face! I don't care if the
- others do see that I have been crying. I want them to know how he hurts
- me, and I want them to hate him for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For my sake, Frederic, calm yourself. I implore you to go to your room.
- Come back later, but go now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was struck by the seriousness in her voice and manner. An ugly, crooked
- smile writhed about the corners of his mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you're trying to smooth it over so that they won't consider him
- a brute. Is that it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! Please, please! You know that my heart aches for you, <i>mon ami</i>.
- It was cruel of him, it was cowardly—yes, cowardly! Now I have said
- it!” She drew herself up and turned deliberately toward the little door
- across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes brightened. The crooked sneer turned into an imploring smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive me, Yvonne! You must see that I'm beside myself. I—I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you must be sensible. Remember he is your father. He is a strange
- man. There has been a great deal of bitterness in his life. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I been the cause of a moment's bitterness to him?” cried Frederic.
- “Why should he hate me? Why———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are losing control of yourself again, Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I can't go on the way things are now. He's getting to be worse than
- ever. I never have a kind word from him, seldom a word of any description.
- Never a kind look. Can't you understand how it goads me to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes! You've said all this before, and I have listened to you when I
- should have reminded you that he is my husband,” she said impatiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Heaven, I don't see how you can love him!” he cried boldly. “Sometimes
- I wonder if you do love him. He is as selfish, as unfeeling as oh, there's
- no word for it. Why, in the name of God, did you ever marry such a man?
- You couldn't have loved him.” Something in her expression brought him up
- sharply. Her eyes had narrowed; they had the look of a wary, hunted thing
- that has been driven into a corner. He stared. “Forgive me, Yvonne. I—I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know what you are saying,” she panted. “Are you accusing me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no! What a coward, what a dog I am!” he cried abjectly.
- </p>
- <p>
- A queer little smile stole into her face. It was even more baffling than
- the expression it displaced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am your friend,” she said slowly. “Is this the way to reward me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dropped to his knees and covered her hands with kisses, mumbling his
- plea for forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so terribly unhappy,” he said over and over again. “I'd leave this
- house to-night if it were not that I can't bear the thought of leaving
- you, Yvonne. I adore you. You are everything in the world to me. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get up!” she cried out sharply. He lifted his eyes in dumb wonder and
- adoration, but not in time to catch the look of triumph that swept across
- her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will forgive me?” he cried, coming to his feet. “I—I couldn't
- help saying it. It was wrong—wrong! But you <i>will</i> forgive me,
- Yvonne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned away, walking slowly toward the door. He remained rooted to the
- spot, blushing with shame and dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going? To tell <i>him?</i>” he gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not reply at once, but drew the <i>portières</i> apart and peered
- down the stairs beyond, her attitude one of tense anxiety. As she faced
- him a smile of security was on her lips. She leaned gracefully against the
- jamb of the door, her arms dropping to her sides.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will forgive you,” she said calmly, and he realised in a flash
- that the verdict would have been different if there had been the remotest
- chance that his declaration was overheard. She would have denied him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I adore you, Yvonne,” he cried in low tones, striding swiftly toward her,
- only to halt as he caught the smile of derision in her eyes. “I don't mean
- it in the way you think. You are so good to me. You have given me so much
- joy and happiness, and—and you understand me so well. I could die
- for you, Yvonne. I <i>would</i> die for you. It's not the kind of love you
- are in the habit of commanding, you who are so glorious and so beautiful.
- It's the love of a dog for his master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited an instant, and then came toward him. He never could have
- explained the unaccountable impulse that forced him to fall back a few
- steps as she approached. Her eyes were gazing steadily into his, and her
- red lips were parted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is as it should be,” she was saying, but he was never sure that he
- heard the words. His knees grew weak. He was in the toils! “Now you must
- pull yourself together,” she went on, in such a matter-of-fact tone that
- he straightened up involuntarily. “Come! Wipe the tear-stains from your
- cheeks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He obeyed, but his lip still quivered with the rage that had been checked
- by the ascendancy of another and even more devastating emotion. She was
- standing quite close to him now, her slender figure swaying slightly as if
- moved by some strange, rhythmic melody to which the heart beat time.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were soft and velvety again, her smile tender and appealing. The
- vivid white of her arms and shoulders seemed to shed a soft light about
- her, so radiant was the sheen of the satin skin. Her gown was of black
- velvet, cut very low, and with scarcely any ornamentation save the great
- cluster of rubies at the top of her corsage. They gleamed like coals of
- fire against the skin, which appeared to absorb and reflect their warmth.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a full red rose in her dark hair. She wore no ear-rings, no
- finger-rings except the narrow gold band on her left hand. A wide,
- exquisitely designed gold bracelet fitted tightly about her right forearm,
- as if it had been welded to the soft white flesh. Yvonne's ears were
- lovely; she knew better than to disfigure them. Her hands were
- incomparably beautiful; she knew their full value unadorned.
- </p>
- <p>
- She moved closer to him and with deft fingers applied her tiny lace
- handkerchief to his flushed cheeks and eyes, laughing audibly as she did
- so; a low gurgle of infinite sweetness and concern.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood like a statue, scarcely breathing, the veins in his throat
- throbbing violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There!” she said, and deliberately touched the <i>mouchoir</i> to her own
- smiling lips before replacing it in her bodice next to the warm, soft
- skin. “Lydia must not see that her big baby sweetheart has been crying,”
- she went on, and if there was mockery in her voice it was lost on him. He
- could only stare as if bereft of all his senses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been thinking, Frederic,” she said, suddenly serious, “perhaps it
- would be better if we were not alone when the others come up. Go at once
- and fetch the two old men. Tell them I expect them here to witness the
- magic. It appears to be a family party, so why exclude them? Be quick!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dashed off to obey her command. She lighted a cigarette at the table,
- her unsmiling eyes fixed on the door to the Hindu's closet. Then, with a
- little sigh, she sank down on the broad couch and stretched her supple
- body in the ecstasy of complete relaxation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The scene at the dinner-table had been most distressing. Up to the instant
- of the outburst her husband had been in singularly gay spirits, a
- circumstance so unusual that the whole party wondered not a little. If the
- others were vaguely puzzled by his high humour, not so Yvonne. She
- understood him better than anyone else in the world; she read his mind as
- she would have read an open book.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was riot, not joy, in the heart of the brilliant talker at the head
- of the table. He was talking against the savagery that strained so hard at
- its leash.
- </p>
- <p>
- At her right sat Frederic, at her left the renowned Dr Hodder, whose feats
- at the operating table were vastly more successful than his efforts at the
- dinner-table. He was a very wonderful surgeon, but equally famous as a
- bore of the first rank. Yvonne could not endure him. His jokes were
- antediluvian, and his laughter over them an abomination.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had an impression, as many famous men have, that the sole duty of a
- dinner guest is to be funny in the loudest voice possible, drowning out
- all competition, and to talk glowingly about the soup, as if nothing else
- was required to convince the hostess that he considered her dinner
- irreproachable and her cook a jewel. Still, it was agreed Dr Hodder was a
- wonderful surgeon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond and Lydia were there. (This was an excellent opportunity to
- entertain them on an occasion of more or less magnitude.) There were also
- present Bertie Gunning and his pretty wife, Maisie, both of whom Yvonne
- liked; and the Followed sisters, with two middle-aged gentlemen from one
- of the clubs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Followed was forty, and proved it by cheerfully discussing events
- that happened at least that far back in her life. Her sister Janey was
- much younger, quite pretty, and acutely ingenuous. The middle-aged
- gentlemen ate very little. They were going to a supper at the
- Knickerbocker later on for someone whose name was Lilly. Occasionally it
- was Lil. It rather gratified them to be chided about the lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic, deceived by his father's sprightly mood, entered rather
- recklessly into the lively discussion. He seldom took his eyes from the
- face of his beautiful stepmother, and many of his remarks were uttered <i>sotto
- voce</i> for her ear alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly James Brood called out his name in a sharp, commanding tone.
- Frederic, at the moment engaged in a low exchange of words with Yvonne,
- did not hear him. Brood spoke again, loudly, harshly. There was dead
- silence at the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will excuse you, Frederic,” said he, a deadly calm in his voice. The
- puzzled expression in the young man's face slowly gave way to a steady
- glare of fury. He could not trust himself to speak. “I regret exceedingly
- that you cannot take wine in moderation. A breath of fresh air will be of
- benefit to you. You may join us upstairs later on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't drunk a full glass of champagne,” began the young man in amazed
- protest.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood smiled indulgently, but there was a sinister gleam in his gray eyes.
- “I think you had better take my advice,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, sir,” said Frederic in a low, suppressed voice, his face
- paling. Without another word he got up from the table and walked out of
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke the truth later on when he told Yvonne that he could not
- understand. But she understood. She knew that James Brood had endured the
- situation as long as it was in his power to endure, and she knew that it
- was her fault entirely that poor Frederic had been exposed to this
- crowning bit of humiliation.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she sat in the dim study awaiting her stepson's reappearance with the
- two old men, her active, far-seeing mind was striving to estimate the cost
- of that tragic clash. Not the cost to herself or to Frederic, but to James
- Brood!
- </p>
- <p>
- The Messrs Dawes and Riggs, inordinately pleased over the rehabitation,
- were barely through delivering themselves of their protestations of
- undying fealty when the sound of voices came up from the lower hall.
- Frederic started to leave the room, not caring to face those who had
- witnessed his unwarranted degradation. Yvonne hurried to his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going?” she cried sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cannot expect me to stay here——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But certainly!” she exclaimed. “Listen! I will tell you what to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice sank to an imperative whisper. He listened in sheer amazement,
- his face growing dark with rebellion as she proceeded to unfold her plan
- for a present victory over his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no! I can't do that! Never, Yvonne,” he protested.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For my sake, Freddy. Don't forget that you owe something to me. I command
- you to do as I tell you. It is the only way. Make haste! Open the window,
- get the breath of air he prescribed, and when they are all here, <i>apologise
- for your condition!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Dr Hodder and Mrs Gunning entered the room a few minutes later young
- Brood was standing in the open window, drinking in the cold night air, and
- she was blithely regaling the blinking old men with an account of her
- stepson's unhappy efforts to drink all the wine in sight! As she told it,
- it was a most amusing experiment.
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood was the last to enter, with Miss Followed. He took in the
- situation at a glance. Was it relief that sprang into his eyes as he saw
- the two old men?
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic came down from the window, somewhat too swiftly for one who is
- moved by shame and contrition, and faced the group with a well-assumed
- look of mortification in his pale, twitching face. He spoke in low,
- repressed tones, but not once did he permit his gaze to encounter that of
- his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm awfully sorry to have made a nuisance of myself. It does go to my
- head, and I—I dare say the heat of the room helped to do the work.
- I'm all right now, however. The fresh air did me a lot of good. Hope
- you'll all overlook my foolish attempt to be a devil of a fellow.” He
- hesitated a moment and then went on, more clearly. “I'm all right now,
- father. It shall not happen again, I can promise you that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A close observer might have seen the muscles of his jaw harden as he
- uttered the final sentence. He intended that his father should take it as
- a threat, not as an apology.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was watching him closely, a puzzled expression in his eyes;
- gradually it developed into something like admiration. In the clamour of
- voices that ensued the older man detected the presence of an underlying
- note of censure for his own behaviour. For the first time in many years he
- experienced a feeling of shame.
- </p>
- <p>
- Someone was speaking at his elbow. Janey, in her young,
- enthusiastic voice, shrilled something into his ear that caused him to
- look at her in utter amazement. It was so astounding that he could not
- believe he heard aright. He mumbled in a questioning tone, “I beg your
- pardon,” and she repeated her remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How wonderfully like you Frederic is, Mr Brood.” Then she added: “Do you
- know, I've never noticed it until to-night? It's really remarkable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed,” Brood responded somewhat icily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you think so, Mr Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I do not, Miss Janey,” said he distinctly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maisie Gunning was speaking of it just a few minutes ago,” went on the
- girl, unimpressed. “She says you are very much alike when you are—are———”
- here she foundered in sudden confusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Intoxicated?” he inquired, without a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- She blushed painfully. “No, no! When you are angry. There, I suppose I
- shouldn't have said it, but———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a most gratifying discovery,” said he, and turned to speak to Mrs
- Desmond. He did not take his gaze from Frederic's white, set face,
- however; and, despite the fact that he knew the girl had uttered an idle
- commonplace, he was annoyed to find himself studying the features of
- Matilde's boy with an interest that seemed almost laughable when he
- considered it later on.
- </p>
- <p>
- His guests found much to talk about in the room. He was soon being dragged
- from one object to another and ordered to reveal the history, the use, and
- the nature of countless things that obviously were intended to be just
- what they seemed; such as rugs, shields, lamps, and so forth. He was ably
- assisted by Messrs Riggs and Dawes, who lied prodigiously in a frenzy of
- rivalry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a perfectly delightful Buddha!” cried Miss Janey, stopping in front
- of the idol. “How perfectly lovely he is—or is it a she, Mr Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not reply at once. His eyes were on Frederic and Yvonne, who had
- come together at last and were conversing earnestly apart from the rest of
- the group. He observed that Lydia was standing quite alone near the table,
- idly handling a magazine. To the best of his recollection, Frederic had
- scarcely spoken to the girl during the evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is where I work and play and dream, Miss Janey, and practise the
- ogre's art. It is a forbidden chamber, my sanctuary,”—with a glance
- at the idol—“and here is where I sometimes chop off pretty young
- women's heads and hang them from the window-ledge as a warning to all
- other birds of prey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Janey laughed gleefully, attracting Yvonne's attention. Then she sang
- out across the room:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your husband says he is an ogre. Is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne came languidly toward them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My husband manages to keep me in his enchanted castle without chains and
- padlocks, and that is saying a great deal in this day and age, my dear.
- Would you call him an ogre after that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it is the old story of the fairy queen and the ogre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be sure I'd be an ogre if there was no other way of keeping you,
- my dear,” said Brood. There was something in his voice that caused her to
- look up into his face quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Hodder, being a wonderful surgeon, managed to cut his finger with a
- razor-edged kris at that instant, drawing a little shriek from Miss
- Followed, to whom he was jocularly explaining that scientific Malays used
- the thing in removing one another's appendices, the surgeon being the one
- who survived the operation.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the excitement incident to the bloodletting the middle-aged
- gentlemen glanced furtively at their watches and indulged in a mental
- calculation from which they emerged somewhat easier in their minds. It
- still wanted an hour before the theatres were out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dreadful bore,” yawned one of them behind his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stupidest woman I ever sat next to,” said the other,
- </p>
- <p>
- Then both looked at their watches again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic joined Lydia at the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A delicious scene, wasn't it?” he asked bitterly in lowered tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her fingers touched his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did he mean, Freddy? Oh, I felt so sorry for you. It was dreadful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't take it so seriously, Lyddy,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.
- Both of them realised that it was the nearest thing to a caress that had
- passed between them in a fortnight or longer. A wave of shame swept
- through him. “Dear old girl—my dear old girl,” he whispered
- brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes radiated joy, her lips parted in a wan, tremulous smile of
- surprise, and a soft sigh escaped them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear, dear boy,” she murmured, and was happier than she had been in
- weeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “See here, old chap,” said one of the middle-aged gentlemen, again
- consulting his watch as he loudly addressed his host, “can't you hurry
- this performance of yours along a bit? It is after ten, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A quarter after,” said the other middle-aged gentleman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will summon the magician,” said Brood. “Be prepared, ladies and
- gentlemen, to meet the devil. Ranjab is the prince of darkness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his hand to strike the gong that stood near the edge of the
- table.
- </p>
- <p>
- Involuntarily four pairs of eyes fastened their gaze upon the door to the
- Hindu's closet. Three mellow, softly reverberating “booms” filled the
- room. Almost instantly the voice of the Hindu was heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Aih, sahib!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He came swiftly into the room from the hall, and not from his closet. The
- look of relief in Yvonne's eyes was short-lived. She saw amazement in the
- faces of the two old men—and knew!
- </p>
- <p>
- “After we have had the feats of magic,” Brood was saying, “Miss Desmond
- will read to you, ladies and gentlemen, that chapter of our journal——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My word!” groaned both of the middle-aged gentlemen, looking at their
- watches.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Relating to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll have to excuse me, Brood, really, you know. Important engagement
- up-town——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit down, Cruger,” exclaimed Hodder. “The lady won't miss you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Relating to our first encounter with the great and only Ranjab,” pursued
- Brood oracularly. “We found him in a little village far up in the
- mountains. He was under the sentence of death for murder. By the way,
- Yvonne, the kris you have in your hand is the very weapon the good fellow
- used in the commission of his crime. He was in prison and was to die
- within a fortnight after our arrival in the town. I heard of his unhappy
- plight and all that had led up to it. His case interested me tremendously.
- One night, a week before the proposed execution, my friends and I stormed
- the little prison and rescued him. We were just getting over the cholera
- and needed excitement. That was fifteen years ago. He has been my trusted
- body-servant ever since. I am sure you will be interested in what I have
- written about that thrilling adventure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne had dropped the ugly knife upon the table as if it were a thing
- that scorched her fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did he—really kill a man?” whispered Miss Janey with horror in her
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He killed a woman. His wife, Miss Janey. She had been faithless, you see.
- He cut her heart out. And now, Ranjab, are you ready?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Hindu salaamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ranjab is always ready, <i>sahib</i>,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day, after
- a sleepless night, Frederic announced to his stepmother that he could no
- longer remain under his father's roof. He would find something to do in
- order to support himself. It was impossible to go on pretending that he
- loved or respected his father, and the sooner the farce was ended the
- better it would be for both of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She, too, had passed a restless night. She slept but little. It was a
- night filled with waking dreams as well as those which came in sleep.
- There was always an ugly, wriggly kris in those dreams of hers, and a
- brown hand that was for ever fascinating her with its uncanny deftness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Twice in the night she had clutched her husband's shoulder in the terror
- of a dream, and he had soothed her with the comfort of his strong arms.
- She crept close to him and slept again, secure for the moment against the
- sorcery that haunted her. He had been surprised, even gratified, when she
- came into his room long after midnight, to creep shivering into his bed.
- She was like a little child “afraid of the dark.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her influence alone prevented the young man from carrying out his threat.
- At first he was as firm as a rock in his determination. He was getting his
- few possessions together in his room when she tapped on his door. After a
- while he abandoned the task and followed her rather dazedly to the
- boudoir, promising to listen to reason. For an hour she argued and pleaded
- with him, and in the end he agreed to give up what she was pleased to call
- his preposterous plan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, that being settled,” she said with a sigh of relief, “let us go and
- talk it all over with Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd—I'd rather not, Yvonne,” he said, starting guiltily. “There's
- no use worrying her with the thing now. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer
- that she—well, somehow I don't like the idea of explaining matters to
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's nothing to explain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked away. He realised that he could not explain the thing even to
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, I don't want her to know that I thought of leaving,” he
- supplemented. “She wouldn't understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's so open and above-board about everything,” he explained nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has seemed to me of late, Frederic, that you and Lydia are not quite
- so—what shall I say?—so enamoured of each other. What has happened?”
- she inquired so innocently, so naïvely, that he looked at her in
- astonishment. She was watching him narrowly. “I am sure you fairly live at
- her house. You are there nearly every day, and yet—well, I can feel
- rather than see the change in both of you. I hope———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been behaving like an infernal sneak, Yvonne!” cried he,
- conscience-stricken. “She's the finest, noblest girl in all this world,
- and I've been treating her shamefully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear me! In what way, may I inquire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, we used to—oh, but why go into all that? It would only amuse
- you. You'd laugh at us for silly fools. But I can't help saying this much:
- she doesn't deserve to be treated as I'm treating her now, Yvonne. It's
- hurting her dreadfully, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What have you been doing that she should be so dreadfully afflicted?” she
- cried ironically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been neglecting her, ignoring her, humiliating
- her, if you will force me to say it,” he said firmly. “Good Lord, if
- anyone had told me three months ago that I'd ever be guilty of giving
- Lydia an instant's pain, I'd—I'd———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would do what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't laugh at me, Yvonne,” he cried miserably.
- </p>
- <p>
- She became serious at once. “Do you still love her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes! Yes!” he shouted, as if there was some necessity for convincing
- himself as well as his listener.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she loves you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I—certainly! At least I think she does,” he floundered. His
- forehead was moist and cold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why this sudden misgiving, this feeling of doubt, this
- self-abasement?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand it myself,” he said rather bleakly. “I—I give
- you my word, I don't know what has come over me. I'm not as I used to be.
- I'm———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly. “I'm afraid you are seeing too much of your poor
- stepmother,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes narrowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've made me over, that's true. You've made all of us over—the
- house as well. I am not happy unless I am with you. It used to make me
- happy to be with Lydia—and we were always together. But I—I
- don't care now—at least, I am not unhappy when we are apart. You've
- done it, Yvonne. You've made life worth living. You've made me see
- everything differently. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood up, facing him. She appeared to be frightened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you trying to tell me that you are in love with me?” she demanded,
- and there was no longer mockery or raillery in her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes swept her from head to foot. He was deathly white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you were not my father's wife I would say yes,” said he hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what it is that you have said?” she asked, suddenly putting
- her hands to her temples. Her eyes were glowing like coals.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a dear boy, Frederic, but you are a foolish one,” she went on,
- the smile struggling back to her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you'll send me away after—what I've said,” he muttered
- dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all!” she laughed. “I shall pay no attention to such nonsense. You
- are an honest fool, and I don't blame you. Wiser men than you have fallen
- in love with me, so why not you? I like you, Freddy; I like you very, very
- much. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You like me because I am his son!” he cried hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you were not his son I should despise you,” she said deliberately,
- cruelly. He winced. “There, now; we've said enough. You must be sensible.
- You will discover that I am <i>very, very</i> sensible. I have been sorry
- for you. It may hurt you to have me say that I pity you; but I do. You do
- not love me, Freddy. You are fooling yourself. You are like all boys when
- they lose their heads and not their hearts. It is Lydia whom you love, not
- I. You have just told me so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before Heaven, Yvonne, I <i>do</i> love her. That's what I cannot
- understand about myself.” He was pacing the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But <i>I</i> understand,” she said quietly. “Now go away, please. And
- don't let me hear another word about your leaving your father's house. You
- are not to take that step until I command you to go. Do you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her in utter bewilderment for a moment, and slowly nodded his
- head. Then he turned abruptly toward the door, shamed and humiliated
- beyond words.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he went swiftly down the stairs his father came out upon the landing
- above and leaned over the railing to watch his descent. A moment later
- Brood was knocking at Yvonne's door. He did not wait for an invitation to
- enter, but strode into the room without ceremony.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was standing at the window that opened out upon the little stone
- balcony, and had turned swiftly at the sound of the rapping. Surprise gave
- way to an expression of displeasure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What has Frederic been saying to you?” demanded her husband curtly, after
- he had closed the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint sneer came to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing, my dear James, that you would care to know,” she said,
- smouldering anger in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean something that I <i>shouldn't</i> know,” he said sternly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you not forgetting yourself, James?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon. I suppose the implication was offensive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was. You have no right to pry into my affairs, James, and I shall be
- grateful to you if you will refrain from doing so again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord! Are you trying to tell me what I shall do or say———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am merely reminding you that I am your wife, not your———”
- She did not deem it necessary to complete the sentence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are content to leave a good deal to my imagination, I see.” He
- flushed angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- She came up to him slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James, we must both be careful. We must not quarrel.” Her hands grasped
- the lapels of his long lounging robe. There was an appealing look in her
- eyes that checked the harsh words even as they rose to his lips. He found
- himself looking into those dark eyes with the same curious wonder in his
- own that had become so common of late. Time and again he had been puzzled
- by something he saw in their liquid depths, something that he could not
- fathom, no matter how deeply he probed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is there about you, Yvonne, that hurts me—yes actually hurts
- me—when you look at me as you're looking now?” he cried almost
- roughly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have been married a scant four months,” she said gently. “Would you
- expect a woman to shed her mystery in so short a time as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is something in your eyes———” he began, and shook
- his head in utter perplexity. “You startle me once in a while. There are
- times when you seem to be looking at me through eyes that are not your
- own. It's—it's—quite uncanny. If you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I assure you my eyes are all my own,” she cried flippantly, and yet there
- was a slight trace of nervousness in her manner. “Do you intend to be nice
- and good and reasonable, James? I mean about poor Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face clouded again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what you are doing to that boy?” he asked bluntly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite as well as I know what you are doing to him,” she replied quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stiffened. “Can't you see what it is coming to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He was on the point of leaving your house, never to come back to it
- again. That's what it is coming to,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to say———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was packing his things to go away to-day———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why—why, he'd starve!” cried the man, shaken in spite of himself.
- “He has never done a day's labour; he doesn't know how to earn a living.
- He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who is to blame? You, James; you! You have tied his hands, you have
- penned him up in———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will not go into that,” he interrupted coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. As you please. I said that he was going away, perhaps to
- starve, but he has changed his mind. He has taken my advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your advice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have advised him to bide his time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It sounds rather ominous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he waits long enough you may discover that you love him and his going
- would give you infinite pain. Then is the time for him to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heaven!” he cried in astonishment. “What a remarkable notion of the
- fitness———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will be his chance to repay you for all that you have done for him,
- James,” said she, as calm as a May morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I ever said that I do not love him?” he demanded shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For that matter, have you ever said that you do not hate him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove, you are a puzzle to me!” he exclaimed, and a fine moisture came
- out on his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let the boy alone, James,” she went on earnestly. “He is———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “See here, Yvonne,” he broke in sternly, “that is a matter we can't
- discuss. You do not understand, and I cannot explain certain things to
- you. I came here just now to ask you to be fair to him, even though I may
- not appear to be. You are———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is also a matter we cannot discuss,” said she calmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it is a thing we are going to discuss, just the same,” said he. “Sit
- down, my dear, and listen to what I have to say. Sit down!”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment she faced him defiantly. He was no longer angry, and therein
- lay the strength that opposed her. She could have held her own with him if
- he had maintained the angry attitude that marked the beginning of their
- interview. As it was, her eyes fell after a brief struggle against the
- dominant power in his, and she obeyed, but not without a significant
- tribute to his superiority in the shape of an indignant shrug.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one has ever lectured me before, James,” she said, affecting a yawn.
- “It will be a new and interesting experience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I trust a profitable one,” said he rather grimly. “I shouldn't call
- it a lecture, however. A warning is better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That should be more thrilling, in any event.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took one of her hands in his and stroked it gently, even patiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will come straight to the point. Frederic is falling in love with you.
- Wait! I do not blame him. He cannot help himself. No more could I, for
- that matter, and he has youth, which is a spur that I have lost. I have
- watched him, Yvonne. He is—to put it cold-bloodedly—losing his
- head. Leaving me out of the question altogether, if you choose, do you
- think you are quite fair to him? I am not disturbed on your account or my
- own, but—well, can't you see what a cruel position we are likely to find
- ourselves———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a moment, James,” she interrupted, sitting up very straight in the
- chair and meeting his gaze steadfastly. “Will you spare me the conjectures
- and come straight to the point as you have said? The warning, if you
- please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned a shade paler.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” he began deliberately, “it comes to this, my dear: one or the
- other of you will have to leave my house if this thing goes on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shot a glance of incredulity at his set face. Her body became rigid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what you are saying?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would serve me as you served his real mother more than twenty years
- ago?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The cases are not parallel,” said he, wincing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You drove her out of your house, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have said that we cannot discuss———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I choose to discuss it,” she said firmly. “The truth, please. You
- drove her out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She made her bed, Yvonne,” said he huskily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you warn her
- beforehand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It—it wasn't necessary.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was her crime?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God, Yvonne! I can't allow———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it as great as mine?” she persisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, this is ridiculous. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did she leave you cheerfully, gladly, as I would go if I loved another,
- or did she plead with you—oh, I know it hurts! Did she plead with
- you to give her a chance to explain? Did she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was on her knees to me,” he said, the veins standing out on his
- temples.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On her knees to you? Begging? For what? Forgiveness?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! She was like all of her kind. She was innocent! Ha, ha!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne arose. She stood over him like an accusing angel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And to this day, James Brood, to this very hour, you are not certain that
- you did right in casting her off!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I say!” He sprang to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have never really convinced yourself that she was untrue to you, in
- spite of all that you said and did at the time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are going too far! I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All these years you have been trying to close your ears to the voice of
- that wretched woman, and all these years you have been wondering—wondering—wondering!
- You have been mortally afraid, my husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you, I was certain—I was sure of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why do you still love her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her open-mouthed, speechless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you still love her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you mad?” he gasped. “Good God, woman, how can you ask that question
- of me, knowing that I love you with all my heart and soul? How———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With all your heart, yes! But with your soul? No! That other woman has
- your soul. I have heard your soul speak, and it speaks of her—yes,
- to her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In God's name, what———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Night after night, in your sleep, James Brood, you have cried out to
- 'Matilde.' You have sobbed out your love for her, as you have been doing
- for twenty years or more. In your sleep your soul has been with her. With
- me at your side, you have cried on 'Matilde'! You have passed your hand
- over my face and murmured 'Matilde'! Not once have you uttered the word
- 'Yvonne'! And now you come to me and say: 'We will come straight to the
- point'! Well, now you may come straight to the point. But do not forget,
- in blaming me, that you love another woman!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was petrified. Not a drop of blood remained in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this true, this that you are telling me?” he cried, dazed and shaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not ask. Call upon your dreams for the answer, if you must have
- one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is some horrible, ghastly delusion. It cannot be true. Her name has
- not passed my lips in twenty years. It is not mentioned in my presence. I
- have not uttered that woman's name———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then how should I know her name? Her own son does not know it, I firmly
- believe. No one appears to know it except the man who says he despises
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dreams! Dreams!” he cried scornfully. “Shall I be held responsible for
- the unthinkable things that happen in dreams?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she replied significantly; “you should not be held accountable. She
- must be held accountable. You drove out her body, James, but not her
- spirit. It stands beside you every instant of the day and night. By day
- you do not see her; by night—ah, you tremble! Well, she is dead,
- they say. If she were still alive I myself might tremble, and with cause.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before God, I love you, Yvonne. I implore you to think nothing of my
- maunderings in sleep. They—they may come from a disordered brain.
- God knows there was a time when I felt that I was mad, raving mad. These
- dreams are——”
- </p>
- <p>
- To his surprise she laid her hand gently on his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I pity you sometimes, James. My heart aches for you. You are a man—a
- strong, brave man, and yet you shrink and cringe when a voice whispers to
- you in the night. You sleep with your doubts awake. Yes, yes, I believe
- you when you say that you love me. I am sure that you do; but let me tell
- you what it is that I have divined. It is Matilde that you are loving
- through me. When you kiss me there is in the back of your mind somewhere
- the thought of kisses that were given long ago. When you hold me close to
- you it is the body of Matilde that you feel, it is her breath that warms
- your cheeks. I am Matilde, not Yvonne, to you. I am the flesh on which
- that starved love of yours feeds; I represent the memory of all that you
- have lost; I am the bodily instrument.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is—madness!” he exclaimed, and it was not only wonder that
- filled his eyes. There was a strange fear in them, too.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not expect you to admit that all this is true, James,” she went on
- patiently. “You will confess one day that I am right, however; to
- yourself, if not to me. If the time should ever come when I give to you a
- child———” She shivered and turned her eyes away from
- his.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laid an unsteady hand upon the dark head. “There, there,” he murmured
- brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be Matilde's child to you,” she concluded, facing him again
- without so much as a quaver in her voice, she spoke calmly, as if the
- statement were the most commonplace remark in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heaven, Yvonne!” he exclaimed, drawing back in utter dismay. “You
- must compose yourself. This is———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am quite myself, James,” she said coolly. “Can you deny that you think
- of her when you hold me in your arms? Can you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes!” he almost shouted. “I can and do deny!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you are lying to yourself, my husband,” she said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He fairly gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God! What manner of woman are you?” he cried hoarsely. “A sorceress?
- A—but no, it is not true!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled. “All women are sorceresses. They feel. Men only think. Poor
- Frederic! You try to hate him, James, but I have watched you when you were
- not aware. You search his face intently, almost in agony—for what?
- For the look that was his mother's—for the expression you loved in———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He burst out violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! By Heaven, you are wrong there! I am not looking for Matilde in
- Frederic's face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For his father, then?” she inquired slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The perspiration stood out on his brow. He made no response. His lips were
- compressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have uttered her name at last,” she said wonderingly, after a long
- wait for him to speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood started. “I—I—oh, this is torture!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must mend our ways, James. It may please you to know that I shall
- overlook your mental faithlessness to me. You may go on loving Matilde.
- She is dead. I am alive. I have the better of her there, <i>aïe?</i> The
- day will come when she will be dead in every sense of the word. In the
- meantime, I am content to enjoy life. Frederic is quite safe with me,
- James; very much safer than he is with you. And now let us have peace.
- Will you ring for tea?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down abruptly, staring at her with heavy eyes. She waited for a
- moment and then crossed over to pull the old-fashioned bell-cord.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will ask Lydia and Frederic to join us, too,” she said. “It shall be a
- family party, the five of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Five?” he muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, without a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> fortnight passed.
- Yvonne held the destiny of three persons in her hand. They were like
- figures on a chess-board, and she moved them with the sureness, the
- unerring instinct of any skilled disciple of the philosopher's game. They
- were puppets; she ranged them about her stage in swift-changing pictures,
- and applauded her own effectiveness. There were no rehearsals. The play
- was going on all the time, whether tragedy, comedy, or chess.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's uneasiness increased. His moody eyes were seldom lifted to meet
- the question that he knew lurked in hers. She had given him a tremendous
- shock. There was seldom a moment in which he was not making strange
- inquiries of himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it possible that she had spoken the truth about him? Could such a
- condition of mind exist without his knowledge? Was this love he professed
- to feel for her but the flame springing into life from those despised
- embers of long ago? Was it true that his inner self, his subconscious
- being, recognised no other claim to his love than the one held so
- insecurely by its original possessor? Was it true that his soul went back
- to her the instant slumber came to close up the gap of years?
- </p>
- <p>
- This strange, new wife of his had uttered amazing words; she had spoken
- without rancour; she had called his dreams to life; she had told him how
- he lived while asleep!
- </p>
- <p>
- He arose in the mornings, haggard from lack of reposeful sleep. In a way,
- he slept with one ear open, constantly striving to catch himself with the
- dream-name on his lips. He would awake with a start many times in the
- night, and always there seemed to be the vague, ghostlike whisper of a
- name dying away in the stillness that greeted his return to wakefulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now he confessed to himself that his dreams were of Matilde, as they had
- been during all the years. Heretofore they had been mere impressions upon
- his intelligence, and seldom remembered. They did not represent pictures
- or incidents in which she appeared as a potent factor, but brief monodies,
- with her name as the single note, her face a passing, yet impressive,
- vision. He had not realised how frequent, how real these dreams were until
- now.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sometimes lay perfectly still after these awakenings, wondering if
- Yvonne was listening at his closed door, straining his ears for the sound
- of a creaking board that would betray her presence as she stole back to
- her own bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- What surprised and puzzled him most was her serenity in the face of these
- involuntary revelations. She did not appear to be disturbed by the fact
- that his dreams, his most secret thoughts, were of another woman. There
- was nothing in her manner to indicate that she suffered any of the pangs
- of jealousy, humiliation, dismay, or doubt that might reasonably have been
- expected under the circumstances. She seemed to put the matter entirely
- out of her mind as trivial, unimportant, unvexing. He found himself
- wondering what his own state of mind would be if the conditions were
- reversed and it was she who cried out in her sleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic was alert, shifty, secretive. He knew himself to be the link in
- the chain that would offer the least resistance of any if it came to the
- question of endurance. He realised that the slightest tug at the chain
- would cause it to snap, and that the break would never be repaired. His
- stepmother for the present fortified the weak spot in the chain; but would
- her strength be sufficient to support the strain that was to be imposed
- upon both links in the end?
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her like a hawk, ever on the lookout for the slightest signs of
- commendation, reproof, warning, encouragement. She alone stood between him
- and what appeared to be the inevitable. The truce was a mask that hid none
- of the real features of the situation. When would it be discarded?
- </p>
- <p>
- After that illuminating hour in her boudoir he saw himself in a far from
- noble position. The situation was no longer indefinite. He had taken a
- step that could not be recalled. His loyalty to Lydia had been tested, and
- the sickening truth came out—he was a traitor! He knew in his soul
- that he loved the girl. His conscience told him so. But his conscience
- suddenly had become an elastic thing that stretched over a pretty wide
- scope of emotions. These he tried to analyse and, failing to do so with
- credit to himself, settled back into a state of apathy better described as
- sullen self-pity. He even went so far as to blame his father for the new
- blight that had been put upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the three, Lydia alone faced the situation with courage. She was young,
- she was good, she was inexperienced, but she saw what was going on beneath
- the surface with a clarity of vision that would have surprised an older
- and more practised person; and, seeing, was favoured with the strength to
- endure pain that otherwise would have been insupportable.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that Frederic was infatuated. She did not try to hide the truth
- from herself. The boy she loved was slipping away from her, and only
- chance could set his feet back in the old path from which he blindly
- strayed. Her woman's heart told her that it was not love he felt for
- Yvonne. The strange mentor that guides her sex out of the ignorance of
- youth into an understanding of hitherto unpresented questions revealed to
- her the nature of his feeling for this woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would come back to her in time, she knew, chastened; the same instinct
- that revealed his frailties to her also defended his sense of honour. The
- unthinkable could never happen!
- </p>
- <p>
- She judged Yvonne, too, in a spirit of fairness that was amazing,
- considering the lack of perspective that must have been hers to contend
- with. Despite a natural feeling of antagonism, present even before she saw
- the new wife of James Brood, and long before her influence affected
- Brood's son, Lydia found herself confronted by a curious faith in Yvonne's
- goodness of heart. It never entered the girl's mind to question the honour
- of this woman—no more than she would have questioned her own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vanity, love of admiration, the inherent fear of retrogression, greed for
- attention—any one of these might have been responsible for her
- conduct covering the past three months. There was certainly a reckless
- disregard for consequences on her part so far as others—notably
- Frederic—were concerned. She could not be blind to his plight, and
- yet it was her pleasure to drag him out beyond his depth where he might
- struggle or drown while she, sirenlike, looked on for the moment and then
- turned calmly to the more serious business of combing her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her mother saw the suffering in the girl's eyes, but saw also the proud
- spirit that would have resented sympathy from one even so close as she.
- Down in the heart of that quiet, reserved mother smouldered a hatred for
- Yvonne Brood that would have stopped at nothing had it been in her power
- to inflict punishment for the wrong that was being done. She, too, saw
- tragedy ahead, but her vision was broader than Lydia's. It included the
- figure of James Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia worked steadily, almost doggedly, at the task she had undertaken to
- complete for the elder Brood. Every afternoon found her seated at the desk
- in the study opposite the stern-faced man who laboured with her over the
- seemingly endless story of his life. Something told her that there were
- secret chapters which she was not to write. She wrote those that were to
- endure; the others were to die with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her as she wrote, and his eyes were often hard. He saw the
- growing haggardness in her gentle, girlish face; the wistful, puzzled
- expression in her dark eyes. A note of tenderness crept into his voice and
- remained there through all the hours they spent together. The old-time
- brusqueness disappeared from his speech; the sharp, authoritative tone was
- gone. He watched her with pity in his heart, for he knew it was ordained
- that one day he, too, was to hurt this loyal, pure-hearted creature even
- as the others were wounding her now.
- </p>
- <p>
- He frequently went out of his way to perform quaint little acts of
- courtesy and kindness that would have surprised him only a short time
- before. He sent theatre and opera tickets to Lydia and her mother. He
- placed bouquets of flowers at the girl's end of the desk, obviously for
- her alone. He sent her home—just around the corner—in the
- automobile on rainy or blizzardy days.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he never allowed her an instant's rest when it came to the work in
- hand, and therein lay the gentle shrewdness of the man. She was better off
- busy. There were times when he studied the face of Lydia's mother for
- signs that might show how her thoughts ran in relation to the conditions
- that were confronting all of them. But more often he searched the features
- of the boy who called him father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not one of them knew that there were solemn hours in all the days when
- Yvonne sat shivering in her room and stared, dry-eyed and bleak, at the
- walls which surrounded her, seeing not them, but something far beyond.
- Often she sat before her long cheval-glass, either with lowering eyes or
- in a sort of wistful wonder, never removing her steady gaze from the face
- reflected there. There were other times when she stood before the striking
- photograph of her husband on the dressing-table, studying the face through
- narrowed lids, as if she searched for something that baffled, yet
- impressed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Always, always there was music in the house. Behind the closed doors of
- his distant study James Brood listened in spite of himself to the
- persistent thrumming of the piano downstairs. Always were the airs light
- and seductive; the dreamy, plaintive compositions of Strauss, Ziehrer, and
- others of their kind and place.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic, with uncanny fidelity to the preferences of the mother he had
- never seen, but whose influence directed him, affected the same general
- class of music that had appealed to her moods and temperament. Times there
- were, and often, when he played the very airs that she had loved, and
- then, despite his profound antipathy, James Brood's thoughts leaped back a
- quarter of a century and fixed themselves on love-scenes and love-times
- that would not be denied.
- </p>
- <p>
- And again there were the wild, riotous airs that she had played with
- Feverelli, her soft-eyed music-master! Accursed airs—accursed and
- accusing!
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave orders that these airs were not to be played, but failed to make
- his command convincing for the reason that he could not bring himself to
- the point of explaining why they were distasteful to him. When Frederic
- thoughtlessly whistled or hummed fragments of those proscribed airs he
- considered himself justified in commanding him to stop on the pretext that
- they were disturbing, but he could not use the same excuse for checking
- the song on the lips of his gay and impulsive wife. Sometimes he wondered
- why she persisted when she knew that he was annoyed. Her airy little
- apologies for her forgetfulness were of no consequence, for within the
- hour her memory was almost sure to be at fault again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes fell ill. He ventured out one day when the winds of March were
- fierce and sharp, and, being an adventurer, caught the most dangerous sort
- of a cold. He came in shivering and considerably annoyed because Jones or
- Ranjab or some other incompetent servant had failed to advise him to wear
- an overcoat and galoshes. To his surprise Mrs Brood ordered a huge, hot
- drink of whisky and commanded him to drink it—“like a good boy.” Then she
- had him stowed away in bed with loads of blankets about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just before dinner she came up to see him. He was still shivering. So was
- Mr Riggs, for that matter, but Mr Riggs failed to shiver convincingly and
- did not receive the treatment he desired. Their unexpected visitor felt
- the pulse and forehead of the sick man, uttered a husky little cry of
- dismay, and announced that he had a fever. Whereupon Mr Dawes said, rather
- shamefacedly, that he would be all right in the morning and that it was
- nothing at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will have the doctor at once, Mr Dawes,” said she, and instructed Mr
- Riggs to call Jones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want a doctor,” said Mr Dawes stoutly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you don't,” said she, with her rarest smile; “but I <i>do</i>, you
- see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're no good,” said Mr Dawes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better have one,” advised Mr Riggs with sudden solemnity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never had one in my life,” said Mr Dawes. “Don't believe in 'em. I'll
- take a couple of stiff drinks before I go to bed and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you've gone to bed, you old dear,” cried she, stroking his burning
- hand gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was too astonished to say a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jumping Jees——” began Mr Riggs, completely staggered. “I
- mean, what doctor, Mrs Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jones will know. Now, Mr Dawes, you must do just as I tell you to do. You
- are nothing but a child, you know. If———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hey, Joe!” called out the sick man desperately, but his comrade was gone.
- “Don't let him call a—doctor, Mrs Brood; please don't!” he implored.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his hand between her soft,
- cool palms, and smiled at him so tenderly that he stared for a moment in
- utter bewilderment and then gulped mightily. “Hush!” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I don't want to be sick here, bothering you and upsetting
- everything———” he blubbered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will have you up and about in a day or two,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's such an infernal nuisance. You oughtn't to be sitting here,
- either. It may be catching.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense! I'm not afraid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's—it's mighty good of you,” he muttered, his eyes blinking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are friends for, Mr Dawes, if they can't be depended upon in times
- of sickness?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friends?” he gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. Am I not your friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I—well, by gosh!” he exploded. “I—I must tell this to
- Joe. He'll—I beg your pardon, I guess I'm a little flighty. Maybe
- I'm worse than I think. Delirious or something like that. Say, you don't
- think it's—it's serious, do you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not. A heavy cold, that's all. The doctor will break it up
- immediately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe it's the grippe, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Possibly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's my temperature?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mustn't worry, Mr Dawes. It's all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a moment, steadfastly regarding the hand that stroked
- his wrinkled old paw so gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If—if it should turn out to be pneumonia or lung fever, I wish you
- wouldn't let on to Joe,” said he anxiously. “It would worry him almost to
- death. He's not very strong, you see. Nothing like me. I'm as strong as a
- bull. Never been sick in my———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” she said quietly. “He isn't half so strong as you, Mr Dawes. You
- are so strong you will be able to throw off this cold in a jiffy, as Jones
- would say. It won't amount to anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I get much worse you'd better send me to a hospital. Awful nuisance
- having a sick man about the place. Spoils everything. Don't hesitate about
- sending me off, Mrs Brood. I wouldn't be a trouble to you or Jim for———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You poor old dear! You shall stay right where you are, no matter what
- comes to pass, and I shall take charge of you myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You?” She nodded her head briskly. “Well, by jiggers, I—I don't
- know what Joe'll say when I tell him this. Blast him; I'll bet my head he
- calls me a liar. If he does, blast him, I'll—oh, I beg your pardon! I
- don't seem to be able to get over the habit of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here is Mr Riggs—and my husband,” she interrupted, as the door
- opened and the two men strode into the room. “Is Jones telephoning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Brood. “Why, what's gone wrong, old man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all my fault,” groaned Mr Riggs, sitting down heavily on the
- opposite side of the bed. “I let him go out without his overcoat. He's not
- a strong man, Jim. Least breath of air goes right through——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “See here, Riggs, you know better than that,” roared the sick man
- wrathfully. “I can stand more———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, there!” cried Mrs Brood reprovingly. “It isn't fair to quarrel
- with Mr Riggs. He can't very well abuse you in return, Mr Dawes, can he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be on your death-bed,” said Mr Riggs mournfully, as if that were
- reason enough for not abusing him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense,” said Brood; but it was an anxious look that he shot at Yvonne.
- Mr Dawes's face was fiery hot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall come back to see you immediately after dinner, Mr Dawes,” said
- she, and again stroked his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two old men stared after her rather blankly as she left the room. They
- couldn't believe their ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She says she'll look after me herself,” murmured Mr Dawes hazily. Mr
- Riggs tucked the covers about his chin. “Don't do that, Joe! Leave things
- alone, darn you. She fixed 'em as they ought to be.” Mr Riggs obediently
- undid his work. “That's right. Now don't you do anything without askin'
- her, d'ye hear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was only trying to make you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don't do it. Leave everything to her.” The upshot of it all was
- that Mr Dawes came near to dying. Pneumonia set in at once, and for many
- days he fought what appeared to be a losing fight. Then came the splendid
- days of convalescence, the happiest days of his life. The amazing Mrs
- Brood did “look after him.” Nurses there were, of course, and doctors in
- consultation, but it was the much-berated mistress of the house who
- “pulled him through,” as he afterward and always declared in acrimonious
- disputes with Mr Riggs who, while secretly blessing the wife of Brood,
- could not be driven into an open admission that she had done “anything
- more than anybody else would have done under the circumstances,”—and
- not “half as much, for that matter, as he could have done had he been
- given a chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It may be well to observe here that Mr Riggs was of no earthly use
- whatever during the trying days. Indeed, he gave up hope the instant the
- doctor said “pneumonia,” and went about the house saying “My God” to
- himself and everybody else in sepulchral whispers, all the while urging
- Heaven to “please do something.” He was too pathetic for words.
- </p>
- <p>
- A new and totally unsuspected element in Yvonne's make-up came to light at
- this troublous period. She forsook many pleasures, many comforts in her
- eagerness to help the suffering old man who, she must have known, in his
- heart had long despised her. She did not interfere with the nurses, yet
- made herself so indispensable to old Mr Dawes in the capacity of “visiting
- angel” that his heart overflowed with gratitude and love. Even when death
- hung directly above his almost sightless eyes he saw her smile of
- encouragement in the shadows, and his spirit responded with what might
- justly have been called the battle-cry of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Brood this new side to Yvonne's far from understandable character was
- most gratifying. Seeing her in the rôle of good Samaritan was not so
- surprising to him as the real, unaffected sincerity with which she
- ministered to the wants of the querulous old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even the nurses, habitually opposed to the good offices of “the family,”
- were won over by this woman whose unparalleled sweetness levelled them
- into a condition of respect and love that surprised not only themselves
- but the doctors. They were quite docile from the start, and seldom, if
- ever, spoke of Mr Dawes as “the patient” or of his state as “the case.”
- They got into the habit of alluding to him as the “dear old man,” and
- somehow envied each other the hours “on duty.” They were never sour.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so, when it came time for Mr Dawes to thank the Lord for his escape,
- he refused to commit himself to anything so ridiculous! He even went so
- far as to declare that the doctor had nothing to do with it, a statement
- which rather staggered the nurses.
- </p>
- <p>
- For hours Yvonne read to the blissful old chap. Sometimes she read to him
- in French, again in Russian, and occasionally in German. It was all one to
- him. He did not understand a word of it, but he was happy. He felt
- surprisingly young.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave up a month to him and he was prepared to give up his life to her.
- To his utter amazement, however, she did not exact anything so valuable as
- that. Indeed, when his recovery was quite complete, she calmly forgot his
- existence and he sank back into the oblivion from which calamity had
- dragged him; sank back to the unhappy level of Mr Riggs and all the others
- who failed to interest her; and there he dreamed of exalted days when she
- wanted him to live, contrasting them with these days in which he might
- just as well be dead for all she seemed to care! He was one of the “old
- men” again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs, writhing with jealousy, repeatedly remarked, “I told you so,”
- and somehow felt revenged for the insolent orders she had given to Jones,
- depriving him of the right to even approach the door of the room in which
- his lifelong friend was dying. It had been a hard week for Mr Riggs. He
- hated her as he had never hated anyone in his life before. And yet he
- thanked God for her, and would have died for her! Nothing, nothing in the
- world would have given him more pleasure than to be critically ill for
- her!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI
- </h2>
- <p>
- “Is there anything wrong with my hair, Mr Brood?” asked Lydia, with a
- nervous little laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were in the study, and it was ten o'clock of a wet night in April. Of
- late he had required her to spend the evenings with him in a strenuous
- effort to complete the final chapters of the journal. The illness of Mr
- Dawes had interrupted the work, and he was now in a fever of impatience to
- make up for the lost time. He had declared his intention to go abroad with
- his wife as soon as the manuscript was completed. The editor of a
- magazine, a personal friend, had signified his willingness to edit the
- journal and to put it into shape for publication during the summer months,
- against Brood's return in the fall of the year.
- </p>
- <p>
- The master of the house spared neither himself nor Lydia in these last few
- weeks. He wanted to clear up everything before he went away. Lydia's
- willingness to devote the extra hours to his enterprise would have pleased
- him vastly if he had not been afflicted by the same sense of unrest and
- uneasiness that made incessant labour a boon to her as well as to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her query followed a long period of silence on his part. He had been
- suggesting alterations in her notes as she read them to him, and there
- were frequent lulls when she made the changes as directed. Without looking
- at him she felt, rather than knew, that he was regarding her fixedly from
- his position opposite. The scrutiny was disturbing to her. She hazarded
- the question for want of a better means of breaking the spell. Of late he
- had taken to watching her with moody interest. She knew that he was
- mentally commenting on the changes he could not help observing in her
- appearance and her manners. This intense, though perhaps unconscious,
- scrutiny annoyed her. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, her heart
- was beating with undue rapidity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood started guiltily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your hair?” he exclaimed. “Oh, I see. You women always feel that
- something is wrong with it. I was thinking of something else, however.
- Forgive my stupidity. We can't afford to waste time in thinking, you know,
- and I am a pretty bad offender. It's nearly half-past ten. We've been hard
- at it since eight o'clock. Time to knock off. I will walk around to your
- apartment with you, my dear. It looks like an all-night rain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went up to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes followed
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's such a short distance, Mr Brood,” she said. “I am not afraid to go
- alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was staring down into the court, his fingers grasping the curtains in a
- rigid grip. He did not reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a light in the windows opening out upon Yvonne's balcony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy Frederic has come in from the concert,” he said slowly. “He will
- take you home, Lydia. You'd like that better, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned toward her, and she paused in the nervous collecting of her
- papers. His eyes were as hard as steel, his lips were set.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please don't ask Frederic to———” she began hurriedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They must have left early,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. Returning
- to the table he struck the big, melodious gong a couple of sharp blows.
- For the first time in her recollection it sounded a jangling, discordant
- note, as of impatience.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt her heart sink; an oppressing sense of alarm came over her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good night, Mr Brood. Don't think of coming home with———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait, Frederic will go with you.” It was a command. Ranjab appeared in
- the doorway. “Have Mrs Brood and Mr Frederic returned, Ranjab?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, <i>sahib</i>. At ten o'clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Mr Frederic is in his room, send him to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not in his room, <i>sahib</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two, master and man, looked at each other steadily for a moment.
- Something passed between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell him that Miss Desmond is ready to go home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, <i>sahib</i>.” The curtains fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I prefer to go home alone, Mr Brood,” said Lydia, her eyes flashing. “Why
- did you send———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why not?” he demanded harshly. She winced, and he was at once sorry.
- “Forgive me. I am tired and—a bit nervous. And you, too, are tired.
- You've been working too steadily at this miserable job, my dear child.
- Thank Heaven, it will soon be over. Pray sit down. Frederic will soon be
- here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not tired,” she protested stubbornly. “I love the work. You don't
- know how proud I shall be when it comes out, and—and I realise that
- I helped in its making. No one has ever been in a position to tell the
- story of Tibet as you have told it, Mr Brood. Those chapters will make
- history. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your poor father's share in those explorations is what really makes the
- work valuable, my dear. Without his notes and letters I should have been
- feeble indeed.” He looked at his watch. “They were at the concert, you
- know—the Hungarian orchestra. A recent importation, 'Tzigane's'
- music. Gipsies.” His sentences as well as his thoughts were staccato,
- disconnected.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia turned very cold. She dreaded the scene that now seemed unavoidable.
- Frederic would come in response to his father's command, and then———
- </p>
- <p>
- Someone began to play upon the piano downstairs. She knew, and he knew,
- that it was Frederic who played. For a long time they listened. The air,
- no doubt, was one he had heard during the evening, a soft, sensuous waltz
- that she had never heard before. The girl's eyes were upon Brood's face.
- It was like a graven image.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God!” fell from his stiff lips. Suddenly he turned upon the girl. “Do you
- know what he is playing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said, scarcely above a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was played in this house by its composer before Frederic was born. It
- was played here on the night of his birth, as it had been played many
- times before. It was written by a man named Feverelli. Have you heard of
- him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never,” she murmured, and shrank, frightened by the deathlike pallor in
- the man's face, by the strange calm in his voice. The gates were being
- opened at last! She saw the thing that was to stalk forth. She would have
- closed her ears against the revelations it carried. “Mother will be
- worried if I am not at home———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Guido Feverelli. An Italian born in Hungary. Budapest, that was his home,
- but he professed to be a gipsy. Yes, he wrote the devilish thing. He
- played it a thousand times in that room down——— And now
- Frederic plays it, after all these years. It is his heritage. God, how I
- hate the thing! Ranjab! Where is the fellow? He must stop the accursed
- thing. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood! Mr Brood!” cried Lydia, appalled. She began to edge toward the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- By a mighty effort Brood regained control of himself. He sank into a
- chair, motioning for her to remain. The music had ceased abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will be here in a moment,” said Brood. “Don't go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They waited, listening. Ranjab entered the room; so noiseless was his
- approach that neither heard his footsteps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” demanded Brood, looking beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Master Frederic begs a few minutes' time, <i>sahib</i>. He is putting
- down on paper the music, so that he may not forget. He writes the notes,
- <i>sahib. Madame</i> assists.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's shoulders sagged. His head was bent, but his gaze never left the
- face of the Hindu.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may go, Ranjab,” he said slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ten minutes he asks for, <i>sahib</i>, that is all.” The curtains fell
- behind him once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that he may not forget!” fell from Brood's lips. He was looking at the
- girl, but did not address his words to her. “So that he may not forget! So
- that I, too, may not forget!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he arose and confronted the serene image of the Buddha. For a
- full minute he stood there with his hands clasped, his lips moving as if
- in prayer. No sound came from them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl remained transfixed, powerless to move. Not until he turned
- toward her and spoke was the spell broken. Then she came quickly to his
- side. He had pronounced her name.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are about to tell me something, Mr Brood,” she cried in great
- agitation. “I do not care to listen. I feel that it is something I should
- not know. Please let me go now. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laid his hands upon her shoulders, holding her off at arm's length.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very fond of you, Lydia. I do not want to hurt you. Sooner would I
- have my tongue cut out than it should wound you by a single word. Yet I
- must speak. You love Frederic. Is not that true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She returned his gaze unwaveringly. Her face was very white.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mr Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have known it for some time, although I was the last to see. You love
- him, and you are just beginning to realise that he is not worthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your eyes have been opened.” She stared, speechless. “My poor girl, he
- was born to prove that honest love is the rarest thing in all this world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I beg of you, Mr Brood, don't———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is better that we should talk it over. We have ten minutes. No doubt
- he has told you that he loves you. He is a lovable boy, he is the kind one
- <i>must</i> love. But it is not in his power to love nobly. He loves
- lightly as”—he hesitated, and then went on harshly—“as his
- father before him loved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Anger dulled her understanding; she did not grasp the full meaning of his
- declaration. Her honest heart rose to the defence of Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood, I do care for Frederic,” she flamed, standing very erect before
- him. “He is not himself, he has not been himself since she came here. Oh,
- I am fully aware of what I am saying. He is not to be blamed for this
- thing that has happened to him. No one is to blame. It had to be. I can
- wait, Mr Brood. Frederic loves me. I know he does. He will come back to
- me. You have no right to say that he loves lightly, ignobly. You do not
- know him as I know him. You have never tried to know him, never wanted to
- know him. You—oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Brood. I—I am
- forgetting myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid you do not understand yourself, Lydia,” said he levelly. “You
- are young, you are trusting. Your lesson will cost you a great deal, my
- dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are mistaken. I do understand myself,” she said gravely. “May I speak
- plainly, Mr Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. I intend to speak plainly to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic loves me. He does not love Yvonne. He is fascinated, as I also
- am fascinated by her, and you, too, Mr Brood. The spell has fallen over
- all of us. Let me go on, please. You say that Frederic loves like his
- father before him. That is true. He loves but one woman. You love but one
- woman, and she is dead. You will always love her. Frederic is like you. He
- loves Yvonne as you do—oh, I know it hurts! She cast her spell over you,
- why not over him? Is he stronger than you? Is it strange that she should
- attract him as she attracted you? You glory in her beauty, her charm, her
- perfect loveliness, and yet you love—yes, <i>love</i>, Mr Brood—the
- woman who was Frederic's mother. Do I make my meaning plain? Well, so it
- is that Frederic loves me. I am content to wait. I know he loves me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Through all this Brood stared at her in sheer astonishment. He had no
- feeling of anger, no resentment, no thought of protest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you astound me, Lydia. Is this your own impression, or has it
- been suggested to you by—by another?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am only agreeing with you when you say that he loves as his father
- loved before him—but not lightly. Ah, not lightly, Mr Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know what you are saying,” he muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I do,” she cried earnestly. “You invite my opinion; I trust you
- will accept it for what it is worth. Before you utter another word against
- Frederic, let me remind you that I have known both of you for a long, long
- time. In all the years I have been in this house I have never known you to
- grant him a tender, loving word. My heart has ached for him. There have
- been times when I almost hated you. He feels your neglect, your harshness,
- your—your cruelty. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cruelty!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is nothing less. You do not like him. I cannot understand why you
- should treat him as you do. He shrinks from you. Is it right, Mr Brood,
- that a son should shrink from his father as a dog cringes at the voice of
- an unkind master? I might be able to understand your attitude toward him
- if your unkindness was of recent origin, but———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Recent origin?” he demanded quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it had begun with the advent of Mrs Brood,” she explained frankly,
- undismayed by his scowl. “I do not understand all that has gone before. Is
- it surprising, Mr Brood, that your son finds it difficult to love you? Do
- you deserve———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood stopped her with a gesture of his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The time has come for frankness on my part. You set me an example, Lydia.
- You have the courage of your father. For months I have had it in my mind
- to tell you the truth about Frederic, but my courage has always failed me.
- Perhaps I use the wrong word. It may be something very unlike cowardice
- that has held me back. I am going to put a direct question to you first of
- all, and I ask you to answer truthfully. Would you say that Frederic is
- like—that is, resembles his father?” He was leaning forward, his
- manner intense.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was surprised.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What an odd thing to say! Of course he resembles his father. I have never
- seen a portrait of his mother, but———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that he looks like me?” demanded Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. What do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood laughed, a short, ugly laugh—and then fingered his chin
- nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He resembles his mother,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When he is angry he is very much like you, Mr Brood. I have often
- wondered why he is unlike you at other times. Now I know. He is like his
- mother. She must have been lovely, gentle, patient———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! Suppose I were to tell you that Frederic is not my son?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should not believe you, Mr Brood,” she replied flatly. “What is it that
- you are trying to say to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned away abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not go on with it. The subject is closed. There is nothing to tell—at
- present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She placed herself in front of him, resolute and determined.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I insist, Mr Brood. The time <i>has</i> come for you to be frank. You
- must tell me what you meant by that remark.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has your mother never told you anything concerning my past life?” he
- demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What has my mother to do with your past life?” she inquired, suddenly
- afraid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I refer only to what she may have heard from your father. He knew more
- than any of them. I confided in him to a great extent. I had to unburden
- myself to someone. He was my best friend. It is not improbable that he
- repeated certain parts of my story to your mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has told me that you—you were not happy, Mr Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I think so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all?” he insisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I was a little girl I heard my father say to her that your life had
- been ruined by—well, that your marriage had turned out badly,” she
- confessed haltingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What more did he say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said—I remember feeling terribly about it—he said you had
- driven your wife out of this very house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did he speak of another man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Her music-master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were too young to know what that meant, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that you never saw her after—after she left this house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you understand how horrible it all was if I say to you now that—Frederic
- is not my son?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes filled with horror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can you say such a thing, Mr Brood? He is your son. How can you say———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His father is the man who wrote the accursed waltz he has just been
- playing! Could there be anything more devilish than the conviction it
- carries? After all these years, he———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop, Mr Brood!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry if I hurt you, Lydia. You have asked me why I hate him. Need I
- say anything more?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have only made me love him more than ever before. You cannot hurt me
- through Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry that it has come to such a pass as this. It is not right that
- you should be made to suffer, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not believe all that you have told me. He <i>is</i> your son. He <i>is</i>,
- Mr Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would to God I could believe that!” he cried in a voice of agony. “I
- would to God it were true!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could believe it if you chose to believe your own eyes, your own
- heart.” She lowered her voice to a half whisper. “Does—does Frederic
- know? Does he know that his mother—oh, I can't believe it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He does not know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you did drive her out of this house?” Brood did not answer. “You sent
- her away and and kept her boy, the boy who was nothing to you? Nothing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I kept him,” he said, with a queer smile on his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All these years? He never knew his mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has never heard her name spoken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only know that she is dead. She never saw him after—after that
- day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now, Mr Brood, may I ask why you have always intended to tell me this
- dreadful thing?” she demanded, her eyes gleaming with a fierce, accusing
- light.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared. “Doesn't—doesn't it put a different light on your
- estimate of him? Doesn't it convince you that he is not worthy of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! A thousand times no!” she cried. “I love him. If he were to ask me to
- be his wife tonight I would rejoice—oh, I would rejoice! Someone is
- coming. Let me say this to you, Mr Brood: you have brought Frederic up as
- a butcher fattens the calves and swine he prepares for slaughter. You are
- waiting for the hour to come when you can kill his very soul with the
- weapon you have held over him for so long, waiting, waiting, waiting! In
- God's name, what has <i>he</i> done that you should want to strike him
- down after all these years? It is in my heart to curse you, but somehow I
- feel that you are a curse to yourself. I will not say that I cannot
- understand how you feel about everything. You have suffered. I know you
- have, and I—I am sorry for you. And knowing how bitter life has been
- for you, I implore you to be merciful to him who is innocent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man listened without the slightest change of expression. The lines
- seemed deeper about his eyes, that was all. But the eyes were bright and
- as hard as the steel they resembled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Knowing that he is a scoundrel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How dare you say that, Mr Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” said he levelly, “he <i>thinks</i> he is my son.” Voices were
- heard on the stairs, Frederic's and Yvonne's. “He is coming now, my dear,”
- he went on, and then, after a pause fraught with significance, “and my
- wife is with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia closed her eyes, as if in dire pain. A dry sob was in her throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- A strange thing happened to Brood, the man of iron. Tears suddenly rushed
- to his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>vonne stopped in
- the doorway. Ranjab was holding the curtains aside for her to enter. The
- tall figure of Frederic loomed up behind her, his dark face glowing in the
- warm light that came from the room. She had changed her dress for an
- exquisite orchid-coloured tea-gown of chiffon under the rarest and most
- delicate of lace. For an instant her gaze rested on Lydia, and then went
- questioningly to Brood's face. The girl's confusion had not escaped her
- notice. Her husband's manner was but little less convicting. Her eyes
- narrowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ranjab said you were expecting us,” she said slowly, with marked emphasis
- on the participle. She came forward haltingly, as if in doubt as to her
- welcome. “Are we interrupting?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not,” said Brood, a flush of annoyance on his cheek. “Lydia is
- tired. I sent Ranjab down to ask Frederic to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic interrupted, a trifle too eagerly. “I'll walk around with you,
- Lydia. It's raining, however. Shall I get the car out, father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” cried Lydia, painfully conscious of the rather awkward
- situation. “And please don't bother, Freddy. I can go home alone. It's
- only a step.” She moved toward the door, eager to be away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll go with you,” said Frederic decisively. He stood between her and the
- door, an embarrassed smile on his lips. “I've got something to say to you,
- Lydia,” he went on, lowering his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James dear,” said Mrs Brood, shaking her finger at her husband, and with
- an exasperating smile on her lips, “you are working the poor girl too
- hard. See how late it is! And how nervous she is. Why, you are trembling,
- Lydia! For shame, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am a little tired,” stammered Lydia. “We are working so hard, you know,
- in order to finish the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood interrupted, his tone sharp and incisive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The end is in sight. We're a bit feverish over it, I suppose. You see, my
- dear, we have just escaped captivity in Thassa. It was a bit thrilling, I
- fancy. But we've stopped for the night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I perceive,” said Yvonne, a touch of insolence in her voice. “You
- stopped, I dare say, when you heard the tread of the vulgar world
- approaching the inner temple. That is what you broke into and desecrated,
- wasn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The inner temple at Thassa,” he said coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. The place you were escaping from when we came in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was clear to all of them that Yvonne was piqued, even angry. She
- deliberately crossed the room and threw herself upon the couch, an act so
- childish, so disdainful, that for a full minute no one spoke, but stared
- at her, each with a different emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia's eyes were flashing. Her lips parted, but she withheld the angry
- words that rose to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's expression changed slowly from dull anger to one of incredulity,
- which swiftly gave way to positive joy. His wife was jealous!
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic was biting his lips nervously. He allowed Lydia to pass him on
- her way out, scarcely noticing her, so intently was his gaze fixed upon
- Yvonne. When Brood followed Lydia into the hall to remonstrate, the young
- man sprang eagerly to his stepmother's side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord, Yvonne!” he whispered, “that was a nasty thing to say. What
- will Lydia think? By gad, is it possible that you are jealous? Of Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jealous?” cried she, struggling with her fury. “Jealous of that girl?
- Poof! Why should I be jealous of her? She hasn't the blood of a potato!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't understand you,” he said in great perplexity. “You—you told
- me to-night that you are not sure that you really love him. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stopped him with a quick gesture. Her eyes were smouldering. “Where is
- he? Gone away with her? Go and look; do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're in the hall. I shall take her home, never fear. I fancy he's
- trying to explain your insinuating———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned on him furiously. “Are you lecturing me? What a tempest in a
- teapot!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lydia's as good as gold. She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then take her home at once,” sneered Yvonne. “This is no place for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic paled. “You're not trying to say my father would—good Lord,
- Yvonne, you must be crazy! Why, that is impossible! If—if I thought———”
- He clenched his fists and glared over his shoulder, missing the queer
- little smile that flitted across her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do love her then,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and caressing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her in complete bewilderment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I—Lord, you gave me a shock!” He passed his hand across his
- moist forehead. “It can't be so. Why, the very thought of it———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I shall have to apologise to Lydia,” said she calmly. “Your
- father will exact it of me, and I shall obey. How does it sound, coming
- from me? 'I am sorry, Lydia.' Do I say it prettily?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand you at all, Yvonne. I adore you, and yet, by Heaven, I—I
- actually believe I hated you just now. Listen to me. I've been treating
- Lydia vilely for a long, long time, but—she's the finest, best,
- dearest girl in the world. You—even you, Yvonne—shall not
- utter a word against———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Aïe!</i> What heroics!” she cried ironically.
- “You are splendid when you are angry, my son. Yes, you are almost as
- splendid as your father. He, too, has been angry with me. He, too, has
- made me shudder. But he, too, has forgiven me, as you shall this instant.
- Say it, Freddy. You do forgive me? I was mean, nasty, ugly, vile—oh,
- everything that's horrid. I take it all back. Now be nice to me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her hand on his arm, an appealing little caress that conquered
- him in a flash. He clasped her fingers fiercely in his and mumbled
- incoherently as he leaned forward, drawn resistlessly nearer by the
- strange magic that was hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you are wonderful,” he murmured. “I knew you'd regret what you
- said. You couldn't have meant it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled, patted his hand gently, and allowed her swimming eyes to rest
- on his for an instant to complete the conquest. Then she motioned him
- away. Brood's voice was heard in the doorway. She had, however, planted an
- insidious thing in Frederic's mind, and it would grow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her husband re-entered the room, his arm linked in Lydia's. Frederic was
- at the table lighting a cigarette.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did not mean all that you said a moment ago, Yvonne,” said Brood
- levelly. “Lydia misinterpreted your jest. You meant nothing unkind, I am
- sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was looking straight into her rebellious eyes. The last gleam of
- defiance died out of them as he spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry, Lydia darling,” she said, and reached out her hand to the
- girl who approached reluctantly, uncertainly. “I confess that I was
- jealous. Why shouldn't I be jealous? You are so beautiful, so splendid.”
- She drew the girl down beside her. “Forgive me, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia, whose honest heart had been so full of resentment the moment
- before, could not withstand the humble appeal in the voice of the
- penitent.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled, first at Yvonne, then at Brood, and never quite understood the
- impulse that ordered her to kiss the warm, red lips that so recently had
- offended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James dear,” fell softly, alluringly, from Yvonne's now tremulous lips.
- He sprang to her side. She kissed him passionately. “Now we are all
- ourselves once more,” she gasped a moment later, her eyes still fixed
- inquiringly on those of the man beside her. “Let us be gay! Let us forget!
- Come, Frederic! Sit here at my feet. Lydia is not going home yet. Ranjab,
- the cigarettes!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic, white-faced and scowling, remained at the window, glaring out
- into the rain-swept night. A steady sheet of raindrops thrashed against
- the window-panes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hear the wind!” cried Yvonne, after a single sharp glance at his tall,
- motionless figure. “One can almost imagine that ghosts from every
- graveyard in the world are whistling past our windows. Should we not
- rejoice? We have them safely locked outside. There are no ghosts in
- here to make us shiver—and—shake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sentence that began so glibly trailed off in a slow crescendo, ending
- abruptly. Ranjab was holding the lighted taper for her cigarette. As she
- spoke her eyes were lifted to his dark, saturnine face. She was saying
- there were no ghosts when his eyes suddenly fastened on hers. In spite of
- herself her voice rose in response to the curious dread that chilled her
- heart as she looked into the shining mirrors above her. She shivered as if
- in the presence of death! For an incalculably brief period their gaze
- remained fixed and steady, each reading a mystery. Then the Hindu lowered
- his heavy lashes and moved away. The little by-scene did not go unnoticed
- by the others, although its meaning was lost.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's nothing to be afraid of, Yvonne,” said Brood, pressing the hand
- which trembled in his.
- “Your imagination carries you a long way. Are you really afraid of
- ghosts?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She answered in a deep, solemn voice that carried conviction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe in ghosts. I believe the dead come back to us, not to flit
- about as we are told by superstition, but to lodge—actually to dwell—inside
- these warm, living bodies of ours. They come and go at will. Sometimes we
- feel that they are there, but—oh, who knows? Their souls may conquer ours
- and go on inhabiting———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense!” cried her husband. “Once dead, always dead, my dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really believe that, James?” she demanded seriously. “Have you
- never felt that something that was not you was living, breathing, speaking
- in this earthly shell of yours? Something that was not you, I say.
- Something that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never!” he exclaimed quickly, but his eyes were full of the wonder that
- he felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic,” she called imperatively, “come away from that window!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man joined the group. The sullen look in his face had given way
- to one of acute inquiry. The new note in her voice produced a strange
- effect upon him. It seemed like a call for help, a cry out of the
- darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is raining pitchforks,” he said, as if to explain his failure to
- respond at the first call.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear,” sighed Lydia uncomfortably.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can't go out in the storm, my dear,” cried Yvonne, tightening her
- grip on the girl's arm. “Draw up a chair, Freddy. Let's be cosy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really, Mrs Brood, I should go at once. Mother———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your mother is in bed and asleep,” protested Yvonne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We should all be in bed,” said Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bed is a sepulchre. We bury half our lives in it, Frederic. We spend
- too much time in bed. Why live in our dreams when we should be enjoying
- to-day and not our yesterdays? Do you want to hear about the concert,
- James? It was wonderful. The———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it was so wonderful, why did you leave before it was over?” demanded
- her husband, his lips straightening.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know that we left before it was over?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been at home since ten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were all playing for time. They all realised that something sinister
- was attending their little conclave, unseen but vital. Each one knew that
- united they were safe, each against the other! Lydia was afraid because
- of Brood's revelations. Yvonne had sensed peril with the message delivered
- by Ranjab to Frederic. Frederic had come upstairs prepared for rebellion
- against the caustic remarks that were almost certain to come from his
- father. Brood was afraid of—himself! He was holding himself in check
- with the greatest difficulty. He knew that the smallest spark would create
- the explosion he dreaded and yet courted. Restraint lay heavily, yet
- shiftingly, upon all of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said Yvonne easily, “there were still two numbers to be played, and
- I loathe both of them. Frederic was ready to come away, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Dr Hodder? Did he come away with you?” inquired Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. He insisted on staying to the bitter end. We left him there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood laughed shortly. “I see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said he would come down with the Gunnings,” explained Yvonne, her eyes
- flickering. “Besides, I always feel as though I were riding in an
- ambulance when he is in the car. He dissected every bit of music they
- played to-night. Now, James dear, you know he is quite dreadful.” She said
- it pleadingly, poutingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I offered to send the car back for him,” said Frederic, speaking for the
- first time.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood drew a long breath. His glance met Lydia's and recognised the mute
- appeal that lay in her eyes. He smiled faintly, and hope rose in her
- troubled breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Gunnings were there,” put in Yvonne, puffing more rapidly than usual
- at her cigarette. “They came to the box with Mr and Mrs Harbison during
- the intermission.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What spiteful things did Mrs Harbison say about me?” demanded Brood,
- affecting a certain lightness of manner. “A cigarette, Ranjab. She
- despises me, I'm sure. Didn't she ask why I was not there to look after my
- beautiful and much-coveted wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She said that you interested her more than any man she knew, and, of
- course, I considered that particularly spiteful. Her husband declared he
- would rather shoot with you than with any man in the world. He's very
- tiresome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We've hunted a good bit together,” said Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harbison says you are the most deadly shot he's ever seen,” said
- Frederic, relaxing slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was it he said about your wonderful accuracy with a revolver? What
- was it, Frederic? Hitting a shilling at some dreadful distance—thirty
- yards, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thirty paces,” said Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father often spoke of your shooting with a revolver, Mr Brood,” said
- Lydia. “He said it was really marvellous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne laughed. “How interesting to have a husband who can even see as far
- as thirty paces. But revolver shooting is a doubtful accomplishment in
- these days of peace, isn't it? What is there to shoot at?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mad dogs and—men,” said Brood. Lydia's look required an answer.
- “No, I've never shot a mad dog, Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was the young woman with the lisp, Freddy?” asked Yvonne abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Dangerfield. Isn't she amusing? I love that soft Virginia drawl of
- hers. She's pretty, too. Old Hodder was quite taken with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A long, reverberating roll of thunder, ending in an ear-splitting crash
- that seemed no farther away than the window casement behind them, brought
- sharp exclamations of terror from the lips of the two women. The men,
- appalled, started to their feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord, that <i>was</i> close!” cried Frederic. “There was no sign of
- a storm when we came in—just a steady, gentle spring rain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am frightened,” shuddered Yvonne, wide-eyed with fear. “Do you think———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It struck near by, that's all,” said Brood. “Lightning bolts are
- deceptive. One may think they strike at one's very elbow, and yet the spot
- is really miles away. I hope your mother is not distressed, my dear,”
- turning to Lydia. “She is afraid of the lightning, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia sprang to her feet. “I must go home at once, Mr Brood. She will be
- dreadfully frightened. I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- There came another deafening crash. The glare filled the room with a
- brilliant, greenish hue. Ranjab was standing at the window, holding the
- curtains apart while he peered upward across the space that separated them
- from the apartment building beyond the court.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take me home, Frederic!” cried Lydia frantically. She ran toward the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me telephone to your mother, Lyddy,” he cried, hurrying after her
- into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! no! no!” she gasped as she ran. “Don't come with me if you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will come!” he exclaimed, as they raced down the stairs. “Don't be
- frightened, darling. It's all right. Listen to me! Mrs Desmond is as safe
- as———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Freddy, Freddy!” she wailed, breaking under a strain that he was not
- by way of comprehending. “Oh, Freddy dear!” Her nerves gave way. She was
- sobbing convulsively when they came to the lower hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- In great distress he clasped her in his arms, mumbling incoherent words of
- love, encouragement—even ridicule for the fear she betrayed. Far
- from his mind was the real cause of her unhappy plight.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held her close to his breast, and there she sobbed and trembled as with
- a mighty, racking chill. Her fingers clutched his arm with the grip of one
- who clings to the edge of a precipice with death below. Her face was
- buried against his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There! There!” he murmured, appalled by this wild display of fear. “Don't
- worry, darling. Everything is all right. Oh, you dear, dear girlie!
- Please, please! My little Lyddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take me home, Freddy—take me home,” she whispered brokenly. “I
- cannot stay here another second. Come, dearest—come home with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Still they stood there in the dark hall, clasped in each other's arms—stood
- there for many minutes without realising the lapse of time, thinking not
- of Mrs Desmond nor the storm that raged outside, but of the storm they
- were weathering together with the lightning racing through their veins,
- thunder in their heart-beats.
- </p>
- <p>
- A footstep in the hall. Frederic looked up, dazed, bewildered. Jones, the
- butler, was retreating through a door near by, having come upon them
- unexpectedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I beg pardon, sir. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Jones! Listen! My raincoat—and father's, quick. And Miss
- Lydia's things. Yes, yes, it's all right, Jones. It's quite all right.”
- Frederic was calling out the sentences jerkily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite all right,” repeated Jones, his throat swelling, his eyes suddenly
- dim. “Quite, sir. Yes, yes!” He rushed into the closet at the end of the
- hall, more grievously upset than he ever had been in all his life before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will come with me, Freddy?” she was whispering, clinging to him as
- one in panic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes. Don't be frightened, Lyddy. I—I know everything is all
- right now. I'm sure of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I am sure, too, dear. I have always been sure,” she cried, and he
- understood, as she had understood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Despite the protests of Jones they dashed out into the blighting
- thunderstorm. The rain beat down in torrents, the din was infernal. As the
- door closed behind them Lydia, in the ecstasy of freedom from restraint
- bitterly imposed, gave vent to a shrill cry of relief. Words, the meaning
- of which he could not grasp, babbled from her lips as they descended the
- steps. One sentence fell vaguely clear from the others, and it puzzled
- him. He was sure that she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I am so glad, so happy we are out of that house—you and I
- together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Close together, holding tightly to each other, they breasted the swirling
- sheets of rain. The big umbrella was of little protection to them,
- although held manfully to break the force of the cold flood of waters.
- They bent their strong young bodies against the wind, and a sort of wild,
- impish hilarity took possession of them. It was freedom, after all! They
- were fighting a force in nature that they understood, and the sharp,
- staccato cries that came from their lips were born of an exultant glee
- which neither of them could have suppressed or controlled. Their hearts
- were as wild as the tempest about them.
- </p>
- <p>
- They turned the corner and were flanked by the wind and rain. The long
- raincoats flattened their sleek, dripping folds tightly against their
- bodies. It was almost impossible to push forward into this mad deluge. The
- umbrella, caught by a gust, was turned inside out, and the full force of
- the storm struck upon their faces, almost taking the breath away. And they
- laughed as their arms tightened about each other. As one person they
- breasted the gale.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were fairly blown through the doors of the apartment-house. Mrs
- Desmond threw open the door as their wet, soggy feet came sloshing down
- the hall. Frederic's arm was about Lydia as they approached, and both of
- their drenched faces were wreathed in smiles—gay, exalted smiles.
- The mother, white-faced and fearful, stared for a second at the amazing
- pair, and then held out her arms to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was drenched in their embrace, but no one thought of the havoc that
- was being created in that swift, impulsive contact.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a fine mess we've made of your rug, Mrs Desmond,” said Frederic
- ruefully a few minutes later.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goodness!” cried Lydia, aghast. Then they all realised.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take those horrid things off at once, both of you,” commanded Mrs
- Desmond. Her voice trembled. “And your shoes—and stockings. Dear,
- dear!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must run back home!” exclaimed Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia placed herself between him and the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! I want you to stay!” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall not go out in that dreadful storm again. I will not let you go,
- Frederic. Stay—stay here with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared. “What a funny idea!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait until the rain is over,” added Mrs Desmond.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no!” cried Lydia. “I mean for him to stay here the rest of the night.
- We can put you up, Freddy. I—I don't want you to go back there until—until
- to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A glad light broke in his face. “By Jove, I—do you know, I'd like to
- stay? I—I really would, Mrs Desmond. Can you find a place for me?”
- His voice was eager, his eyes sparkling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the mother quietly, almost serenely. “You shall have Lydia's
- bed, Frederic. She can come in with me. Yes, you must stay. Are you not
- our Frederic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” he stammered, and his eyes fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will telephone to Jones when the storm abates,” said Mrs Desmond. “Now
- get out of those coats, and—oh, dear, how wet you are! A hot drink
- for both.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you mind asking Jones to send over something for me to wear in the
- morning?” said Frederic, grinning as he stood forth in his evening
- clothes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ten minutes later, in a dressing-gown and bare feet, he sat with them
- before an open fire and sipped the toddy she had brewed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, this is great!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was suddenly shy and embarrassed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good night,” she whispered. Her fingers brushed his cheek lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her down to him and kissed her passionately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good night, my Lyddy!” he said softly, his cheek flushing.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went quickly from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later he stood in her sweet, dainty little bedroom and looked about him
- with a feeling of mingled awe and wonder. All of her intimate, exquisite
- belongings, the sanctified treasures of her most secret domain, were all
- about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He fingered the articles on her dressing-table; smelled of the perfume
- bottles and smiled as he recognised the sweet odours as being a part of
- her, and not a thing unto themselves; grinned delightedly at his own
- photograph in its silver frame that stood where she could see it the last
- thing at night and the first in the morning; caressed—aye, caressed—the
- little hand-mirror that had reflected her gay or troubled face so many
- times since the dear Christmas Day when he had given it to her with his
- love.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood beside her bed where she had stood, and the soft rug seemed to
- respond to the delightful tingling that ran through his bare feet. Her
- room! Her bed! Her domain!
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he dropped to his knees and buried his hot face in the cool white
- sheets and kissed them over and over again. Here was sanctuary! His eyes
- were wet with tears when he arose to his feet, and his arms went out to
- the closed door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lyddy!” he whispered chokingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Back there in the rose-hued light of James Brood's study Yvonne cringed
- and shook in the strong arms of her husband all through that savage storm.
- She was no longer the defiant, self-possessed creature he had come to know
- so well, but a shrinking, trembling child, stripped of all her bravado,
- all her arrogance, all her seeming guile. A pathetic whimper crooned from
- her lips in response to his gentle words of reassurance. She was afraid—desperately
- afraid—and she crept close to him in her fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- And he? He was looking backward to another who had nestled close to him
- and whimpered as she was doing now—another who lived in terror when
- it stormed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rederic opened his
- eyes at the sound of a gentle, persistent tapping on the bedroom door.
- Resting on his elbow, he looked blankly, wonderingly, about the room, and—remembered.
- The sun streamed into the chamber, filling it with a radiance that almost
- dazzled him. He rubbed his eyes, and again, as in the night just gone, his
- thought absorbed the contents of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not dreamed it, after all. He was there in Lydia's bed, attended by
- all the mute, inanimate sentinels that stood guard over her while she
- slept. The knocking continued. He dreamed on, his blinking eyes still
- seeking out the dainty, Lydia-like treasures in the enchanted room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic!” called a voice outside the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started guiltily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” was his cheery response.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get up! It's nine o'clock. Or will you have your breakfast in bed, sir?”
- It was Lydia who spoke, assuming a fine Irish brogue in imitation of their
- little maid of all work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll have to, unless my clothes have come over!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are here. Now do hurry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang out of bed and bounded across the room. She passed the garments
- through the partly opened door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Morning!” he greeted, sticking his tousled head around the edge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Morning!” she responded as briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't wait breakfast for me. I'll skip over home———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said arbitrarily. “Don't
- dawdle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How pretty, how sweet you are this morning,” he cried, his dark eyes
- dancing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Silly!” she scoffed, but with a radiant smile. Then, with a perfectly
- childish giggle, she slammed the door and scurried away as if in fear of
- pursuit.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was artistic, temperamental. Such as he have not the capacity for haste
- when there is the slightest opportunity to dream and dawdle. He was a full
- quarter of an hour taking his tub, and another was consumed in getting
- into his clothes. At home he was always much longer than this, for he was
- delayed by the additional task of selecting shirts, ties, socks, and
- scarf-pins, and changing his mind and all of them three or four times
- before being satisfied with the effect. He sallied forth in great haste at
- nine thirty-five, and was extremely proud of himself, although unshaved.
- </p>
- <p>
- His first act, after warmly greeting Mrs Desmond, was to sit down at the
- piano. Hurriedly he played a few jerky, broken snatches of the haunting
- air he had heard the night before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been wondering if I could remember it,” he apologised, as he
- followed them into the dining-room. “What's the matter, Lyddy? Didn't you
- sleep well? Poor old girl, I was a beast to deprive you of your bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have a mean headache, that's all,” said the girl quickly. He noticed
- the dark circles under her eyes and the queer expression, as of trouble,
- in their depths. “It will go as soon as I've had my coffee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Night, with its wonderful sensations, was behind them. Day revealed the
- shadow that had fallen. They unconsciously shrank from it and drew back
- into the shelter of their own misgivings. The joyous abandon of the night
- before was dead. Over its grave stood the leering spectre of unrest.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he took her in his arms later on, and kissed her, there was not the
- shadow of a doubt in the mind of either that the restraining influence of
- a condition over which they had no control was there to mock their
- endeavour to be natural. They were not to be deceived by the apparent
- earnestness of the embrace. Each knew that the other was asking a
- question, even as their lips met and clung in the rather pathetic attempt
- to confirm the fond dream of the night before. They kissed as through a
- veil. They were awake once more, and they were wary, unconvinced. The
- answer to their questions came in the kiss itself, and constraint fell
- upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Drawn by an impulse that had been struggling within him, Frederic found
- himself standing at the sitting-room window. It was a sly, covert, though
- intensely eager look that he directed at another window far below. If he
- hoped for some sign of life in his father's study he was to be
- disappointed. The curtains hung straight and motionless. He would have
- denied the charge that he longed to see Yvonne sitting in the casement,
- waiting to waft a sign of greeting up to him; he would have denied that
- the thought was in his mind when he went to the window; and yet he was
- conscious of a feeling of disappointment, even annoyance.
- </p>
- <p>
- With considerable adroitness Lydia engaged his attention at the piano.
- Keyed up as she was, his every emotion was plain to her perceptions. She
- had anticipated the motive that led him to the window. She knew that it
- would assert itself in spite of all that he could do to prevent. She
- waited humbly for the thing to happen, pain in her heart, and when her
- reading proved true she was prepared to combat its effect. Music was her
- only ally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does it go, Freddy—the thing you were playing before
- breakfast?” She was trying to pick up the elusive air. “It is such a
- fascinating, adorable thing. Is this right?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch. The few bars she had mastered in her eagerness
- fell upon inattentive ears at first. But she persisted. He came over and
- stood beside her. His long, slim fingers joined hers on the keyboard, and
- the sensuous strains of the waltz responded to his touch. He smiled
- patiently as she struggled to repeat what he had played. The fever of the
- thing took hold of him at last, as she had known it would. Leaning over
- her shoulder, his cheek quite close to hers, he played. Her hands dropped
- into her lap.
- </p>
- <p>
- She retained her seat on the bench. Her cunning brain told her that it
- would be a mistake to relinquish her place at the keyboard. He would play
- it through a time or two, mechanically perhaps, and then his interest
- would be gone. He would have gratified her simple request, and that would
- have been the end. She led him on by interrupting time and again in her
- eagerness to grasp the lesson he was giving. Finally she moved over on the
- bench, and he sat down beside her. He was absorbed in the undertaking. His
- brow cleared. His smile was a happy, eager one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a tricky thing, Lyddy,” he said enthusiastically, “but you'll get
- it. Now listen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For an hour they sat there, master and pupil, sweetheart and lover. The
- fear was less in the heart of one when, tiring at last, the other
- contentedly abandoned the rôle of taskmaster and threw himself upon the
- couch, remarking, as he stretched himself in luxurious ease:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like this, Lyddy. I wish you didn't have to go over there and dig away
- at that confounded journal. I like this so well that, 'pon my soul, I'd
- enjoy loafing here with you the whole day long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart leaped. “You shall have your wish, Freddy,” she said, barely
- able to conceal the note of eagerness in her voice. “I am not going to
- work to-day. I—my head, you know. Mother telephoned to Mr Brood this
- morning before you were up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're going to loaf?” he cried gladly. “Bully! And I may stay? But, gee,
- I forgot your headache. It will———” He was staring up
- from the couch when she hastily broke in, shaking her head vigorously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lie still. My head is much better. I want you to stay, dear. I—I
- want to have you all to myself again. Oh, it will be so good—so good
- to while away an idle day with you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was standing beside the couch. He reached forth and took her hand in
- his, laying it against his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It won't be an idle day,” said he seriously. “We shall be very busy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Busy?” she inquired apprehensively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talking things over,” he said
- briefly. “Of course, I ought to go home and face the music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's something I can't talk about, Lyddy. Let's forget our troubles for
- to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better still, let us share them. Stay here with me. Don't go home to-day,
- Freddy. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I've got to have it out with father some time,” he said bitterly. “It
- may as well be now as later on. We've got to come to an understanding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart was cold. She was afraid of what would come out of that
- “understanding.” All night long she had lain with wide-staring eyes,
- thinking of the horrid thing James Brood had said to her. Far in the night
- she aroused her mother from a sound sleep to put the question that had
- been torturing her for hours. Mrs Desmond confessed that her husband had
- told her that Brood had never considered Frederic to be his son, and then
- the two lay side by side for the remainder of the night without uttering a
- word, and yet keenly awake. They were thinking of the hour when Brood
- would serve notice on the intruder!
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia now realised that the hour was near. Frederic himself would
- challenge the wrath of all these bitter years, and it would fall upon his
- unsuspecting head with cruel, obliterating force.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl shivered as with a racking chill. “Have it out with father,” he
- had said in his ignorance. He was preparing to rush headlong to his doom.
- To prevent that catastrophe was the single, all-absorbing thought in
- Lydia's mind. Her only hope lay in keeping the men apart until she could
- extract from Brood a promise to be merciful, and this she intended to
- accomplish if she had to go down on her knees and grovel before the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Freddy,” she cried earnestly, “why take the chance of making a bad
- matter worse?” Even as she uttered the words she realised how stupid, how
- ineffectual they were.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It can't be much worse,” he said gloomily. “I am inclined to think he'd
- relish a straight-out, fair, and square talk, anyhow. Moreover, I mean to
- take Yvonne to task for the thing she said—or implied last night.
- About you, I mean. She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I beg of you, don't!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was—unspeakable. I don't see what could have come over her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was jealous. She admitted it, dear. If I don't mind, why should you
- incur———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really believe she—she loves the governor enough to be as
- jealous as all that?” he exclaimed, a curious gleam in his eyes—an
- expression she did not like.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I think so!” she cried emphatically. “What a question! Have you
- any reason to suspect that she does not love your father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No—certainly not,” he said in some confusion. Then, after a moment:
- “Are you quite sure this headache of yours is real, Lyddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn't it an excuse to stay away from—from Yvonne, after what
- happened last night? Be honest, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent for a long time, weighing her answer. Was it best to be
- honest with him?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I confess that it has something to do with it,” she admitted. Lydia could
- not be anything but truthful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought so. It's—it's a rotten shame, Lyddy. That's why I want to
- talk to her. I want to reason with her. It's all so perfectly silly, this
- misunderstanding. You've just got to go on as you were before, Lyddy—just
- as if it hadn't happened. It———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall complete the work for your father, Freddy,” she said quietly.
- “Two or three days more will see the end. After that neither my services
- nor my presence will be required over there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mean to say——” he began, unbelievingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn't likely I'd go there for pleasure, is it?” she interrupted dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But think of the old times, the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can think of them just as well here as anywhere else. No; I shan't
- annoy Mrs Brood, Freddy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, but
- she thought better of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're going abroad soon,” he ventured. “At least, that's father's plan.
- Yvonne isn't so keen about it. She calls this being abroad, you know.
- Besides,” he hurried on in his eagerness to excuse Yvonne, “she's
- tremendously fond of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia was wise. “I would give a great deal to be able to really believe
- so, Freddy. I—I could be very fond of her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He warmed to the cause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No end of times she's said you were the finest———” Her
- smile—an odd one, such as he had never seen on her lips before—checked
- his eager speech. He bridled. “Of course, if you don't choose to believe
- me, there's nothing more to be said. She meant it, however.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure she said it, Freddy,” she hastened to declare. “Will she be
- pleased with our—our marriage?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It required a great deal of courage on her part to utter these words, but
- she was determined to bring the true situation home to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not even hesitate, and there was conviction in his voice as he
- replied:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It doesn't matter whether she's pleased or displeased. We're pleasing
- ourselves, are we not? There's no one else to consider, dear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were full upon his, and there was wonder in them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you—thank you, Freddy,” she cried.
- “I—I knew you'd———” The sentence remained
- unfinished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has there ever been a doubt in your mind?” he asked uneasily, after a
- moment. He knew there had been misgivings, and he was ready, in his
- self-abasement, to resent them if given the slightest opening. Guilt made
- him arrogant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she answered simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- The answer was not what he expected. He flushed painfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I thought perhaps you'd—you'd get a notion in your head
- that———” He, too, stopped for want of the right words to
- express himself without committing the egregious error of letting her see
- that it had been in his thoughts to accuse her of jealousy.
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited for a moment. “That I might have got the notion in my head you
- did not love me any longer? Is that what you started to say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he confessed, averting his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been unhappy at times, Freddy, but that is all,” she said steadily.
- “You see, I know how honest you really are. I know it far better than you
- know it yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder just how honest I am,” he muttered.
- “I wonder what would happen if——— But nothing can
- happen. Nothing ever will happen. Thank you, old girl, for saying what you
- said just now. It's—it's bully of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got up and began pacing the floor. She leaned back in her chair,
- deliberately giving him time to straighten out his thoughts for himself.
- Wiser than she knew herself to be, she held back the warm, loving words of
- encouragement, of gratitude, of belief.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she was not prepared for the impetuous appeal that followed. He threw
- himself down beside her and grasped her hands in his. His face seemed
- suddenly old and haggard, his eyes burned like coals of fire. Then, for
- the first time, she had an inkling of the great struggle that had been
- going on inside of him for weeks and weeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, Lyddy,” he began nervously; “will you marry me to-morrow? Are you
- willing to take the chance that I'll be able to support you, to earn
- enough———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Freddy!” she cried, half starting up from the couch. She was
- dumbfounded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you? Will you? I mean it,” he went on, almost argumentatively.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was very much in earnest, but alas! the fire, the passion of the
- importunate lover was missing. She shrank back into the corner of the
- couch, staring at him with puzzled eyes. Comprehension was slow in
- arriving. As he hurried on with his plea she began to see clearly, her
- sound brain grasped the significance of this sudden decision on his part.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's no use waiting, dear. I'll never be more capable of earning a
- living than I am right now. I can go into the office with Brooks any day,
- and I—I think I can make good. God knows, I can try hard enough. Brooks
- says he's got a place there for me in the bond department. It won't be
- much at first, but I can work into a pretty good—what's the matter?
- Don't you think I can do it? Have you no faith in me? Are you afraid to
- take a chance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had smiled sadly—it seemed to him reprovingly. His cheek
- flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What has put all this into your head, Freddy dear?” she asked shrewdly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, good Lord, haven't we had this very thing in mind for years?” he
- cried. “Haven't we talked about my———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What put it into your head—just now?” she insisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know what you're driving at,” he floundered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you think it would be safer—I mean wiser if you were to wait
- until you are quite certain of yourself, Freddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am certain of myself,” he exploded. “What do you mean? What sort of
- talk is this you are———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! Don't be angry, dear. Be honest now. Don't you understand just what
- I mean?” They looked squarely into each other's eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to marry me at once,” said he doggedly. “You know I love you,
- Lyddy. Is there anything more to say than that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you want to tell me, Freddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes wavered. “I can't go on living as I have been for the past few
- months. I've just got to end it, Lyddy. You don't understand—you
- can't, and there isn't any use in trying to explain the——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I do understand, dear,” she said quietly, laying her hand on his.
- “I understand so completely that there isn't any use in your trying to
- explain. But don't you think you are a bit cowardly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cowardly?” he gasped, and then the blood rushed to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it quite fair to me—or to yourself?” He was silent. She waited
- for a moment and then went on resolutely. “I know just what it is that you
- are afraid of, Freddy. I shall marry you, of course. I love you more than
- anything else in all the world. But are you quite fair in asking me to
- marry you while you are still afraid, dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before God, Lyddy, I love no one else but you!” he cried earnestly. “I
- know what it is you are thinking, and I—I don't blame you. But I
- want you <i>now</i>—you don't know how much I need you now! I want
- to begin a new life with you. I want to feel that you are with me—just
- you—strong and brave and enduring. I am adrift. I need you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you love me, Frederic. I am absolutely certain of it,” she said
- slowly, weighing her words carefully. “But I cannot marry you to-morrow—nor
- for a long time after to-morrow. In a year—yes. But not now, dear;
- not just now. You—you understand, don't you? Say that you understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His chin sank upon his breast. “Of course I understand,” he said in a very
- low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never love you any more than I love you now, Freddy—never
- so much, perhaps, as at this moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, Lyddy; I know,” he said dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you insist, I will marry you to-morrow; but you cannot—you will
- not ask it of me, will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you know I do love you,” he cried. “There isn't any doubt in your
- mind, Lyddy. There is no one else I tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I am just beginning to understand men,” she remarked
- enigmatically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And to wonder why they call women the weaker sex, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, so seriously that the wry smile died on his lips. “I
- don't believe there are many women who would ask a man to be sorry for
- them. That's really what all this amounts to, isn't it, Freddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Jove!” he exclaimed wonderingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a strong, self-willed, chivalrous man, and yet you think nothing
- of asking a woman to protect you against yourself; You are afraid to stand
- alone. Wait! You need me because you are a strong man and are afraid that
- your very strength will lead you into ignoble warfare. You are afraid of
- your strength, not of your weakness. So you ask me to help you. Without
- thinking, you ask me to marry you to-morrow. The idea came to you like a
- flash of light in the darkness. Five minutes—yes, one minute before
- you asked it of me, Freddy dear, you were floundering in the darkness,
- uncertain which way to turn. You were afraid of the things you could not
- see. You looked for some place in which to hide. The flash of light
- revealed a haven of refuge. So you asked me to to marry you to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All through this indictment she had held his hand clasped tightly in both
- of hers. He was looking at her with a frank acknowledgment growing in his
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you ashamed of me, Lyddy?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said, meeting his gaze
- steadily. “I am a little disappointed, that's all. It is you who are
- ashamed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am,” said he simply. “It wasn't fair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Love will endure. I am content to wait,” she said with a wistful smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will be my wife, no matter what happens? You won't let this make any
- difference?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not angry with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Angry? Why should I be angry with you, Lyddy? For shaking some sense into
- me? For seeing through me with that wonderful, far-sighted brain of yours?
- Why, I could go down on my knees to you. I could———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me think, Freddy,” she cried, suddenly confronted by her own
- declaration of the night before. She had told James Brood that she would
- marry this discredited son of his the instant he was ready to take her
- unto himself. She had flung that in the older man's face, and she had
- meant every word of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I take back what I said, dear. I will marry you to-morrow.” She
- spoke rapidly, jerkily; her eyes were very dark and luminous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What has come over you?” He stared at her in astonishment. “What—oh,
- I see! You are not sure of me. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes, I am! It isn't that. I did not know what I was saying when I
- refused to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, there you go, just like a woman!” he cried triumphantly. “Spoiling
- everything! You dear, lovable, inconsequent, regular girl! Hurray! Now
- we're back where we began, and I'm holding the whip. You bring me to my
- senses and then promptly lose your own.” He clasped her in his arms and
- held her close. “You dear, dear Lyddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean it, dear heart.” The whisper smothered in his embrace.
- “To-morrow—to-day, if you will. We will go away. We will———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said, quite resolutely; “you have shown me the way. I've just got
- to make good in your estimation before I can hold you to your promise.
- You're splendid, Lyddy; you're wonderful, but—well, I was unfair a
- while ago. I mean to be fair now. We'll wait. It's better so. I will come
- again and ask you, but it won't be as it was just now. It would not be
- right for me to take you at your word. We'll wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Neither spoke for many minutes. It was she who broke the silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must promise one thing, Frederic. For my sake, avoid a quarrel with
- your father. I could not bear that. You will promise, dear? You must.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't intend to quarrel with him; but if I am to remain in his house
- there has got to be———”
- He paused, his jaw set stubbornly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Promise me you will wait. He is going away in two weeks. When he returns—later
- on—next fall———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, if it really distresses you, Lyddy, I'll———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It does distress me. I want your promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll do my part,” he said resignedly, “and next fall will see us married,
- so———”
- </p>
- <p>
- The telephone-bell in the hall was ringing. Frederic released
- Lydia's hand and sat up rather stiffly, as one who suddenly suspects that
- he is being spied upon. The significance of the movement did not escape
- Lydia. She laughed mirthlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will see who it is,” she said, and arose. Two red spots appeared in his
- cheeks. Then it was that she realised he had been waiting all along for
- the bell to ring; he had been expecting a summons.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it's for me, please say—er—say I'll———”
- he began, somewhat disjointedly, but she interrupted him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you stay here for luncheon, Frederic? And this afternoon we will go
- to—oh, is there a concert or a recital———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I'll stay if you'll let me,” he said wistfully. “We'll find
- something to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She went to the telephone. He heard the polite greetings, the polite
- assurances that she had not taken cold, two or three laughing rejoinders
- to what must have been amusing comments on the storm and its effect on
- timid creatures, and then:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mrs Brood, I will call him to the phone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rederic had the
- feeling that he slunk to the telephone. The girl handed the receiver to
- him and he met her confident, untroubled gaze for a second. Instead of
- returning to the sitting-room where she could have heard everything that
- he said, she went into her own room down the hall and closed the door. He
- was not conscious of any intention to temporise, but it was significant
- that he did not speak until the door closed behind her. Afterward he
- realised and was ashamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Almost the first words that Yvonne uttered were of a nature to puzzle and
- irritate him, although they bore directly upon his own previously formed
- resolution. Her voice, husky and low, seemed strangely plaintive and
- lifeless to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you and Lydia made any plans for the afternoon?” she inquired. He
- made haste to declare their intention to attend a concert. “I am glad you
- are going to do that,” she went on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you ill, Yvonne?” he queried suddenly. “I? Oh, no. I think I never
- felt better in my life than I do at this moment. The storm must have blown
- the cobwebs out of my brain. I believe I'm quite happy to-day, Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren't you always happy?” he cried chidingly. “What an odd thing to say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not respond to this.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will stay for luncheon with Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. She's trying to pick up that thing of Feverelli's—the one we
- heard last night.” There was silence at the other end of the wire, “Are
- you there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm teaching it to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be home for dinner, of course. You—you don't need me for
- anything, do you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said. Then, with a low laugh: “You may be excused for the day,
- my son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wrong?” he demanded, lowering his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wrong? Nothing is wrong. Everything seems right to me. Your father and I
- have been discussing the trip abroad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is—is it settled?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. We are to sail on the twenty-fifth—in ten days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Settled, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you—you were opposed to going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've changed my mind. As a matter of fact, I've changed my heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You speak in riddles.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your father has gone out to arrange for passage on the <i>Olympic</i>. He
- is lunching at the Lawyers' Club.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will lunch alone, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Naturally.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He suppressed an impulse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry, Yvonne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent for a long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic, I want you to do something for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I've promised Lydia to stay here———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it isn't that. Will you try to convince Lydia that I meant no offence
- last night when I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She understands all that perfectly, Yvonne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she doesn't. A woman <i>wouldn't</i> understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will square everything,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It means a great deal to me,”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In what way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No woman likes to be regarded as a fool,” she said at last, apparently
- after careful reflection.
- “Oh, yes; there is something else. We are dining out this evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You and I?” he asked, after a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly not. Your father and I. I was about to suggest that you dine
- with Lydia—or, better still, ask her over here to share your dinner
- with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was scowling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,” slowly, deliberately, “we thought it
- would be great fun to dine alone at Delmonico's and see a play afterward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just—you and father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We two—no more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How cunning,” he sneered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you ask Lydia to dine with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you will go out somewhere?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll have dinner with Mr Dawes and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would be jolly. They will be pleased. A sort of—what do you
- call it—a sort of reunion, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you making sport of me?” he demanded angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But no! It will be making sport for the old gentleman, though, <i>aïe?</i>
- And now <i>au revoir!</i> You will surely convince Lydia that I love her?
- I am troubled. You will———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What play are you going to see?” he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco
- production. “Well, I hope you enjoy it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the
- governor to-day? In a good humour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no response. He waited for a moment and then called out: “Are
- you there?”.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye,” came back over the wire.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started, as if she had given him a slap in the face. Her voice was cold
- and forbidding.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Lydia rejoined him in the sitting-room he was standing at the window,
- staring across the courtyard far below.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going?” she asked steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned toward her, conscious of the tell-tale scowl that was passing
- from his brow. It did not occur to him to resent her abrupt,
- uncompromising question. As a matter of fact, it seemed quite natural that
- she should put the question in just that way, flatly, incisively. He
- considered himself, in a way, to be on trial.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I'm not,” he replied. “You did not expect me to forget, did you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was uncomfortable under her honest, inquiring gaze. A sullen anger
- against himself took possession of him. He despised himself for the
- feeling of loneliness and homesickness that suddenly came over him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought———” she began, and then her brow cleared. “I
- have been looking up the recitals in the morning paper. The same orchestra
- you heard last night is to appear again to-day at———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will go there, Lydia,” he interrupted, and at once began to hum the
- gay little air that had so completely charmed him. “Try it again, Lyddy.
- You'll get it in no time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After luncheon, like two happy children they rushed off to the concert,
- and it was not until they were on their way home at five o'clock that his
- enthusiasm began to wane. She was quick to detect the change. He became
- moody, preoccupied; his part of the conversation was kept up with an
- effort that lacked all of the spontaneity of his earlier and more engaging
- flights.
- </p>
- <p>
- They rode down town on the top of a Fifth Avenue stage, having it all to
- themselves. She found herself speculating on the change that had come over
- him, and soon lapsed into a reserve quite as pronounced as his own. By the
- time they were ready to get down at the corner above Brood's house there
- was no longer any pretence at conversation between them. The day's fire
- had burned out. Its glow had given way to the bleak, gray tone of dead
- coals.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia went far back in her calculations and attributed his mood to the
- promise she had exacted in regard to his attitude toward his father. It
- occurred to her that he was smarting under the restraint that promise
- involved. She realised now, more than ever before, that there could be no
- delay, no faltering on her part. She would have to see James Brood at
- once; go down on her knees to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I feel rather guilty, Freddy,” she said as they approached the house. “Mr
- Brood will think it strange that I should plead a headache and yet run off
- to a concert and enjoy myself when he is so eager to finish the journal—especially
- as he is to sail so soon. I ought to see him; don't you think so? Perhaps
- there is something I can do to-night that will make up for the lost time.”
- She was plainly nervous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'd work you to death if he thought it would serve his purpose,” said
- Frederic gloomily. And back of that sentence lay the thought that made it
- absolutely imperative for her to act without delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go in for a few minutes,” she said, at the foot of the steps. “Are
- you not coming, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had stopped. “Not just now, Lyddy. I think I'll run up to Tom's flat
- and smoke a pipe with him. Thanks, old girl, for the happy day we've had.
- You don't mind if I leave you here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart gave a great throb of relief. It was best to have him out of the
- way for the time being.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, indeed,” she said. “Do go and see Tom. I shan't be here long. We have
- had a glorious day, haven't we?” There was something wistful in her smile
- as she held out her hand to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He searched her face with tired, yearning eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have thousands of them ahead of us, Lyddy—days that will be all our
- own, with nothing else in them but ourselves. I—I wish we could
- begin them to-morrow, after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A flush mounted to her cheek.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye, Freddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed reluctant to release her hand; her hand was cold, but her eyes
- were shining with a glorious warmth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I may run in to see you this evening,” he said. “You won't mind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, by all means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well—so-long,” he said diffidently. “So-long, Lyddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So-long,” she repeated, dropping into his manner of speech without
- thinking. There was a smothering sensation in her breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked back as he strode off in the direction from which they had come.
- She was at the top of the steps, her finger on the electric button. He
- wondered why her face was so white. He had always thought of it as being
- full of colour, rich, soft, and warm.
- </p>
- <p>
- Inside the door Lydia experienced a strange sinking of the heart. Her
- limbs seemed curiously weak, and she was conscious of a feeling of utter
- loneliness, such as she had never known before. She looked about her in
- wonder, as if seeking an explanation for the extraordinary but fleeting
- impression that she was in a strange house. Never was she to find an
- interpretation of the queer fantasy that came and went almost in the span
- of a single breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is Mr Brood at———” she began nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- A voice at the top of the stairway interrupted the question she was
- putting to the footman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it you, Lydia? Come up to my room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl looked up and saw Mrs Brood leaning over the banister-rail. She
- was holding her pink dressing-gown closely about her throat, as if it had
- been hastily thrown about her shoulders. One bare arm was visible—completely
- so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came to see Mr Brood. Is he———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is busy. Come up to my room,” repeated Yvonne, somewhat imperiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- As Lydia mounted the stairs she had a fair glimpse of the other's face.
- Always pallid—but of a healthy pallor—it was now almost
- ghastly. Perhaps it was the light from the window that caused it; Lydia
- was not sure, but a queer greenish hue overspread the lovely, smiling
- face. The lips were red, very red—redder than she had ever seen them. The
- girl suddenly recalled the face she had once seen of a woman who was
- addicted to the drug habit.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood met her at the top of the stairs. She was but half dressed. Her
- lovely neck and shoulders were now almost bare. Her hands were extended
- toward the visitor; the filmy lace gown hung loose and disregarded about
- her slim figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in, dear. Shall we have tea? I have been so lonely. One cannot read
- the books they print nowadays. Such stupid things, <i>aïe?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw an arm about the tall girl, and Lydia was surprised to find that
- it was warm and full of a gentle strength. She felt her flesh tingle with
- the thrill of contact. Yes, it must have been the light from the window,
- for Yvonne's face was now aglow with the peculiar iridescence that was so
- peculiarly her own.
- </p>
- <p>
- A door closed softly on the floor above them. Mrs Brood glanced over her
- shoulder and upward. Her arm tightened perceptibly about Lydia's waist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Ranjab,” said the girl, and instantly was filled with amazement.
- She had not seen the Hindu, had not even been thinking of him, and yet she
- was impelled by some mysterious intelligence to give utterance to a
- statement in which there was conviction, not conjecture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you see him?” asked the other, looking at her sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” admitted Lydia, still amazed. “I don't know why I said that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood closed her boudoir door behind them. For an instant she stood
- staring at the knob, as if expecting to see it turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” she said, “I know why you said it. Because it <i>was</i>
- Ranjab.” She shivered slightly.
- “I am afraid of that man, Lydia. He seems to be watching me all the time.
- Day and night his eyes seem to be upon me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, should he be watching you?” asked Lydia bluntly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne did not notice the question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even when I am asleep in my bed, in the dead hour of night, he is looking
- at me. I can feel it. Oh, it is not a dream, for my dreams are of
- something or someone else—never of him. And yet he is there, looking
- at me. It—it is uncanny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Imagination,” remarked Lydia quietly. “He never struck me as especially
- omnipresent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't you <i>feel</i> him a moment ago?” demanded Yvonne irritably.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other hesitated, reflecting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it must have been something like that.” They were still facing
- the door, standing close together. “Why do you feel that he is watching
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know. I just feel it, that's all. Day and night. He can read my
- thoughts, Lydia, as he would read a book. Isn't—isn't it
- disgusting?” Her laugh was spiritless, obviously artificial.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn't object to his reading my thoughts,” said Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but you are Lydia. It's different. I have thoughts sometimes, my
- dear, that would not—but there! Let us speak of more agreeable
- things. Take off your coat—here, let me help you. What a lovely
- waist! You will pardon my costume, won't you, or rather the lack of one?
- I shan't dress until dinner-time. Sit down here beside me. No tea? A
- cigarette, then. No?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never smoke, you remember,” said the other. She was looking at Yvonne
- now with a curious, new-found interest in her serious eyes. “I came to
- explain to Mr Brood how it happens that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poof! Never explain, my dear, never explain anything to a man!” cried
- Yvonne, lighting a cigarette. The flare of the match in the partially
- darkened room lit up her face with merciless candour. Lydia was conscious
- once more of the unusual pallor and a certain haggardness about the dark
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he is so eager to complete the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you forgive me for what I said to you last night?” demanded Yvonne,
- sitting down beside the girl on the <i>chaise longue</i>. The interruption
- was rude, perhaps, but it was impossible to resent it, so appealing was
- the expression in the offender's eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was so absurd, Mrs Brood, that I have scarcely given it a moment's
- thought. Of course, I was hurt at the time. It was so unjust to Mr Brood.
- It was———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is like you to say that!” cried Yvonne. “You are splendid, Lydia. Will
- you believe me when I tell you that I love you—that I love you very
- dearly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia looked at her in some doubt, and not without misgivings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to believe it,” she said noncommittally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but you doubt it. I see. Well, I do not blame you. I have given you
- much pain, much distress. When I am far away you will be glad—you will be
- happy. Is not that so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you are coming back,” said Lydia with a frank smile, not meant to be
- unfriendly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne's face clouded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I shall probably come back. Nothing is sure in this queer world of
- ours.” She threw her cigarette away. “I don't like it to-day. Ugh! how it
- tastes in my mouth!” She drew closer to the girl's side. Lydia's nostrils
- filled with the strange, sweet perfume that she affected, so individually
- hers, so personally Yvonne. “Oh, yes; I shall come back. Why not? Is not
- this my home?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may call it your home, Mrs Brood,” said
- Lydia, “but are you quite sure your thoughts always abide here? I mean in
- the United States, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne had looked up at her quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see. No; I shall never be an American.” Then she abruptly changed
- the subject. “You have had a nice day with Frederic? You have been happy,
- both of you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—very happy, Mrs Brood,” said the girl simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad. You must always be happy, you two. It is my greatest wish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia hesitated for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic asked me to be his wife—to-morrow,” she said, and her heart
- began to thump queerly. She felt that she was approaching a crisis of some
- sort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow?” fell from Yvonne's lips. The word was drawn out, as if in one
- long breath. Then, to Lydia's astonishment, an extraordinary change came
- over the speaker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes; it should be—it must be to-morrow. Poor boy—poor,
- poor boy! You will marry, yes, and go way at once, <i>aïe?</i>” Her voice
- was almost shrill in its intensity, her eyes were wide and eager and—anxious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I——— Oh, Mrs Brood, is it for the best?” cried Lydia.
- “Is it the best thing for Frederic to do? I—I feared you might
- object. I am sure his father will refuse permission———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you love each other—that is enough. Why ask the consent of
- anyone? Yes, yes, it is for the best. I know—oh, you cannot realise
- how well I know. You must not hesitate.” The woman was trembling in her
- eagerness. Lydia's astonishment gave way to perplexity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean? Why are you so serious—so intent on this———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic has no money,” pursued Yvonne, as if she had not heard Lydia's
- words. “But that must not deter you—it must not stand in the way. I
- shall find a way; yes, I shall find a way. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean that you would provide for him for us?” exclaimed Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is a way, there is a way,” said the other, fixing her eyes
- appealingly on the girl's face, to which the flush of anger was slowly
- mounting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His father will not help him—if, that is what you are counting
- upon, Mrs Brood,” said the girl coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. He will not help him; no.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you know about—what has Mr Brood said to you?” Her heart
- was cold with apprehension. “Why are you going away next week? What has
- happened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's wife was regarding her with narrowing eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you attributing my motives to something that my husband has said to
- me? Am I expected to say that he has—what you call it—that he
- has put his foot down?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry you misunderstood my———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see now. You think my husband suspects that Frederic is too deeply
- interested in his beautiful stepmother; is not that so? Poof! It has
- nothing to do with it.” Her eyes were sullen, full of resentment now. She
- was collecting herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl's eyes expressed the disdain that suddenly took the place of
- apprehension in her thoughts. A sharp retort leaped to her lips, but she
- suppressed it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Brood does not like Frederic,” she said instead, and could have cut
- out her tongue the instant the words were uttered. Yvonne's eyes were
- glittering with a light that she had never seen in them before. Afterward
- she described it to herself as baleful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So! He has spoken ill—evil—of his son to you?” she said,
- almost in a monotone, “He has hated him for years—is not that so? I
- am not the original cause, <i>aïe?</i> It began long ago—long, long
- ago?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I beg of you, Mrs Brood———” began
- Lydia, shrinking back in dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are free to speak your thoughts to me. I shall not be offended. What
- has he said to you about Frederic—and me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing, I swear to you; nothing!” cried the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you have the power of observation. You do not have to be told in so
- many words. You have been with him a great deal, alone. His manner tells
- you what his lips hold back. Tell me.” Lydia resolved to take the plunge.
- Now was the time to speak plainly to this woman of the thing that was
- hurting her almost beyond the limits of endurance. Her voice was rather
- high-pitched. She had the fear that she would not be able to control it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should be blind not to have observed the cruel position in which you
- are placing Frederic. Is it surprising that your husband has eyes as well
- as I? What must be his thoughts, Mrs Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She expected an outburst, a
- torrent of indignation, an angry storm of words, and was therefore
- unprepared for the piteous, hunted expression that came swiftly into the
- lovely eyes, bent so appealing upon her own, which were cold and accusing.
- Here was a new phase to this extraordinary creature's character. She was a
- coward, after all, and Lydia despised a coward. The look of scorn deepened
- in her eyes, and out from her heart rushed all that was soft and tender in
- her nature, leaving it barren of all compassion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not want to hurt Frederic,” murmured
- Yvonne. “I—I am sorry if———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are hurting him dreadfully,” said Lydia, suddenly choking up with
- emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not—not in love with me,” declared Yvonne,
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the girl, regaining control of herself, “he is not in love with
- you. That is the whole trouble. He is in love with me. But—but can't
- you see?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a wise young woman to know men so well,” said the other
- enigmatically. “I have never believed in St Anthony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor I,” said Lydia, and was surprised at herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I prefer to put my faith in the women who tempted him,” said Yvonne,
- drawing a little closer to the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you are right. They at least were not pretending.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not so sure of that. At any rate, they succeeded in making a saint
- of him eventually.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you are undertaking a similar office in—in Frederic's
- behalf,” said Lydia with fine irony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you consider me to be a bad woman, Lydia?” Her lips trembled. There
- was a suspicious quiver to her chin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I do not,” pronounced the girl flatly. “If I could only think that of
- you it would explain everything, and I should know just how to treat you.
- But I do not think it of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a long, deep sigh Yvonne crept closer and laid her head against
- Lydia's shoulder. The girl's body stiffened, her brow grew dark with
- annoyance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid you do not understand, Mrs Brood. The fact still remains that
- you have not considered Frederic's peace of mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor yours,” murmured the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor mine,” confessed Lydia, after a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not know that you and Frederic were in love with each other until I
- had been here for some time,” Mrs Brood explained, suddenly fretful.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia stared hard at the soft white cheek that lay exposed below the black
- crown of hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What had that to do with it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A great deal more than you can imagine,” said the other, looking up into
- Lydia's face with a curious gleam in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You admit, then, that you deliberately———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I admit nothing, except that I am sorry to have made you unhappy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What kind of a woman are you?” burst out Lydia's indignant soul. “Have
- you no conception of the finer, nobler———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne deliberately put her hand over the girl's lips, checking the fierce
- outburst. She smiled rather plaintively as Lydia tried to jerk her head to
- one side in order to continue her reckless indictment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall not say it, Lydia. I am not all that you think I am. No, no; a
- thousand times no. God pity me, I am more accursed than you may think with
- the finer and nobler instincts. If it were not so, do you think I should
- be where I am now—cringing here like a beaten child? No, you cannot
- understand—you never will understand. I shall say no more. It is
- ended. I swear on my soul that I did not know you were Frederic's
- sweetheart. I did not know———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you knew almost immediately after you came here!” exclaimed Lydia
- harshly. “It is not myself I am thinking of, Mrs Brood, but of Frederic.
- Why have you done this abominable thing to him? Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I did not realise what it would mean to him,” said the other
- desperately. “I—I did not count all the cost. But, dearest Lydia, it
- will come out all right. Everything shall be made right again, I promise
- you. I have made a horrible, horrible mistake. I can say no more. Now let
- me lie here with my head upon your breast. I want to feel the beating of
- your pure, honest heart—the heart I have hurt. I can tell by its
- throbs whether it will ever soften toward me. Do not say anything now—let
- us be still.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It would be difficult to describe the feelings of
- Lydia Desmond as she sat there with the despised, though to be adored,
- head pillowed upon her breast, where it now rested in a sort of confident
- repose, as if there was safety in the very strength of the young girl's
- disapproval. Yvonne had twisted her lithe body on the <i>chaise longue</i>
- so that she half faced Lydia. Her free arm, from which the loose sleeve
- had fallen, leaving it bare to the shoulder, was about the girl's neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long time Lydia stared straight before her, seeing nothing,
- positively dumb with wonder, and acknowledging a sense of dismay over her
- own disposition to submit to this extraordinary situation. She was asking
- herself why she did not cast the woman away, why she lacked the power to
- resent by deed as well as by thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last she lowered her eyes, conquered by an impulse she had resisted for
- many minutes. Her now perplexed gaze rested upon the gleaming white arm,
- and then moved wonderingly to the smooth cheek and throat. She saw the
- pulse beating in that slender neck. Fascinated, she watched it for a long,
- long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly there ran through her heart a strange wave of tenderness. That
- faint, delicate throb in the throat of this woman represented the rush of
- life's blood—the warm, sweet flood of a lovely living thing.
- Yvonne's eyes were closed. The long, dark lashes lay feathery above the
- alabaster cheek; there were delicate blue lines in the lids. A faint,
- almost imperceptible depression as of pain appeared between the eyebrows.
- The black, glossy hair filled Lydia's nostrils with its living perfume.
- </p>
- <p>
- Life—marvellous, adorable life rested there on her breast. This
- woman had hurt her—had hurt her wantonly—and yet there came
- stealing over her, subtly, the conviction that she could never hurt her in
- return. She could never bring herself to the point of hurting this
- wondrous living, breathing, throbbing creature who pleaded, not only with
- her lips and eyes, but with the gentle heart-beats that rose and
- fell in her throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like velvet was the smooth, glossy skin of her arm and breast. Never had
- Lydia dreamed that flesh could be so soft and white and so aglow with
- vitality. There was a sheen to it, a soft sheen that seemed fairly to
- radiate light itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still in a maze of wonder and something bordering on sheer delight, she
- fell to studying the perfections that the cheek and lips revealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Scarlet, pensively drooping were the lips, and almost opalescent the
- clear-cut cheek and chin. The delicate nostrils vibrated with the
- quickened breath that stirred the firm, full breast which rose and fell
- softly, gently; there were firm, hitherto invisible blue lines in the
- gleaming skin. Slowly, resistlessly Lydia's arm tightened about the
- slender, seductive body.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a long time, in which there was conflict, she suddenly pressed her
- warm lips to Yvonne's in a kiss that thrilled through every nerve in her
- body—a kiss that lingered because it was returned with equal fervour
- and abandon. They were clasped tightly in each other's arms and their eyes
- were closed as with pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, in an abrupt revulsion of feeling, in a desperate awakening, Lydia
- relaxed. Her arms fell away from the warm, sweet body and her eyes widened
- with something that passed for confusion, but which was in reality shame.
- Almost roughly she pushed Yvonne away from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I didn't mean to do that!” she gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other withdrew her arm and straightened up slowly, all the time
- regarding the girl with a strange, wondering look in her eyes—a look
- that quickly resolved itself into sadness so poignant that the girl, even
- in her confused state of mind, recognised it as such and was abashed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that you would,” said Yvonne in a very low voice, and shook her
- head drearily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry,” murmured Lydia in great distress.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other smiled, but it was a sad, plaintive effort on her part.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that you would,” she repeated.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia sprang to her feet, her face suddenly flaming with embarrassment.
- She felt unaccountably guilty of—she knew not what.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must see Mr Brood. I stepped in to tell him that———”
- she began, trying to cover her confusion, but Yvonne interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that you could not help it, my dear,” she said. Then, after a
- pause: “You will let me know what my husband has to say about it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To—to say about it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About your decision to marry Frederic in spite of his objections.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia felt a little shiver race over her as she looked toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will help us?” she said tremulously, turning to Yvonne. Again she saw
- the drawn, pained look about the dark eyes and was startled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can do more with him than I,” was the response.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ydia stopped for a
- moment in the hall, after closing the door behind her, to pull herself
- together for the ordeal that was still to come. She was trembling; a
- weakness had assailed her. She had left Yvonne's presence in a dazed,
- unsettled condition of mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a lapse of some kind that she could neither account for nor
- describe even to herself. She tried to put it into seconds and minutes,
- and then realised that it was not a matter to be reckoned as time. Yet
- there had been a distinct, unmistakable gap in her existence. Something
- had stopped—she knew not for how long—and then she had found
- herself breathing, thinking once more. In spite of the conviction that she
- had passed through a period of utter oblivion, she could account for every
- second of time with an absolute clearness of memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was not an instant, nor a sensation, nor an impulse that was not
- fully recorded in her alert brain. She remembered everything; she could
- have described every emotion; and yet she felt that there had been a
- period of complete absence, as real as it was improbable.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt now as she always felt after sipping champagne—in a warm
- glow of intoxication. She was drunk with the scent that filled her
- nostrils, the scent that lay on her lips, that lived and breathed with
- her. Her heart was throbbing rapidly, as if earnestly seeking to regain
- the beats that it had lost.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly there came to her an impulse to go back and lay bare before
- Yvonne all of the wretched story that had fallen from the lips of James
- Brood the night before. She conceived the strange notion that Yvonne alone
- could avert the disaster, that she could be depended upon to save Frederic
- from the blow that seemed so sure to fall. She even went so far as to turn
- toward the door and to take a step in its direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then came the revolt against the impulse. Was it fair to Frederic? Had she
- the right to reveal this ugly thing to one whose sympathies might, after
- all, be opposed to the wife who had preceded her in James Brood's
- affections—the wife who had been first in his heart, and whose
- memory, for all she knew, might still be a worthy adversary even in this
- day of apparent supremacy?
- </p>
- <p>
- What right had she to conclude that this woman would take up the cause of
- Frederic's mother and jeopardise her own position by seeking to put her
- husband in the wrong in that unhappy affair of long ago? Would Yvonne do
- this for Frederic? Would she do all this for Frederic's mother?
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia turned away and went slowly toward the stairs, despising herself for
- the thought. The black velvet coat that formed a part of her trig suit
- hung limply in her hand, dragging along the floor as she moved with
- hesitating steps in the direction of James Brood's study. A sickening
- estimate of her own strength of purpose confronted her. She was suddenly
- afraid of the man who had always been her friend. Somehow she felt that he
- would turn upon and rend her, this man who had always been gentle and
- considerate—and who had killed things!
- </p>
- <p>
- She found herself at last standing stock-still at the bottom of the
- steps, looking upward, trying to concentrate all of her determination on
- what now appeared to her to be an undertaking of the utmost daring, as one
- who risks everything in an encounter in the dark.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab appeared at the head of the stairs. She waited for his signal to
- ascend, somehow feeling that Brood had sent him forth to summon her. Her
- hand sought the stair-rail and gripped it tightly. Her lips parted
- in a stiff smile. Now she knew that she was turning coward, that she
- longed to put off the meeting until to-morrow—<i>to-morrow!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- The Hindu came down the stairs, quickly, noiselessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The master say to come to-morrow, to-morrow as usual,” he said, as he
- paused above her on the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It—it must be to-day,” she said doggedly, even as the chill of
- relief shot through her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow,” said the man. His eyes were kindly inquiring. “<i>Sahib</i>
- say you are to rest.” There was a pause. “To-morrow will not be too late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She started. Had he read the thought that was in her mind?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, Ranjab,” she said, after a moment of indecision. “I will come
- to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she slunk downstairs and out of the house, convinced that she had
- failed Frederic in his hour of greatest need, that to-morrow would be too
- late.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic did not come in for dinner until after his father and Yvonne had
- gone from the house. He did not inquire for them, but instructed Jones to
- say to the old gentlemen that he would be pleased to dine with them if
- they could allow him the time to “change.” He also told Jones to open a
- single bottle of champagne and to place three glasses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you please, sir, Mrs Brood has given strict orders——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all right, Jones. She won't mind for to-night. We expect to drink
- the health of the bride, Jones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is to say, <i>my</i> bride.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your bride, Mr Frederic?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going to be married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bless my soul, sir!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seem surprised.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ahem! I should 'ave said, 'God be praised,' sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now that I think of it, don't mention it to Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs. Let me
- make the announcement, Jones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, sir. It is most confidential, of course. Bless my—I mean
- to say, Golden Seal, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any old thing, Jones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I offer my congratulations, Mr Frederic? Thank you, sir. Ahem! Aw—ahem!
- Anyways soon, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very soon, Jones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bless—very good, sir. Of course, if I may be so bold as to inquire,
- sir, it's—it's—ahem?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, Jones. Who else could it be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, sir, it <i>couldn't</i> be anyone else. Thank you, sir. Yes,
- sir. She is the finest young lady in this 'ere world, Mr Frederic. You did
- say Golden Seal, Cliquot, ninety-eight, sir? It's the best in the 'ouse,
- sir, quite the best at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on Frederic made his announcement to the old men. In the fever of an
- excitement that caused him to forget that Lydia might be entitled to some
- voice in the matter, he deliberately committed her to the project that had
- become a fixed thing in his mind the instant he set foot in the house and
- found it empty—oh, so empty!
- </p>
- <p>
- Jones's practised hand shook slightly as he poured the wine. The old men
- drank rather noisily. They, too, were excited. Mr Riggs smacked his lips
- and squinted at the chandelier, as if trying to decide upon the vintage,
- but in reality doing his best to keep from coughing up the wine that had
- gone the wrong way in a moment of profound paralysis.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best news I've heard since Judas died,” said Mr Dawes manfully. “Fill
- 'em up again, Jones. I want to propose the health of Mrs Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The future Mrs Brood,” hissed Mr Riggs wheezily, glaring at his comrade.
- “Ass!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not married yet, Mr Dawes,” explained Frederic, grinning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Makes no difference,” said Mr Dawes stoutly. “Far as I'm concerned, you
- are. We'll be the first to drink to Lydia Brood! The first to call her by
- that name, gentlemen. God bless her!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless her!” shouted Mr Riggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless her!” echoed Frederic, and they drained their glasses to Lydia
- Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jones, open another bottle,” commanded Mr Dawes loftily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic shook his head, and two faces fell. Right bravely, however, the
- old men maintained a joyous interest in the occasion. They expounded
- loudly upon the virtues and graces of John Desmond's daughter; they plied
- the young man with questions and harangued him with advice; they
- threatened him with hell-fire if he ever gave the girl a minute of
- unhappiness; they were very firm in their contention that he “oughtn't to
- let the grass grow under his feet,” not for an instant! In the end they
- waxed tearful. It was quite too much joy to be borne with equanimity.
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man turned moody, thoughtful; the unwonted exhilaration died as
- suddenly as it had come into existence. A shadow crossed his vision and he
- followed it with his thoughts. The gabbling of the old men irritated him
- as the makeshift feast of celebration grew old, and he made no pretence of
- keeping up his end of the conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The gloomy, uneasy look deepened in his face. It was a farce, after all,
- this attempt to glorify an impulse conceived in desperation. A sense of
- utter loneliness came over him with a swiftness that sickened, nauseated
- him. The food was flat to his taste; he could not eat. Self-commiseration
- stifled him. He suddenly realised that he had never been so lonely, so
- unhappy, in all his life as he was at this moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- His thoughts were of his father. A vast, inexplicable longing possessed
- his soul—a longing for the affection of this man who was never
- tender, who stood afar off and was lonely, too. He could not understand
- this astounding change of feeling. He had never felt just this way before.
- There had been times—and many—when his heart was sore with
- longing, but they were of other days, childhood days. To-night he could
- not crush out the thought of how ineffably happy, how peaceful life would
- be if his father were to lay his hands upon his shoulders and say: “My
- son, I love you—I love you dearly.” There would be no more lonely
- days; all that was bitter in his life would be swept away in the twinkling
- of an eye; the world would be full of joy for him and for Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- If anyone had told him an hour earlier that he would have been possessed
- of such emotions as these he could have sneered in the face of him. When
- he entered the house that evening he was full of resentment toward his
- father and sullen with the remains of an ugly rage. And now to be actually
- craving the affection of the man who humbled him, even in the presence of
- servants. It was unbelievable. He could not understand himself. A
- wonderful, compelling tenderness filled his heart. He longed to throw
- himself at his father's feet and crave his pardon for the harsh, vengeful
- thoughts he had spent upon him in those black hours. He hungered for a
- word of kindness or of understanding on which he could feed his starving
- soul. He wanted his father's love. He wanted, more than anything else in
- the world, to love his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia slipped out of his mind, Yvonne was set aside in that immortal
- moment. He had not thought of them except in their relation to a completed
- state of happiness for his father. Indistinctly he recognised them as
- essentials.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the library, later on, he smoked with the old men, moodily staring up
- through the blue clouds into a space that seemed limitless. The expression
- of pain, and the self-pity that attended it, increased in his eyes. The
- old men rambled on, but he scarcely heard them. They wrangled, and he was
- not impatient with them. He was lonely. He felt deserted, forsaken. The
- sweet companionship of the day just closing stood for naught in this hour
- of a deeper longing. He wanted to hear his father say, from his heart:
- “Frederic, my son, here is my hand. It is no longer against you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Aye, he was lonely. The house was as bleak as the steppes of Siberia. He
- longed for companionship, friendship, kindness, and suddenly in the midst
- of it all he leaped to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going out, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, breaking in upon an
- unappreciated tale that Mr Riggs was relating at some length and with
- considerable fierceness in view of the fact that Mr Dawes had pulled him
- up rather sharply once or twice in a matter of inaccuracies. “Excuse me,
- please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He left them gaping with astonishment and dashed out into the hall for his
- coat and hat. Even then he had no definite notion as to what his next move
- would be, save that he was going out—somewhere, anywhere; he did not
- care. All the time he was employed in getting into his light overcoat his
- eyes were fixed on the front door, and in his heart was the strange,
- indescribable hope that it would open to admit his father, who, thinking
- of him in his loneliness and moved by a suddenly aroused feeling of love,
- had abandoned an evening of selfish pleasure in order to spend it with
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And if his father should walk in, with eagerness in his long unfriendly
- eyes, what joy it would be for him to rush up to him and cry out: “Father,
- let's be happy! Let's make each other happy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Somehow, as he rushed down the front steps with the cool night air blowing
- in his face, there surged up within him a strong, overpowering sense of
- filial duty. It was his duty to make the first advances. It was for him to
- pave the way to peace and happiness. Something vague but disturbing
- tormented him with the fear that his father faced a great peril and that
- his own place was beside him and not against him, as he had been for all
- these illy directed years. He could not put it away from him, this thought
- that his father was in danger—in danger of something that was not
- physical, something from which, with all his valour, he had no adequate
- form of defence.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the corner he paused, checked by an irresistible impulse to look
- backward at the house he had just left. To his surprise there was a light
- in the drawing-room windows facing the street. The shade in one of them
- had been thrown wide open and a stream of light flared out across the
- sidewalk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Standing in this stream of light was the figure of a man. Slowly, as if
- drawn by a force he could not resist, the young man retraced his steps
- until he stood directly in front of the window. A questioning smile was on
- his lips. He was looking up into Ranjab's shadowy, unsmiling face, dimly
- visible in the glow from the distant street-lamp. For a long time they
- stared at each other, no sign of recognition passing between them. The
- Hindu's face was as rigid, as emotionless as if carved out of stone; his
- eyes were unwavering. Frederic could see them, even in the shadows. He had
- the queer feeling that, though the man gave no sign, he had something he
- wanted to say to him, that he was actually calling to him to come back
- into the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Undecided, the man outside took several halting steps toward the doorway,
- his gaze still fixed on the face in the window. Then he broke the spell.
- It was a notion on his part, he argued, If he had been wanted, his
- father's servant would have beckoned to him. He would not have stood there
- like a graven image, staring out into the night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having convinced himself of this, Frederic wheeled and swung off up the
- street once more, walking rapidly, as one who is pursued. Turning, he
- waved his hand at the man in the window. He received no response. Farther
- off, he looked back once more. The Hindu still was there. Long after he
- was out of sight of the house he cast frequent glances over his shoulder,
- as if still expecting to see the lighted window and its occupant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Blocks away, in his hurried, aimless flight, he slackened his pace and
- began to wonder whither he was going. He had no objective point in mind.
- He was drifting. His footsteps lagged and he looked about him for marks of
- locality. Union Square lay behind him, and beyond, across Eighteenth
- Street, was the Third Avenue Elevated. He had not meant to come in this
- direction. It was not his mind alone that wandered.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he made his way back to Broadway, somewhat hazily bent on following
- that thoroughfare up to the district where the night glittered and the
- stars were shamed, he began turning over in his mind a queer notion that
- had just suggested itself to him, filtering through the maze of
- uncertainty in which he had been floundering. It occurred to him that he
- had been mawkishly sentimental in respect to his father. He was seriously
- impressed by the feelings that had mastered him, but he found himself
- ridiculing the idea that his father stood in peril of any description. And
- suddenly, out of no particular trend of thought, groped the sly,
- persistent suspicion that he had not been altogether responsible for the
- sensations of an hour ago. Some outside influence had moulded his
- emotions, some cunning brain had been doing his thinking for him!
- </p>
- <p>
- Then came the sharp recollection of that motionless, commanding figure in
- the lighted window, and his own puzzling behaviour on the side-walk
- outside. He recalled his impression that someone has called out to him
- just before he turned to look up at the window. It was all quite
- preposterous, he kept on saying over and over again to himself, and yet he
- could not shake off the uncanny feeling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a shot there flashed into his brain the startling question: was
- Ranjab the solution? Was it Ranjab's mind and not his own that had moved
- him to such tender resolves? Could such a condition be possible? Was there
- such a thing as mind control?
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed aloud, and was startled by the sound of his own voice. The idea
- was preposterous! Such a thing could not have been possible. They were his
- own thoughts, his own emotions, coming from his own brain, his own heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour later Frederic approached the box-office of the theatre mentioned
- by Yvonne over the telephone that morning. The play was half over and the
- house was sold out. He bought a ticket of admission, however, and lined up
- with others who were content to stand at the back to witness the play.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had walked past the theatre three or four times before finally making
- up his mind to enter, and even then his intentions were not quite clear.
- He only knew that he was consciously committing an act that he was ashamed
- of, an act so inexcusable that his face burned as he thought of the
- struggle he had had with himself up to the moment he stood at the
- box-office window.
- </p>
- <p>
- Inside the theatre he leaned weakly against the railing at the back of the
- auditorium and wiped his brow. What was it that had dragged him there
- against his will, in direct opposition to his dogged determination to shun
- the place? The curtain was up, the house was still, save for the
- occasional coughing of those who succumb to a habit that can neither be
- helped nor explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were people moving on the stage, but Frederic had no eyes for them.
- He was seeking in the darkness for the two figures that he knew were
- somewhere in the big, tense throng.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hundreds of backs confronted him, no faces. A sensation not far removed
- from stealth took possession of him. His searching eyes were furtive in
- their quest. If he had been lonely before, he was doubly so now. The very
- presence of the multitude filled him with a sickening sense of emptiness.
- He was friendless there, with all those contented backs for company. Not
- one among them all had a thought for him, not one turned so much as an
- inch from the engrossing scene that held them in its grip. Straight,
- immovable, unresponsive backs—nothing but backs!
- </p>
- <p>
- Again he asked of himself, why was he there? And he pitied himself so
- vastly that his throat contracted as with pain. His soul sickened. The
- truth was being revealed to him as he stood there and with aching eyes
- searched throughout the serried rows of backs. It came home to him all of
- a sudden that his quest was a gleaming white back and a small, exquisitely
- poised head crowned with black.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a sharp execration, a word of disgust for himself, he tore himself
- away from the railing and rushed toward the doors. At the same instant a
- tremendous burst of applause filled the house and he whirled just in time
- to see the curtain descending. Curiously interested, he paused near the
- door, his gaze fixed on the great velvet wall that rose and fell at least
- a half-dozen times in response to the clamour of the delighted crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- The backs all at once seemed to become animated and friendly. He drew near
- the last row of seats again and stared at the actor and the actress who
- came out to take the “curtain-call”—stared as if at something he had
- never seen before.
- </p>
- <p>
- And they had been up there all the time, developing the splendid climax
- that had drawn people out of their seats, that had put life into all those
- insufferable backs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lights went up and the house was bright. Men began scurrying up the
- aisles. Here and there broad, black backs rose up in the centre of
- sections and moved tortuously toward the aisles. Pretty soon, when the
- theatre was dark again and the curtain up, they would return, politely
- hiss something about being sorry or “Don't get up, please,” and even more
- tortuously move into their places, completing once more the sullen,
- arrogant row of backs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic experienced a sudden shock of dismay. It was not at all unlikely
- that his father would be among those heading for the lobby, although the
- chance was remote. His father was the peculiar type of gentleman, now
- almost extinct, that subsists without fresh air quite as long as the lady
- who sits in the seat beside him. He was a bit old-fashioned for a New
- Yorker, no doubt, but he was rather distinguished for his good manners. In
- fact, he was almost unique. He would not leave Yvonne between the acts,
- Frederic was quite sure. In spite of this, the young man discreetly hid
- himself behind two stalwart figures and watched the aisles with alert,
- shifty eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently the exodus was over and the danger past. He moved up to the
- railing again and resumed his eager scrutiny of the throng. He could not
- find them. At first he was conscious of disappointment, then he gave way
- to an absurd rage. Yvonne had misled him, she had deceived him—aye,
- she had <i>lied</i> to him. They were not in the audience, they had not
- even contemplated coming to this theatre. He had been tricked,
- deliberately tricked.
- </p>
- <p>
- No doubt they were seated in some other place of amusement, serenely
- enjoying themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought of it maddened him. And then, just as he was on the point of
- tearing out of the house, he saw them, and the blood rushed to his head so
- violently that he was almost blinded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught sight of his father far down in front, and then the dark,
- half-obscured head of Yvonne. He could not see their faces, but there was
- no mistaking them for anyone else. He only marvelled that he had not seen
- them before, even in the semi-darkness. They now appeared to be the only
- people in the theatre; he could see no one else.
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood's fine, aristocratic head was turned slightly toward his wife,
- who, as Frederic observed after changing his position to one of better
- advantage, apparently was relating something amusing to him. They
- undoubtedly were enjoying themselves. Once more the great, almost
- suffocating wave of tenderness for his father swept over him, mysteriously
- as before and as convincing. He experienced a sudden, inexplicable feeling
- of pity for the strong, virile man who had never revealed the slightest
- symptoms of pity for him. The same curious desire to put his hands on his
- father's shoulders and tell him that all was well with them came over him
- again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Involuntarily he glanced over his shoulder, and the fear was in his heart
- that somewhere in the shifting throng his gaze would light upon the face
- of Ranjab.
- </p>
- <p>
- Long and intently his searching gaze went through the crowd, seeking the
- remote corners and shadows of the foyer, and a deep breath of relief
- escaped him when it became evident that the Hindu was not there. He had,
- in a measure, proved his own cause; his emotions were genuinely his own
- and not the outgrowth of an influence for good exercised over him by the
- Brahmin.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began what he was pleased to term a systematic analysis of his emotions
- covering the entire evening, all the while regarding the couple in the
- orchestra chairs with a gaze unswerving in its fidelity to the sensation
- that now controlled him—a sensation of impending peril.
- </p>
- <p>
- All at once he slunk farther back into the shadow, a guilty flush mounting
- to his cheek. Yvonne had turned and was staring rather fixedly in his
- direction. Despite the knowledge that he was quite completely concealed by
- the intervening group of loungers, he sustained a distinct shock. He had
- the uncanny feeling that she was looking directly into his eyes. She had
- turned abruptly, as if someone had called out to attract her attention and
- she had obeyed the sudden impulse. A moment later her calmly impersonal
- gaze swept on, taking the sections to her right and the balcony, and then
- went back to her husband's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic was many minutes in recovering from the effects of the queer
- shock he had received. He could not get it out of his head that she knew
- he was there, that she actually turned in answer to the call of his mind.
- She had not searched for him; on the contrary, she directed her gaze
- instantly to the spot where he stood concealed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Actuated by a certain sense of guilt, he decided to leave the theatre as
- soon as the curtain went up on the next act, which was to be the last.
- Instead of doing so, however, he lingered to the end of the play, secure
- in his conscienceless espionage. It had come to him that if he met them in
- front of the theatre as they came out he could invite them to join him at
- supper in one of the near-by restaurants. The idea pleased him. He coddled
- it until it became a sensation.
- </p>
- <p>
- When James Brood and his wife reached the side-walk they found him there,
- directly in their path as they wedged their way to the curb to await the
- automobile. He was smiling frankly, wistfully. There was an honest
- gladness in his fine, boyish face and an eager light in his eyes. He no
- longer had the sense of guilt in his soul. It had been a passing qualm,
- and he felt regenerated for having experienced it, even so briefly.
- Somehow it had purged his soul of the one longing doubt as to the
- sincerity of his impulses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello!” he said, planting himself squarely in front of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a momentary tableau. He was vividly aware of the fact that
- Yvonne had shrunk back in alarm and that a swift look of fear leaped into
- her surprised eyes. She drew closer to Brood's side—or was it the
- jostling of the crowd that made it seem to be so? He realised then that
- she had not seen him in the theatre. Her surprise was genuine. It was not
- much short of consternation, a fact that he realised with a sudden sinking
- of the heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then his eyes went quickly to his father's face. James Brood was regarding
- him with a cold, significant smile, as one who understands and despises.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They told me you were here,” faltered Frederic, the words rushing
- hurriedly through his lips, “and I thought we might run in somewhere and
- have a bite to eat. I—I want to tell you about Lydia and myself and
- what———”
- </p>
- <p>
- The carriage-man bawled a number in his ear and jerked open the door of a
- limousine that had pulled up to the curb.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a word James Brood handed his wife into the car and then turned to
- the chauffeur.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Home,” he said, and, without so much as a glance at Frederic, stepped
- inside. The door was slammed and the car slid out into the maelstrom.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne had sunk back into a corner, huddled down as if suddenly deprived
- of all her strength. Frederic saw her face as the car moved away. She was
- staring at him with wide-open, reproachful eyes, as if to say: “Oh, what
- have you done? What a fool you are!”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a second or two he stood as if
- petrified, then everything turned red before him, a wicked red that
- blinded him. He staggered, as if from a blow in the face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” slipped from his stiff lips, and tears leaped to his eyes—tears
- of supreme mortification. Like a beaten dog he slunk away, feeling himself
- pierced by the pitying gaze of every mortal in the street.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ong past midnight
- the telephone in the Desmond apartment rang sharply, insistently. Lydia,
- who had just fallen asleep, awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in her
- bed. A clammy perspiration broke out all over her body. There in the
- darkness she shivered with a dread so desolating that every vestige of
- strength forsook her and she could only stare helplessly into the black
- pall that surrounded her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Never before in all her life had she been aroused from sleep by the
- jangling of a telephone-bell. The sound struck terror to her heart. She
- knew that something terrible had happened. She knew there had been a
- catastrophe.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat there chattering until she heard her mother's door open and then
- the click of the receiver as it was lifted from the hook. Then she put her
- fingers to her ears and closed her eyes. The very worst had happened; she
- was sure of it. The blow had fallen. The one thought that seared her brain
- was that she had failed him, failed him miserably in the crisis. Oh, if
- she could only reclaim that lost hour of indecision and cowardice!
- </p>
- <p>
- The light in the hallway suddenly smote her in the face, and she realised
- for the first time that her eyes were tightly closed, as if to shut out
- some abhorrent sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lydia!” Her mother was standing in the open door. “Oh, you are awake?”
- Mrs Desmond stared in amazement at the girl's figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, mother? Tell me what has happened? Is he————”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wants to speak to you. He is on the wire. His voice sounds queer——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl sprang out of bed and hurried to the telephone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't go away, mother—stay here,” she cried as she sped past the
- white-clad figure in the doorway. Mrs Desmond flattened herself against
- the wall and remained there as motionless as a statue, her sombre gaze
- fixed on her daughter's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Frederic, it is I, Lydia. What is it, dear?” Her voice was high and
- thin.
- </p>
- <p>
- His words came jerking over the wire, sharp and querulous. She closed her
- eyes in anticipation of the blow, her body rigid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry to disturb you,” he was saying, “but I just had to call you
- up.” The words were disjointed, as if he forced them from his lips in a
- supreme effort at coherency.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes—it's all right. I don't mind. You did right. What is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to release me from my promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Release you? Oh, Freddy!” It was a wail that issued from her lips. Her
- body sagged limply, she steadied herself by leaning against the wall for
- support.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've got to, Lydia. There's no other way. Something has happened
- to-night, dear. You've got to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has he—has he———” Her throat closed up as if
- gripped by a strong hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry to drag you out of bed to tell you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy, Freddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To tell you that I must withdraw my promise, even if you refuse to
- release me. Oh, I'm not excited, I'm not crazy, I'm not drunk! I never was
- so steady in my life. To-night has made a man of me. I know just where I
- stand at last. Now go back to bed, dearest, and don't worry about
- anything. I couldn't go ahead until I'd asked you to release me from the
- promise I made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean—the promise—but, Freddy, I can't release you. I love
- you. I <i>will</i> be your wife, no matter what has happened, no matter———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Lord, Lyddy—it isn't that! It's the other—the promise to
- say nothing to my father———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” she sighed weakly, a vast wave of relief almost suffocating her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has made it impossible for me to go on without———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you, Frederic?” she cried in sudden alarm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm all right. I shan't go home, you may be sure of that. To-morrow
- will be time enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you? I must know. How can I reach you by telephone—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't be frightened, dear. It's got to be, that's all. It might as well
- be ended now as later on. The last straw was laid on to-night. Now don't
- ask questions. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. I've—I've
- told you that I can't stick to my promise. You'll understand. I couldn't
- rest until I'd told you and heard your dear voice. Forgive me for calling
- you up. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good night!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Freddy, listen to me! You must wait until I——— Oh!” He
- had hung up the receiver. She heard the whir of the open wire.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was little comfort for her in the hope held out by her mother as
- they sat far into the night and discussed the possibilities of the day so
- near at hand. She could see nothing but disaster, and she could think of
- nothing but her own lamentable weakness in shrinking from the encounter
- that might have made the present situation impossible. Between them mother
- and daughter constructed at random a dozen theories as to the nature of
- the fresh complication that had entered into the already serious
- situation, and always it was Lydia who advanced the most sickening of
- conjectures.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nor was it an easy matter for Mrs Desmond to combat these fears. In her
- heart she felt that an irreparable break had occurred and that the final
- clash was imminent. She tried to make light of the situation, however,
- prophesying a calmer attitude for Frederic after he had slept over his
- grievance, which, after all, she argued was doubtless exaggerated.
- </p>
- <p>
- She promised to go with Lydia to see James Brood in the morning, and to
- plead with him to be merciful to the boy she was to marry, no matter what
- transpired. The girl at first insisted on going over to see him that
- night, notwithstanding the hour, and was dissuaded only after the most
- earnest opposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was four o'clock before they went back to bed, and long after five
- before either closed her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond, utterly exhausted, was the first to awake. She glanced at the
- little clock on her dressing-table and gave a great start of
- consternation. It was long past nine o'clock. She arose at once and
- hurried to her daughter's door, half expecting to find the room empty and
- the girl missing from the apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Lydia was lying there sound asleep. Mrs Desmond's lips parted to give
- voice to a gentle call, but it was never uttered. A feeling of infinite
- pity for the tired, harassed girl came over her. For a long time she stood
- there watching the gentle rise and fall of the sleeper's breast. Then she
- closed the door softly and stole back to her own room, inspired by a
- sudden resolve.
- </p>
- <p>
- While she was dressing the little maid-servant brought in her coffee and
- toast and received instructions not to awaken Miss Lydia but to let her
- have her sleep out. A few minutes later she left the apartment and walked
- briskly around the corner to Brood's home.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had resolved to take the matter out of her daughter's hands. As she
- stood at the bedroom door watching Lydia's sweet, troubled face, there
- arose within her the mother instinct to fight for her young. It was not
- unlikely that James Brood could be moved by Lydia's pleading, in spite of
- his declaration that Frederic should never marry her, but the mother
- recognised the falseness of a position gained by such means.
- </p>
- <p>
- Over Lydia's head would hang the perpetual reminder that he had submitted
- out of consideration for her, and not through fairness or justice to
- Frederic; all the rest of her life she would be made to feel that he
- tolerated Frederic for her sake. The girl would never know a moment in
- which she could be free from that ugly sense of obligation. God willing,
- Frederic would be her daughter's husband. Lydia might spare him the blow
- that James Brood could deal, but all of her life would be spent in
- contemplation of that one bitter hour in which she went on her knees to
- beg for mercy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The mother saw all this with a foresightedness that stripped the situation
- of every vestige of romance. Lydia might rejoice at the outset, but there
- would surely come a time of heartache for her. It would come with the full
- realisation that James Brood's pity was hard to bear.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fearing that she might be too late, she walked so rapidly that she was
- quite out of breath when she entered the house. Mr Riggs and Mr Dawes were
- putting on their coats in the hall preparatory to their short morning
- constitutional. They greeted her profusely, and with one accord proceeded
- to divest themselves of the coats, announcing in one voice their intention
- to remain for a good, old-fashioned chat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's dear of you,” she said hurriedly, “but I must see Mr Brood at once.
- Why not come over to my apartment this afternoon for a cup of tea and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood's voice interrupted her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you want, Mrs Desmond?” came from the landing above.
- </p>
- <p>
- The visitor looked up with a start, not so much of surprise as uneasiness.
- There was something sharp, unfriendly, in the low, level tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne, fully dressed—a most unusual circumstance at that hour of
- the day—was leaning over the banister-rail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came to see Mr Brood on a very important—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is occupied. Won't I do as well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is really quite serious, Mrs Brood. I am afraid it would be of no
- avail to—to take it up with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you been sent here by someone else?” demanded Mrs Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not seen Frederic,” fell from the other's lips before she thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you haven't,” said the other with ominous clearness. “He has
- been here since seven this morning, waiting for a chance to speak to his
- father in private.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heaven help me! I—I am too———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless he spent the night in your apartment, I fancy you haven't seen
- him,” went on Yvonne languidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was descending the stairs slowly, almost lazily as she uttered the
- remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are together now?” gasped Mrs Desmond.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you come into the library? Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you may
- enjoy your long walk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond followed her into the library. Yvonne closed the door almost
- in the face of Mr Riggs, who had opened his mouth to accept the invitation
- to tea, but who said he'd “be blasted” instead, so narrow was his escape
- from having his nose banged. He emphasised the declaration by shaking his
- fist at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two women faced each other. For the first time since she had known
- Yvonne Brood, Mrs Desmond observed a high touch of colour in her cheeks.
- Her beautiful eyes were alive with an excitement she could not conceal.
- Neither spoke for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are accountable for this, Mrs Brood,” said Lydia Desmond's mother
- sternly, accusingly. She expected a storm of indignant protest. Instead,
- Yvonne smiled slightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will not hurt my husband to discover that Frederic is a man and not a
- milksop,” she said, but despite her coolness there was a perceptible note
- of anxiety in her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, then, that they are—that they will quarrel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy it was in Frederic's mind to do so when he came here this
- morning. He was still in his evening clothes, Mrs Desmond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are they now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think he has them on,” said Yvonne lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond regarded her for a moment in perplexity. Then her eyes flashed
- dangerously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think you misunderstood me, Mrs Brood. Where are Frederic and
- his father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not accustomed to that tone of voice, Mrs Desmond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am no longer your housekeeper,” said the other succinctly. “You do not
- realise what this quarrel may mean. I insist on going up to them before it
- has gone too far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My husband can take care of himself, thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not thinking of your husband, but of that poor boy who is———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if I am to judge by Frederic's manner this morning, he is also able
- to take care of himself,” said Yvonne coolly. Her voice shook a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond shot a quick glance of comprehension at the speaker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are worried, Mrs Brood. Your manner betrays you. I command you to
- tell me how long they have been upstairs together. How long———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you be so good, Mrs Desmond, as to leave this house instantly?”
- cried Yvonne angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the other quietly. “I suppose I am too late to prevent trouble
- between those two men, but I shall at least remain here to assure Frederic
- of my sympathy, to help him if I can, to offer him the shelter of my
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really believe it will come to that?” she demanded nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If what I fear should come to pass, he will not stay in this house
- another hour. He will go forth from it cursing James Brood with all the
- hatred that his soul can possess. And now, Mrs Brood, shall I tell you
- what I think of you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. It isn't at all necessary. Besides, I've changed my mind. I'd like
- you to remain. I do not want to mystify you any farther, Mrs Desmond, but
- I now confess to you that I am losing my courage. Don't ask me to tell you
- why, but———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it is the custom with those who play with fire. They shrink
- when it burns them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood looked at her steadily. The rebellious, sullen expression died
- out of her eyes. She sighed deeply, almost despairingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry you think ill of me, but yet I cannot blame you for
- considering me to be a—a——— I'll not say it. Mrs
- Desmond, I—I wish I had never come to this house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Permit me to echo your words.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will never be able to understand me. And, after all, why should I
- care? You are nothing to me. You are merely a good woman who has no real
- object in life. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No real object in life?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Precisely. Sit down. We will wait here together, if you please. I—I
- <i>am</i> worried. I think I rather like to feel that you are here with
- me. You see, the crisis has come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know, of course, that he turned one wife out of this house, Mrs
- Brood,” said Mrs Desmond deliberately.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something like terror leaped into the other's eyes. The watcher
- experienced an incomprehensible feeling of pity for her—she who had
- been despising her so fiercely the instant before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He—he will not turn me out,” murmured Yvonne, and suddenly began
- pacing the floor, her hands clenched. Stopping abruptly in front of the
- other woman, she exclaimed: “He made a great mistake in driving that other
- woman out. He is not likely to repeat it, Mrs Desmond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—I think he <i>did</i> make a mistake,” said Mrs Desmond calmly.
- “But he does not think so. He is a man of iron. He is unbending.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a wonderful man—a great, splendid man,” cried Yvonne
- fiercely. “It is I—Yvonne Lestrange—who proclaim it to the
- world. I cannot bear to see him suffer. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, why do you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you would say it, eh? Well, there is no answer. Poof! Perhaps it will
- not be so bad as we think. Come! I am no longer uneasy. See! I am very
- calm. Am I not an example for you? Sit down. We will wait together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat far apart, each filled with dark misgivings, though radically
- opposed in their manner of treating the situation. Mrs Desmond was cold
- with apprehension. She sat immovable, tense. Yvonne sank back easily in a
- deep, comfortable chair and coolly lighted a cigarette. It would have been
- remarked by a keen observer that her failure to offer one to her visitor
- was evidence of an unwonted abstraction. As a matter of fact, inwardly she
- was trembling like a leaf.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose there is nothing to do,” said Mrs Desmond in despair, after a
- long silence. “Poor Lydia will never forgive herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you think I am an evil person, Mrs Desmond.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Curiously, Mrs Brood, I have never thought of you in that light. Your
- transgressions are the greater for that reason.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Transgressions? An amiable word, believe me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not come here, however, to discuss your actions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne leaned forward suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not ask what transpired last night to bring about this crisis. Why
- do you hesitate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond shook her head slowly. “I do not want to know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it was not what you have been thinking it was,” said Yvonne
- levelly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am relieved to hear it,” said the other rather grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood flushed to the roots of her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not want to appear unfair to my husband, but I declare to you, Mrs
- Desmond, that Frederic is fully justified in the attitude he has taken
- this morning. His father humiliated him last night in a manner that made
- forbearance impossible. That much I must say for Frederic. And permit me
- to add, from my soul, that he is vastly more sinned against than sinning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can readily believe that, Mrs Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This morning Frederic came into the breakfast-room while we were having
- our coffee. You look surprised. Yes, I was having breakfast with my
- husband. I knew that Frederic would come. That was my reason. When I heard
- him in the hall I sent the servants out of the dining-room. He had spent
- the night with a friend. His first words on entering the room were these—I
- shall never forget them: 'Last night I thought I loved you, father, but I
- have come home just to tell you that I hate you. I can't stay in this
- house another day. I'm going to get out. But I just wanted you to know
- that I thought I loved you last night, as a son should love his father. I
- just wanted you to know it.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “He did not even look at me, Mrs Desmond. I don't believe he knew I was
- there. I shall never forget the look in James Brood's face. It was as if
- he saw a ghost or some horrible thing that fascinated him. He did not
- utter a word, but stared at Frederic in that terrible, awe-struck way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I'm going to get out,' said Frederic, his voice rising. 'You've treated
- me like a dog all of my life, and I'm through. I shan't even say good-bye
- to you. You don't deserve any more consideration from me than I've
- received from you. I hope I'll never see you again. If I ever have a son
- I'll not treat him as you've treated your son. You don't deserve the
- honour of being called father; you don't deserve to have a son. I wish to
- God I had never been obliged to call you father! I don't know what you did
- to my mother, but if you treated her as———'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just then my husband found his voice. He sprang to his feet, and I've
- never seen such a look of rage. I thought he was going to strike Frederic,
- and I think I screamed—just a little scream, of course. I was so
- terrified. But he only said—and it was horrible the way he said
- it—'You fool—you bastard!' And Frederic laughed in his face and cried out,
- unafraid: 'I'm glad you call me a bastard! I'd rather be one than be your
- son. It would at least give me something to be proud of—a real father!'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heaven!” fell from Mrs Desmond's white lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne seemed to have paused to catch her breath. Her breast heaved
- convulsively, the grip of her hands tightened on the arms of the chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she resumed her recital, but her voice was hoarse and tremulous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was terribly frightened. I thought of calling out to Jones, but I—I
- had no voice! Ah, you have never seen two angry men waiting to spring at
- each other's throats, Mrs Desmond. My husband suddenly regained control of
- himself. He was very calm. 'Come with me,' he said to Frederic. 'This is
- not the place to wash our filthy family linen. You say you want something
- to be proud of. Well, you shall have your wish. Come to my study.' And
- they went away together, neither speaking a word to me—they did not
- even glance in my direction. They went up the stairs. I heard the door
- close behind them—away up there. That was half an hour ago. I have
- been waiting, too—waiting as you are waiting now—to comfort
- Frederic when he comes out of that room a wreck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond started up, an incredulous look in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are taking his side? You are against your husband? Oh, now I know the
- kind of woman you are. I know———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Peace! You do not know the kind of woman I am. You will never know. Yes,
- I shall take sides with Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not love your husband!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A strange, unfathomable smile came into Yvonne's face and stayed there.
- Mrs Desmond experienced the same odd feeling she had had years ago on
- first seeing the Sphinx. She was suddenly confronted by an unsolvable
- mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He shall not drive me out of his house, Mrs Desmond,” was her answer to
- the challenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- A door slammed in the upper regions of the house. Both women started to
- their feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is over,” breathed Yvonne with a tremulous sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall see how well they were able to take care of themselves, Mrs
- Brood,” said Mrs Desmond in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall see—yes,” said the other mechanically. Suddenly she turned
- on the tall, accusing figure beside her. “Go away! Go now! I command you
- to go. This is <i>our</i> affair, Mrs Desmond. You are not needed here.
- You were too late, as you say. I beg of you, go!” She strode swiftly
- toward the door. As she was about to place her hand on the knob it was
- opened from the other side, and Ranjab stood before them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sahib</i> begs to be excused, Mrs Desmond. He is just going out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had shrunk back into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, <i>sahibah</i>. You will please excuse, Mrs Desmond. He regret very
- much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Desmond passed slowly through the door, which he held open for her. As
- she passed by the Hindu she looked full into his dark, expressive eyes,
- and there was a question in hers. He did not speak, but she read the
- answer as if it were on a printed page. Her shoulders drooped.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went back to Lydia.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen James Brood
- and Frederic left the dining-room, nearly an hour prior to the departure of
- Mrs Desmond, there was in the mind of each the resolution to make short
- work of the coming interview. Each knew that the time had arrived for the
- parting of the ways, and neither had the least desire to prolong the
- suspense.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic, far from suspecting the ordeal in store for him, experienced a
- curious sense of exaltation as he followed the master of the house up the
- stairway. He was about to declare his freedom; the very thought of it
- thrilled him. He had at last found the courage to revolt, and there was
- cause for rejoicing in the prospect of a lively triumph over what he was
- pleased to call oppression.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would not mince matters! Oh, no; he would come straight to the point.
- There wasn't any sense in temporising. There were years of pent-up
- grievances that he could fling at his father, but he would crystallise
- them into a few withering minutes and have done with the business. He knew
- he was as pale as a ghost and his legs were strangely weak, but he was not
- cognisant of the slightest sensation of fear, nor the least inclination to
- shrink from the consequences of that brief, original challenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- The study door was closed. James Brood put his hand on the knob, but
- before turning it faced the young man with an odd mixture of anger and
- pity in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it will be better if we had nothing more to say to each other,”
- he said with an effort.
- “I have changed my mind. I cannot say the thing to you that I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has it got anything to do with Yvonne and me?” demanded Frederic
- ruthlessly, jumping at conclusions in his new-found arrogance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood threw open the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Step inside,” he said in a voice that should have warned the younger man,
- it was so prophetic of disaster. Frederic had touched the open sore with
- that unhappy question. Not until this instant had James Brood admitted to
- himself that there was a sore and that it had been festering all these
- weeks. Now it was laid bare and it smarted with pain. Nothing could save
- Frederic after that reckless, deliberate thrust at the very core of the
- malignant growth that lay so near the surface.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had been in James Brood's heart to spare the boy. An unaccountable wave
- of compassion had swept through him as he mounted the stairs, leading his
- victim to the sacrifice. He would have allowed him to go his way in
- ignorance of the evil truth; he would have spared the son of Matilde and
- been happier, far happier, he knew, for having done so. He would have let
- him fare forth, as he elected to go, rejoicing in his foolish
- independence, scorning to the end of his days, perhaps, the man who posed
- as father to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Frederic had touched the hateful sore. His chance was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hot words were on Frederic's lips. Brood held up his hand, and there was
- in the gesture a command that silenced the young man. He was somewhat
- shocked to find that he still recognised the other's right to command. The
- older man went quickly to the door of the Hindu's closet. He rapped on the
- panel, and in an instant the door was opened. Ranjab stepped out and
- quickly closed the door behind him. A few words, spoken in lowered tones
- and in the language of the East, passed between master and man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic turned his back to them. Moved by a sudden impulse, he strode to
- the window and pulled the curtains apart. A swift glance upward showed him
- the drawn shades in Lydia's bedroom windows. Somehow he was glad that she
- was asleep. An impulse as strong as the other ordered him to shift his
- glance downward to the little balcony outside of Yvonne's windows. Then he
- heard the door close softly behind him and turned to face his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were alone in the room. He squared his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you think I am in love with her,” he said defiantly. He waited
- a moment for the response that did not come. Brood was regarding him with
- eyes from which every spark of compassion had disappeared. “Well, it may
- interest you to know that I intend to marry Lydia this very day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood advanced a few steps toward him. In the subdued light of the room
- his features were not clearly distinguishable. His face was gray and
- shadowy; only the eyes were sharply defined. They glowed like points of
- light, unflickering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be sorry for Lydia,” he said levelly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't be,” said Frederic hotly. “She understands everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were born to be dishonest in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean by that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my purpose to tell you precisely what I mean. Lydia understands far
- more than you think. If she marries you it will be with her eyes open; she
- will have no one to blame but herself for the mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I haven't tried to deceive her as to my prospects. She knows how poor
- we will be at the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does she know that this love you profess for her is at the very outset
- disloyal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic was silent for a moment. A twinge shot through his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She understands everything,” he repeated stubbornly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you lied to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lied? You'd better be careful how you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you told her that you love her and no one else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you <i>have</i> lied to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence—tense silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you expect me to strike you for that?” came at last from Frederic's
- lips, low and menacing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have always considered yourself to be my son, haven't you?” pursued
- Brood deliberately. “Can you say to me that you have behaved of late as a
- son should———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! We'll settle that point right now. I <i>did</i> lose my head. Head,
- I say, not heart. I shan't attempt to explain—I can't, for that
- matter. As for Yvonne—well, she's as good as gold. She understands
- me far better than I understand myself. She knows that even honest men
- lose their heads sometimes—and she knows the difference between love
- and—the other thing. I can say to you now that I would sooner have
- cut my own throat than do more than envy you the possession of someone you
- do not deserve. I <i>have</i> considered myself your son. I have no
- apology to make for my—we'll call it infatuation. I shall only admit
- that it has existed and that I have despaired. So God is my witness, I
- have never loved anyone but Lydia. I have given her pain, and the amazing
- part of it is that I can't help myself. Naturally, you can't understand
- what it all means. You are not a young man any longer. You cannot
- understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God!” burst from Brood's lips. Then he laughed aloud—grotesquely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne is the most wonderful thing that has ever come into my life. She
- has shown me that life is beautiful and rich and full of warmth. I had
- always thought it ugly and cold. Something inside of me awoke the instant
- I looked into her eyes—something that had always been there, and yet
- undeveloped. She spoke to me with her eyes, if you can believe such a
- thing possible, and I understood. I adored her the instant I saw her. I
- have felt sometimes that I knew her a thousand years ago. I have felt that
- I loved her a thousand years ago.” A calm seriousness now attended his
- speech, in direct contrast to the violent mood that had gone before. “I
- have thought of little else but her. I confess it to you. But through it
- all there has never been an instant in which I did not worship Lydia
- Desmond. I—I do not pretend to account for it. It is beyond me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood waited patiently to the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your mother before you had a somewhat similar affliction,” he said, still
- in the steady, repressed voice. “Perhaps it is a gift—a convenient
- gift—this ability to worship without effort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better leave my mother out of it,” said Frederic sarcastically. A look of
- wonder leaped to his eyes. “That's the first time you've condescended to
- acknowledge that I ever had a mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall soon make you regret that you were ever so blessed as to have had
- one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've always made it easy for me to regret that I ever had a father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's smile was deadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you have anything more to say to me, you had better get it over. Purge
- your soul of all the gall that embitters it. I grant you that privilege.
- Take your innings.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A spasm of pain crossed Frederic's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am entitled to my innings. I'll go back to what I said downstairs.
- I thought I loved and honoured you last night. I would have forgiven
- everything if you had granted me a friendly—friendly, that's all—just
- a friendly word. You denied———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you want me to believe that it was love for me that brought you
- slinking to the theatre,” said the other ironically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't expect you to believe anything. I was lonely. I wanted to be with
- you and Yvonne. Curse you! Can't you understand how lonely I've been all
- my life? Can't you understand how hungry I am for the affection that every
- other boy I've known has had from his parents? I've never asked you about
- my mother. I used to wonder a good deal. Every other boy had a mother. I
- never had one. I couldn't understand it. And they all had fathers, but
- they were not like my father. Their fathers were kind and loving, they
- were interested in everything their sons did—good or bad. I used to
- love the fathers of all those other lucky boys at school. They came often—and
- so did the mothers. No one ever came to see me—no one!
- </p>
- <p>
- “I used to wonder why you never told me of my own mother. Long ago I gave
- up wondering. Something warned me not to ask you about her. Something told
- me it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. I never inquired of anyone after
- I was old enough to think for myself. I was afraid to ask, so I waited,
- hoping all the time that you would some day tell me of her. But you've
- never breathed her name to me. I no longer wonder. I know now that she
- must have hated you with all the strength of her soul. God, how she must
- have hated to feel the touch of your hands upon her body! Something tells
- me she left you, and if she did, I hope she afterward found someone who—but
- no, I won't say it. Even now I haven't the heart to hurt you by saying
- that.” He stopped, choking up with the rush of bitter words. “Well, why
- don't you say something?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm giving you your innings. Go on,” said Brood softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She must have loved you once—or she wouldn't have married you. She
- must have loved you or I wouldn't be here in this world. She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha!” came sharply from Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “—didn't find you out until it was
- too late. She was lovely, I know. She was sweet and gentle and she loved
- happiness. I can see that in her face, in her big, wistful eyes. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's this?” demanded Brood, startled. “What are you saying?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I've got her portrait—an old photograph. For a month I've
- carried it here in this pocket-case over my heart. I wouldn't part
- with it for all the money in the world. When I look at the dear, sweet,
- girlish face and her eyes look back into mine, I know that <i>she</i>
- loved me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her portrait?” said Brood, unbelieving.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—and I have only to look at it to know that she couldn't have
- hurt you—so it must have been the other way round. She's dead now, I
- know, but she didn't die for years after I was born. Why was it that I
- never saw her? Why was I kept up there in that damnable village———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where did you get that photograph?” demanded Brood hoarsely. “Where, I
- say? What interfering fool———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't be too nasty, if I were you,” said Frederic, a note of triumph
- in his voice. “Yvonne gave it to me. I made her promise to say nothing to
- you about it. She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne? Are you——— Impossible! She could not have had———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was lying under the marble top of that old bureau in her bedroom. She
- found it there when the men came to take it away to storage. It hadn't
- been moved in twenty years or more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In—her—bedroom?” murmured Brood, passing his hand over his
- eyes. “The old bureau—marble top—good Lord! It was our
- bedroom. Let me see it—give it to me this instant!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't do that. It's mine now. It's safe where it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne found it? Yvonne? And gave it to you? What damnable trick of fate
- is this? But——— Ah, it may not be a portrait of your—your
- mother. Some old photograph that got stuck under the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; it is my mother. Yvonne saw the resemblance at once and brought it to
- me. And it may interest you to know that she advised me to treasure it all
- my life, because it would always tell me how lovely and sweet my mother
- was—the mother I have never seen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I insist on seeing that picture,” said Brood with deadly intensity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Frederic, folding his arms tightly across his breast. “You
- didn't deserve her then and you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know what you are saying, boy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, don't I? Well, I've got just a little bit of my mother safe here over
- my heart—a little faded card, that's all—and you shall not rob
- me of that. I wish to God I had her here, just as she was when she had the
- picture taken. Don't glare at me like that. I don't intend to give it up.
- Last night I was sorry for you. I had the feeling that somehow you have
- always been unhappy over something that happened in the past, and that my
- mother was responsible. And yet when I took out this photograph, this tiny
- bit of old cardboard—see, it is so small that it can be carried in
- my waistcoat pocket—when I took it out and looked at the pure,
- lovely face, I—by Heaven, I knew she was not to blame!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you finished?” asked Brood, wiping his brow. It was dripping.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Except to repeat that I am through with you for ever. I've had all that I
- can endure, and I'm through. My greatest regret is that I didn't get out
- long ago. But like a fool—a weak fool—I kept on hoping that
- you'd change and that there were better days ahead for me. I kept on
- hoping that you'd be a real father to me. Good Lord, what a libel on the
- name!” He laughed raucously. “I'm sick of calling you father. You did me
- the honour downstairs of calling me 'bastard.' You had no right to call me
- that; but, by Heaven, if it were not for this bit of cardboard here over
- my heart, I'd laugh in your face and be happy to shout from the housetops
- that I am no son of yours. But there's no such luck as that! I've only to
- look at my mother's innocent, soulful face to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop!” shouted Brood in an awful voice. His clenched hands were raised
- above his head. “The time has come for me to tell you the truth about this
- innocent mother of yours. Luck is with you. I am not your father. You are———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! If you are going to tell me that my mother was not a good woman, I
- want to go on record in advance of anything you may say, as being glad
- that I am her son no matter who my father was. I am glad that she loved me
- because I was her child, and if you are not my father, then I still have
- the joy of knowing that she loved some one man well enough to———”
- He broke off the bitter sentence and with nervous fingers drew a small
- leather case from his waistcoat pocket. “Before you go any farther, take
- one look at her face. It will make you ashamed of yourself. Can you stand
- there and lie about her after looking into———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was holding the window curtains apart, and a stream of light fell upon
- the lovely face, so small that Brood was obliged to come quite close to be
- able to see it. His eyes were distended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not Matilde—it is like her, but—yes, yes; it is
- Matilde! I must be losing my mind to have thought———” He
- wiped his brow. “But it was startling—positively uncanny.” He spoke
- as to himself, apparently forgetting that he had a listener.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, can you lie about her now?” demanded Frederic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was still staring, as if fascinated, at the tiny photograph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have never seen that picture before. She never had one so small as
- that. It———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was made in Vienna,” interrupted Frederic, not without a strange
- thrill of satisfaction in his soul, “and before you were married, I'd say.
- On the back of it is written 'To my own sweetheart,' in Hungarian, Yvonne
- says. There! Look at her. She was like that when you married her. How
- adorable she must have been. 'To my own sweetheart'! O—ho!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A hoarse cry of rage and pain burst from Brood's lips. The world grew red
- before his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'To my own sweetheart'!” he cried out. He sprang forward and struck the
- photograph from Frederic's hand. It fell to the floor at his feet. Before
- the young man could recover from his surprise, Brood's foot was upon the
- bit of cardboard. “Don't raise your hand to me! Don't you dare to strike
- me! Now I shall tell you who that sweetheart was!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Half an hour later James Brood descended the stairs alone. He went
- straight to the library, where he knew that he could find Yvonne. Ranjab,
- standing in the hall, peered into his white, drawn face as he passed, and
- started forward as if to speak to him. But Brood did not see him. He did
- not lift his gaze from the floor. The Hindu went swiftly up the stairs, a
- deep dread in his soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- The shades were down. Brood stopped inside the door and looked dully about
- the library. He was on the point of retiring when Yvonne spoke to him out
- of the shadowy corner beyond the fireplace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Close the door,” she said huskily. Then she emerged slowly, almost like a
- spectre, from the dark background formed by the huge mahogany bookcases
- that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. “You were a long time up
- there,” she went on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why is it so dark in here, Yvonne?” he asked lifelessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that it would not be possible for me to see the shame in your eyes,
- James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He leaned heavily against the long table. She came up and stood across the
- table from him, and he felt that her eyes were searching his very soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have hurt him beyond all chance of recovery,” he said hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- She started violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you struck him down? He—he is dying?” Her voice trailed
- off into a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will be a long time in dying. It will be slow. I struck him down, not
- with my hand, not with a weapon that he could parry, but with words—words!
- Do you hear? I have crushed his soul with words!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you coward!” she cried, leaning over the table, her eyes blazing. “I
- can understand it in you. You have no soul of your own. What have you done
- to your son, James Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew back as if from the impact of a blow. “Coward? If I have crushed
- his soul, it was done in time, Yvonne, to deprive you of the glory of
- doing it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did he say to you about me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have had your fears for nothing. He did not put you in jeopardy,” he
- said scornfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. He is not a coward,” she said calmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In your heart you are reviling me. You judge me as one guilty soul judges
- another. Suppose that I were to confess to you that I left him up there
- with all the hope, all the life blasted out of his eyes—with a wound
- in his heart that will never stop bleeding—that I left him because I
- was sorry for what I had done and could not stand by and look upon the
- wreck I had created. Suppose———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am still thinking of you as a coward. What is it to me that you are
- sorry now? What have you done to that wretched, unhappy boy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will tell you soon enough. Then you will despise me even more than I
- despise myself. He—he looked at me with his mother's eyes when I kept on
- striking blows at his very soul. Her eyes—eyes that were always pleading
- with me! But, curse them—always scoffing at me! For a moment I
- faltered. There was a wave of love—yes, love, not pity, for him—as
- I saw him go down before the words I hurled at him. It was as if I had
- hurt the only thing in all the world that I love. Then it passed. He was
- not meant for me to love. He was born for me to despise. He was born to
- torture me as I have tortured him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You poor fool!” she cried, her eyes glittering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sometimes I have doubted my own reason,” he went on, as if he had not
- heard her scathing remark. “Sometimes I have felt a queer gripping of the
- heart when I was harshest toward him. Sometimes, his eyes—<i>her eyes</i>—have
- melted the steel that was driven into my heart long ago, his voice and the
- touch of his hand have gently checked my bitterest thoughts. Are you
- listening?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ask what I have done to him. It is nothing in comparison to what he
- would have done to me. It isn't necessary to explain. You know the thing
- he has had in his heart to do. I have known it from the beginning. It is
- the treacherous heart of his mother that propels that boy's blood along
- its craven way. She was an evil thing—as evil as God ever put life
- into.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I loved her as no woman was ever loved before—or since. I thought she
- loved me; I believe she did. He—Frederic had her portrait up there
- to flash in my face. She was beautiful; she was as lovely as—but no
- more! I was not the man. She loved another. You may have guessed, as
- others have guessed, that she betrayed me. Her lover was that boy's
- father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dead silence reigned in the room, save for the heavy breathing of the man.
- Yvonne was as still as death itself. Her hands were clenched against her
- breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was years ago,” resumed the man hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you told him this?” she cried, aghast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He stood before me up there and said that he hoped he might some day
- discover that he was not my son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told him <i>then?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He cursed me for having driven his mother out of my house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He uttered the hope that she might come back from the grave to torture me
- for ever—to pay me back for what I had done to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you told him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said she must have loathed me as no man was ever loathed before. Then
- I told him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told him because you knew she did <i>not</i> loathe you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne! You are laughing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I laugh because after he had said all these bitter things to you, and you
- had paid him back by telling him that he was not your son, it was you—not
- he—who was sorry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not expect sympathy from you, but—to have you laugh in my
- face! I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you expect sympathy from him?” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told him in the end that as he was not my son he need feel no
- compunction in trying to steal my wife away from me. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what did he say to that?” she broke in shrilly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing! He did not speak to me after that. Not one word!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor should I speak to you again, James Brood!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne—I—I love you. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you loved Matilde—God pity your poor soul! For no more than I
- have done, you drove her out of your house. You accuse me in your heart
- when you vent your rage on that poor boy. Oh, I know! You suspect <i>me!</i>
- And you suspected the other one. I swear to you that you have more cause
- to suspect me than Matilde. She was not untrue to you. She could not have
- loved anyone else but you. I know—I know! Don't come near me! Not
- now! I tell you that Frederic is your son. I tell you that Matilde loved
- no one but you. You drove her out. You drive Frederic out. <i>And you will
- drive me out!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood over him like an accusing angel, her arms extended. He shrank
- back, glaring.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you say these things to me? You cannot know—you have no
- right to say———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>am</i> sorry for you, James Brood,” she murmured, suddenly relaxing.
- Her body swayed against the table, and then she sank limply into the chair
- alongside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will never forget that you struck a man who was asleep, absolutely
- asleep, James Brood. That's why I am sorry for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Asleep!” he murmured, putting his hand to his eyes. “Yes, yes—he
- was asleep! Yvonne, I—I have never been so near to loving him as I
- am now. I—I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going up to him. Don't try to stop me. But first let me ask you a
- question. What did Frederic say when you told him his mother was was what
- you claim?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood lowered his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said that I was a cowardly liar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it was then that you began to feel that you loved him. Ah, I see what
- it is that you need, James. You are a great, strong man, a wonderful man
- in spite of all this. You have a heart—a heart that still needs
- breaking before you can ever hope to be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As if my heart hasn't already been broken,” he groaned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your head has been hurt, that's all. There is a vast difference. Are you
- going out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her in dull amazement. Slowly he began to pull himself
- together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I think you should go to him. I—I gave him an hour to—to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To get out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He must go, you see. See him, if you will. I shall not oppose you.
- Find out what he expects to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She passed swiftly by him as he started toward the door. In the hall,
- which was bright with the sunlight from the upper windows, she turned to
- face him. To his astonishment her cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright
- with eagerness. She seemed almost radiant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; it needs breaking, James,” she said, and went up the stairs, leaving
- him standing there dumbfounded. Near the top she began to hum a blithe
- tune. It came down to him distinctly—the weird little air that had
- haunted him for years—Feverelli's!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>o Brood's surprise
- she came half-way down the steps again, and, leaning over the
- railing, spoke to him with a voice full of irony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you be good enough to call off your spy, James?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean?” He had started to put on his light overcoat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you know,” she said briefly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you consider me so mean, so infamous as———” he began
- hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, I feel happier when I know he is out of the house. Call off
- your dog, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smothered an execration and then called out harshly to Jones:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ask Ranjab to attend me here, Jones. He is to go out with me,” he said to
- the butler a moment later.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne was still leaning over the banister, a scornful smile on her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall wait until you are gone. I intend to see Frederic alone,” she
- said, with marked emphasis on the final word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As you like,” said he coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She crossed the upper hall and disappeared from view down the corridor
- leading to her own room. Her lips were set with decision; a wild, reckless
- light filled her eyes, and the smile of scorn had given way to one of
- exaltation. Her breath came fast and tremulously through quivering
- nostrils as she closed her door and hurried across to the little
- vine-covered balcony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The time has come—the time has come, thank God!” she was saying to
- herself, over and over again. The French doors stuck. She was jerking
- angrily at them when her maid hurried in from the bedroom, attracted by
- the unusual commotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Que faites vous, madame?</i>” she cried anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her mistress turned quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen! Go downstairs at once and tell them that I have dismissed you. At
- once, do you hear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Oui madame!</i>” cried Céleste, her eyes dancing with a sudden,
- incomprehensible delight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are to leave the house immediately. I dismiss you. You have been
- stealing from me, do you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Oui, madame. Je comprendes parfaitement, madame!</i>” cried the maid,
- actually clapping her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will pack two steamer-trunks and get them out of the house before
- five o'clock. You are going back to Paris. You are dismissed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little Frenchwoman beamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Certainement, madame! Par le premier bateau. Je comprend</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The first boat for Havre—do you know the hour for sailing? Consult
- the morning paper, Céleste.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>En bien, madame. La Provence. Il part demain. Je———</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go at once!” cried the mistress, waving her hands excitedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Vous me renvoyez!</i>” And the little maid dashed out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she descended the back stairs an amazing change came over her. Her
- sprightly face became black with sullen rage and her eyes snapped with
- fury. So violent was her manner when she accosted Jones in the servants'
- hall that he fell back in some alarm. She was not long in making him
- understand that she had been dismissed, however, and that she would surely
- poison the diabolical creature upstairs if she remained in the house
- another hour. Even the cook, who had a temper of her own, was appalled by
- the exhibition; other servants were struck dumb.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jones, perspiring freely, said something about calling in an officer, and
- then Céleste began to weep bitterly. All she wanted was to get out of the
- house before she did something desperate to the cruel tyrant upstairs, and
- she'd be eternally grateful to Jones if he'd get her trunks out of the
- storeroom as soon as——— But Jones was already on his way
- to give instructions to the furnace-man.
- </p>
- <p>
- Céleste took the occasion to go into hysterics, and the entire servant
- body fell to work hissing “<i>Sh—h!</i>” in an agony of apprehension
- lest the turmoil should penetrate the walls and reach the ears of the
- “woman upstairs.” They closed all of the doors and most of the windows,
- and the upstairs maid thought it would be a good idea to put a blanket
- over the girl's head.
- </p>
- <p>
- Left alone, Yvonne turned her attention to the window across the court and
- two floors above her the heavily curtained window in Brood's “retreat.”
- There was no sign of life there, so she hurried to the front of the house
- to wait for the departure of James Brood and his man. The two were going
- down the front steps. At the bottom Brood spoke to Ranjab, and the latter,
- as imperturbable as a rock, bowed low and moved off in an opposite
- direction to that taken by his master. She watched until both were out of
- sight. Then she rapidly mounted the stairs to the top floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic was lying on the couch near the jade room door. She was able to
- distinguish his long, dark figure after peering intently about the shadowy
- interior in what seemed at first to be a vain search for him. She shrank
- back, her eyes fixed in horror upon the prostrate shadow. Suddenly he
- stirred and then half raised himself on one elbow to stare at the figure
- in the doorway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it <i>you?</i>” he whispered hoarsely, and dropped back with a great
- sigh on his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart leaped. The blood rushed back to her face. Quickly closing the
- door, she advanced into the room, her tread as swift and as soft as a
- cat's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has gone out. We are quite alone,” she said, stopping to lean against
- the table, suddenly faint with excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed, a bitter, mirthless, snarling laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get up, Frederic. Be a man! I know what has happened. Get up! I want to
- talk it over with you. We must plan. We must decide now at once—before
- he returns.” The words broke from her lips with sharp, staccato-like
- emphasis.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came to a sitting posture slowly, all the while staring at her with a
- dull wonder in his heavy eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pull yourself together,” she cried hurriedly. “We cannot talk here. I am
- afraid in this room. It has ears, I know. That awful Hindu is always here,
- even though he may seem to be elsewhere. We will go down to my boudoir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slowly shook his head and then allowed his chin to sink dejectedly into
- his hands. With his elbows resting on his knees, he watched her movements
- in a state of increasing interest and bewilderment. She turned abruptly to
- the Buddha, whose placid, smirking countenance seemed to be alive to the
- situation in all of its aspects. Standing close, her hands behind her
- back, her figure very erect and theatric, she proceeded to address the
- image in a voice full of mockery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my chatterbox friend, I have pierced his armour, haven't I? He will
- creep up here and ask you, his wonderful god, to tell him what to do about
- it, <i>aïe?</i> His wits are tangled. He doubts his senses. And when he
- comes to you, my friend, and whines his secret doubts into your excellent
- and trustworthy ear, do me the kindness to keep the secret I shall now
- whisper to you, for I trust you, too, you amiable fraud.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Standing on tiptoe, she put her lips to the idol's ear and whispered.
- Frederic, across the room, roused from his lethargy by the strange words
- and still stranger action, rose to his feet and took several steps toward
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There! Now you know everything. You know more than James Brood knows, for
- you know what his charming wife is about to do next.” She drew back and
- regarded the image through half-closed, smouldering eyes. “But he will
- know before long—before long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you doing, Yvonne?” demanded Frederic unsteadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- She whirled about and came toward him, her hands still clasped behind her
- back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come with me,” she said, ignoring his question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He—he thinks I am in love with you,” said he, shaking his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And are you not in love with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was startled. “Good Lord, Yvonne!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came quite close to him. He could feel the warmth that travelled from
- her body across the short space that separated them. The intoxicating
- perfume filled his nostrils; he drew a deep breath, his eyes closing
- slowly as his senses prepared to succumb to the delicious spell that came
- over him. When he opened them an instant later she was still facing him,
- as straight and fearless as a soldier, and the light of victory was in her
- dark, compelling eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” she said deliberately, “I am ready to go away with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He fell back stunned beyond the power of speech. His brain was filled with
- a thousand clattering noises.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has turned you out,” she went on rapidly. “He disowns you. Very well;
- the time has come for me to exact payment of him for that and for all that
- has gone before. I shall go away with you. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Impossible!” he cried, finding his tongue and drawing still farther away
- from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you not in love with me?” she whispered softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put his hands to his eyes to shut out the alluring vision.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake, Yvonne—leave me. Let me go my way. Let me———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He cursed your mother! He curses you! He damns you—as he damned
- her. You can pay him up for everything. You owe nothing to him. He has
- killed every———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic straightened up suddenly and, with a loud cry of exultation,
- raised his clenched hands above his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By Heaven, I will break him! I will make him pay! Do you know what he has
- done to me? Listen to this: he boasts of having reared me to manhood, as
- one might bring up a prize beast, that he might make me pay for the wrong
- that my poor mother did a quarter of a century ago. All these years he has
- had in mind this thing that he has done to-day. All my life has been spent
- in preparation for the sacrifice that came an hour ago. I have suffered
- all these years in ignorance of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not so loud!” she whispered, alarmed by the vehemence of his reawakened
- fury.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm not afraid!” he cried savagely. “Can you imagine anything more
- diabolical than the scheme he has had in mind all these years? To pay back
- my mother—whom he loved and still loves—yes, by Heaven, he
- still loves her—he works to this beastly end! He made her suffer the
- agonies of the damned up to the day of her death by refusing her the right
- to have the child that he swears is no child of his. Oh, you don't know
- the story—you don't know the kind of man you have for a husband—you
- don't———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes; I do know!” she cried violently, beating her breast with
- clenched hands. “I <i>do</i> know! I know that he still loves the poor
- girl who went out of this house with his curses ringing in her ears a
- score of years ago, and who died still hearing them. And I had almost come
- to the point of pitying him—I was failing—I was weakening. He
- is a wonderful man. I—I was losing myself. But that is all over.
- Three months ago I could have left him without a pang—yesterday I
- was afraid that it would never be possible. To-day he makes it easy for
- me. He has hurt you beyond all reason, not because he hates you, but
- because he loved your mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you do love him!” cried Frederic in stark wonder. “You don't care the
- snap of your fingers for me. What is all this you are saying, Yvonne? You
- must be mad. Think! Think what you are saying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have thought—I am always thinking. I know my own mind well
- enough. It is settled: I am going away, and I am going with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can't be in earnest!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am desperately in earnest. You owe nothing to him now. He says you are
- not his son. You owe nothing but hatred to him, and you should pay. You
- owe vengeance for your mother's sake—for the sake of her whose face you
- have come to love, who loved you to the day she died, I am sure. He will
- proclaim to the world that you are not his son, he will brand you with the
- mark of shame, he will drive you out of New York. You are the son of a
- music-master, he shouts from the housetops! Your mother was a vile woman,
- he shouts from the housetops! You cannot remain here. You <i>must</i> go.
- You must take me with you. Ah, you are thinking of Lydia! Well, are you
- thinking of dragging her through the mire that he will create? Are you
- willing to give her the name he declares is not yours to give? Are you a
- craven, whipped coward who will not strike back when the chance is offered
- to give a blow that will———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot listen to you, Yvonne!” cried Frederic, aghast. His heart was
- pounding so fiercely that the blood surged to his head in great waves,
- almost stunning him with its velocity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We go to-morrow!” she cried out in an ecstasy of triumph. She was
- convinced that he would go! “La Provence!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heaven!” he gasped, dropping suddenly into a chair and burying his
- face in his shaking hands. “What will this mean to Lydia—what will she do—what
- will become of her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A quiver of pain crossed the woman's face, her eyelids fell as if to shut
- out something that shamed her in spite of all her vainglorious
- protestations. Then the spirit of exaltation resumed its sway. She lifted
- her eyes heavenward, and inaudible words trembled on her lips. A moment
- later she stood over him, her hands extended as if in blessing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had he looked up at that instant he would have witnessed a Yvonne he did
- not know. No longer was she the alluring, sensuous creature who had been
- in his thoughts for months, but a transfigured being whose soul looked out
- through gentle, pitying eyes, whose wiles no longer were employed in the
- devices of which she was past-mistress, whose real nature was revealed now
- for the first time since she entered the house of James Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was pain and suffering in the lovely eyes, and there was a strange
- atmosphere of sanctuary attending the very conquest she had made. But
- Frederic did not look up until all this had passed and the smile of
- triumph was on her lips again and the glint of determination in her eyes.
- He had missed the revelation that would have altered his estimate of her
- for the future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You cannot marry Lydia now,” she said, affecting a sharpness of tone that
- caused him to shrink involuntarily. “It is your duty to write her a letter
- to-night, explaining all that has happened to-day. She would sacrifice
- herself for you to-day, but there is—to-morrow! A thousand
- to-morrows, Frederic. Don't forget them, my dear. They would be ugly,
- after all, and she is too good, too fine to be dragged into———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It would be the
- vilest act that a man could perpetrate. Why—why, it would be proof
- of what he says of me—it would stamp me for ever the dastard he—no,
- no; I could never lift my head again if I were to do this utterly vile
- thing to Lydia. He said to me here—not an hour ago—that he
- expected me to go ahead and blight that loyal girl's life, that I would
- consider it a noble means of self-justification! What do you think of
- that? He——— But wait! What is this that we are proposing
- to do? Give me time to think! Why—why, I can't take you away from him,
- Yvonne! What am I thinking of? Have I no sense of honour? Am I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not his son,” she said significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that is no reason why I should stoop to a foul trick like this. Do—do
- you know what you are suggesting?” He drew back from her with a look of
- disgust in his eyes. “No! I'm not that vile! I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic, you must let me———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to hear anything more, Yvonne. What manner of woman are you?
- He is your husband, he loves you, he trusts you; oh, yes, he does! And you
- would leave him like this? You would———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! Not so loud!” she cried in great agitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And let me tell you something more. Although I can never marry Lydia, by
- Heaven, I shall love her to the end of my life. I will not betray that
- love. To the end of time she shall know that my love for her is real and
- true and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic, you must listen to me,” she cried, wringing her hands. “You
- must hear what I have to say to you. Wait! Do not leave me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, Yvonne—what is it?” he cried, pausing in utter
- amazement after taking a few steps toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going?” she whispered, following him with dragging steps.
- “Not to <i>him?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly not! Do you think I would betray you to him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! Give me time to think,” she pleaded. He shook his head resolutely.
- “Do not judge me too harshly. Hear what I have to say before you condemn
- me. I am not the vile creature you think, Frederic. Wait! Let me think!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her for a moment in deep perplexity and then slowly drew
- near.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne, I do not believe you mean to do wrong—I do not believe it
- of you. You have been carried away by some horrible———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen to me,” she broke in fiercely. “I would have sacrificed you—aye,
- sacrificed you, poor boy—in order to strike James Brood the
- cruellest blow that man ever sustained. I would have destroyed you in
- destroying him—God forgive me! But you have shown me how terrible I
- am, how utterly terrible! Love you? No! No! Not in that way. I would have
- put a curse, an undeserved curse, upon your innocent head, and all for the
- joy it would give me to see James Brood grovel in misery for the rest of
- his life. Oh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She uttered a groan of despair and self-loathing so deep and full of pain
- that his heart was chilled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne!” he gasped, dumbfounded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not come near me!” she cried out, covering her face with her hands.
- For a full minute she stood before him, straight and rigid as a statue, a
- tragic figure he was never to forget. Suddenly she lowered her hands. To
- his surprise, a smile was on her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would never have gone away with me. I know it now. All these months I
- have been counting on you for this very hour, this culminating hour—and
- now I realise how little hope I have really had, even from the beginning.
- You are honourable. There have been times when my influence over you was
- such that you resisted only because you were loyal to yourself—not
- to Lydia, not to my husband—but to yourself. I came to this house
- with but one purpose in mind. I came here to take you away from the man
- who has always stood as your father. I would not have become your mistress—pah!
- how loathsome it sounds!—but I would have enticed you away, believing
- myself to be justified. I would have struck James Brood that blow. He
- would have gone to his grave believing himself to have been paid in full
- by the son of the woman he had degraded, by the boy he had reared for the
- slaughter, by the blood———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In God's name, Yvonne, what is this you are saying? What have you against
- my—against him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait! I shall come to that. I did not stop to consider all that I should
- have to overcome. First, there was your soul, your honour, your integrity
- to consider. I did not think of all those things. I did not stop to think
- of the damnable wrong I should be doing to you. I was blind to everything
- except my one great, long-enduring purpose. I could see nothing else but
- triumph over James Brood. To gain my end it was necessary that I should be
- his wife. I became his wife—I deliberately took that step in order
- to make complete my triumph over him. I became the wife of the man I had
- hated with all my soul, Frederic. So you can see how far I was willing to
- go to—ah, it was a hard thing to do! But I did not shrink. I went
- into it without faltering, without a single thought of the cost to myself.
- He was to pay for all that, too, in the end. Look into my eyes, Frederic.
- I want to ask you a question. Will you go away with me? Will you take me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned her look steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is all I want to hear you say. It means the end. I have done all
- that could be done, and I have failed. Thank God, I have failed!” She came
- swiftly to him and, before he was aware of her intention, clutched his
- hand and pressed it to her lips. He was shocked to find that a sudden gush
- of tears was wetting his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Yvonne!” he cried miserably.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sobbing convulsively. He looked down upon her dark, bowed head and
- again felt the mastering desire to crush her slender, beautiful body in
- his arms. The spell of her was upon him again, but now he realised that
- the appeal was to his spirit and not to his flesh—as it had been all
- along, he was beginning to suspect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't pity me,” she choked out. “This will pass, as everything else has
- passed. I am proud of you now, Frederic. You are splendid. Not many men
- could have resisted in this hour of despair. You have been cast off,
- despised, degraded, humiliated. You were offered the means to retaliate.
- You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I was tempted!” he cried bitterly. “For the moment I was———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now what is to become of <i>me?</i>” she wailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart grew cold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you will leave him? You will go back to Paris? Yvonne, it will
- be a blow to him. He has had one fearful slash in the back. This will
- break him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At least, I may have that consolation,” she cried, straightening up in an
- effort to revive her waning purpose. “Yes, I shall go. I cannot stay here
- now. I—” She paused and shuddered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, in Heaven's name, have you against my—against him? What does
- it all mean? How you must have hated him to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hated him? Oh, how feeble the word is! Hate! There should be a word that
- strikes more terror to the soul than that one. But wait! You shall know
- everything. You shall have the story from the beginning. There is much to
- tell, and there will be consolation—aye, triumph for you in the
- story I shall tell. First, let me say this to you: when I came here I did
- not know that there was a Lydia Desmond. I would have hurt that poor girl;
- but it would not have been a lasting pain. In my plans, after I came to
- know her, there grew a beautiful alternative through which she should know
- great happiness. Oh, I have planned well and carefully, but I was
- ruthless. I would have crushed her with him rather than to have failed.
- But it is all a dream that has passed, and I am awake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the most cruel, but the most magnificent dream—ah, but I
- dare not think of it. As I stand here before you now, Frederic, I am shorn
- of all my power. I could not strike him as I might have done a month ago.
- Even as I was cursing him but a moment ago I realised that I could not
- have gone on with the game. Even as I begged you to take your revenge, I
- knew that it was not myself who urged, but the thing that was having its
- death-struggle within me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on. Tell me. Why do you stop?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was glancing fearfully toward the Hindu's door. “There is one man in
- this house who knows. He reads my every thought. He does not know all, but
- he knows <i>me</i>. He has known from the beginning that I was not to be
- trusted. That man is never out of my thoughts. I fear him, Frederic—I
- fear him as I fear death. If he had not been here I—I believe I
- should have dared anything. I <i>could</i> have taken you away with me
- months ago. But he worked his spell and I was afraid. I faltered. He knew
- that I was afraid, for he spoke to me one day of the beautiful serpents in
- his land that were cowards in spite of the death they could deal with one
- flash of their fangs. You were intoxicated. I <i>am</i> a thing of beauty.
- I can charm as the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows that is true,” he said hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But enough of that! I am stricken with my own poison. Go to the door! See
- if he is there. I fear———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one is near,” said he, after striding swiftly to both doors, listening
- at one and peering out through the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will have to go away, Frederic. I shall have to go. But we shall not
- go together. In my room I have kept hidden the sum of ten thousand
- dollars, waiting for the day to come when I should use it to complete the
- game I have played. I knew that you would have no money of your own. I was
- prepared even for that. Look again! See if anyone is there? I feel—I
- feel that someone is near us. Look, I say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He obeyed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “See! There is no one near.” He held open the door to the hall. “You must
- speak quickly. I am to leave this house in an hour. I was given the
- hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I can see by your face that you hate him! It is well. That is
- something. It is but little, I know, after all I have wished for—but
- it is something for me to treasure—something for me to take back
- with me to the one sacred little spot in this beastly world of men and
- women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne, you are the most incomprehensible———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I not beautiful, Frederic? Tell me!” She came quite close to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are the most beautiful woman in all the world,” he said abjectly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I have wasted all my beauty—I have lent it to unloveliness, and
- it has not been destroyed! It is still with me, is it not? I have not lost
- it in———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are beautiful beyond words—beyond anything I have ever
- imagined,” said he, suddenly passing his hand over his brow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would have loved me if it had not been for Lydia?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn't have helped myself. I—I fear I—faltered in my—are
- you still trying to tempt me? Are you still asking me to go away with
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A hoarse cry came from the doorway behind them—a cry of pain and
- anger that struck terror to their souls.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>ransfixed, they
- watched James Brood take two or three steps into the room. At his back was
- the swarthy Hindu, his eyes gleaming like coals of fire in the shadowy
- light.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James!” fell tremulously from the lips of Yvonne. She swayed toward him
- as Ranjab grasped his arm from behind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic saw the flash of something bright as it passed from the brown
- hand to the white one. He did not at once comprehend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It happened once,” came hoarsely from the throat of James Brood. “It
- shall not happen again. Thank you, Ranjab.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Frederic knew. The Hindu had slipped a revolver into his master's
- hand!
- </p>
- <p>
- “It gives me great pleasure, Yvonne, to relieve you of that worthless
- thing you call your life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he raised his arm Frederic sprang forward with a shout of horror.
- Scarcely realising what he did, he hurled Yvonne violently to one side.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was all over in the twinkling of an eye. There was a flash, the crash
- of an explosion, a puff of smoke, and the smell of burned powder.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic stood perfectly still for an instant, facing the soft cloud that
- rose from the pistol-barrel, an expression of vague amazement in his
- face. Then his hand went uncertainly to his breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Already James Brood had seen the red blotch that spread with incredible
- swiftness—blood-red against the snowy white of the broad shirt
- bosom. Glaring with wide-open eyes at the horrid spot, he stood
- there with the pistol still levelled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God, father, you've—why, you've———”
- struggled from Frederic's writhing lips, and then his knees sagged; an
- instant later they gave way with a rush and he dropped heavily to the
- floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was not a sound in the room. Suddenly Brood made a movement, quick
- and spasmodic. At the same instant Ranjab flung himself forward and
- grasped his master's arm. He had turned the revolver upon himself! The
- muzzle was almost at his temple when the Hindu seized his hand in a grip
- of iron.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sahib! Sahib!</i>” he hissed. “What would you do?” Wrenching the
- weapon from the stiff, unresisting fingers, he hurled it across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood groaned. His tall body swerved forward, but his legs refused to
- carry him. The Hindu caught him as he was sinking limply to his knees.
- With a tremendous effort of the will, Brood succeeded in conquering the
- black unconsciousness that was assailing him. He straightened up to his
- full height and with trembling fingers pointed to the prostrate figure on
- the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The pistol, Ranjab! Where is it? Give it to me! Man, can I live after <i>that?</i>
- I have killed my son—my own son! Quick, man!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sahib!</i>” cried the Hindu, wringing his hands. “I cannot! I cannot!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I command you! The pistol!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a word the Hindu, fatalist, slave, pagan that he was, turned to do
- his master's bidding. It was not for him to say nay, it was not for him to
- oppose the will of the master, but to obey.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this time Yvonne was crouching against the table, her horrified gaze
- upon the great red blotch that grew to terrible proportions as she
- watched. She had not moved, she had not breathed, she had not taken her
- hands from her ears where she had placed them at the sound of the
- explosion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blood! It is blood!” she moaned, and for the first time since the shot
- was fired her husband glanced at the one for whom the bullet had
- originally been intended.
- </p>
- <p>
- An expression of incredulity leaped into his face, as if he could not
- believe his senses. She was alive and unhurt! His bullet had not touched
- her. His brain fumbled for the explanation of this miracle. He had not
- aimed at Frederic, he had not fired at him, and yet he lay stretched out
- there before him, bleeding, while the one he had meant to destroy was
- living—incomprehensively living! How had it happened? What agency
- had swept his deadly bullet out of its path to find lodgment in the wrong
- heart? There was no blood gushing from her breast; he could not understand
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not take her eyes from the great red blot; she was fascinated by
- the horror that spread farther and farther across the gleaming white. She
- was alone, utterly alone with the most dreadful thing she had ever known;
- alone with that appalling thing called death. A life was leaving its warm,
- beautiful home as she watched, leaving in a path of red, creeping away
- across a stretch of white!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blood!” she wailed again, a long, shuddering word that came not from her
- lips but from the very depths of her terror-stricken soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly Brood's mind worked out of the maze. His shot had gone straight,
- but Frederic himself had leaped into its path to save this miserable
- creature who would have damned his soul if life had been spared to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ranjab crawled to his side, his eyes covered with one arm, the other
- extended. Blindly the master felt for the pistol, not once removing his
- eyes from the pallid figure against the table. His fingers closed upon the
- weapon. Then the Hindu looked up, warned by the strange voice that spoke
- to him from the mind of his master. He saw the arm slowly extend itself
- with a sinister hand directed straight at the figure of the woman. This
- time Brood was making sure of his aim, so sure that the lithe Hindu had
- time to spring to his feet weapon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Master! Master!” he cried out.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood turned to look at his man in sheer bewilderment. What could all this
- mean? What was the matter with the fellow?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Down, Ranjab!” he commanded in a low, cautious tone, as he would have
- used in speaking to a dog when the game was run to earth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is but one bullet left, <i>sahib!</i>” cried the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only one is required,” said the master hazily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have killed your son. This bullet is for yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes! But—but see! She lives! She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Hindu struck his own breast significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thy faithful servant remains, <i>sahib</i>. Die, if thou wilt, but leave
- her to Ranjab. There is but one bullet left. It is for you. You must not
- be here to witness the death Ranjab, thy servant, shall inflict upon her.
- Shoot thyself now, if so be it, but spare thyself the sight of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not finish the sentence, but his strong, bony fingers went through
- the motion that told a more horrible story than words could have
- expressed. There was no mistaking his meaning. He had elected himself her
- executioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- A ghastly look of comprehension flitted across Brood's face. For a second
- his mind slipped from one dread to another more appalling. He knew this
- man of his. He remembered the story of another killing in the hills of
- India. His gaze went from the brown fanatic's face to the white, tender,
- lovely throat of the woman, and a hoarse gasp broke from his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No! No! Not that!” he cried, and as the words rang out Yvonne removed her
- horrified gaze from the blot of red and fixed it upon the face of her husband. She straightened up
- slowly and her arms fell limply to her sides.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was meant for me. Shoot, James!” she said, almost in a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Hindu's grasp tightened at the convulsive movement of his master's
- hand. His fingers were like steel bands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shoot!” she repeated, raising her voice. “Save yourself, for if he is
- dead I shall kill you with my own hands! This is your chance—shoot!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's fingers relaxed their grip on the revolver. A fierce, wild hope
- took all the strength out of his body; he grew faint with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He—he can't be dead! I have not killed him. He shall not die, he
- shall not!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Flinging the Hindu aside, he threw himself down beside the body on the
- floor. The revolver, as it dropped, was caught in the nimble hand of the
- Hindu, who took two long, swift strides toward the woman who now faced him
- instead of her husband. There was a great light in his eyes as he stood
- over her, and she saw death staring upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she did not quail. She was past all that. She looked straight into his
- eyes for an instant and then, as if putting him out of her thoughts
- entirely, turned slowly toward the two men on the floor. The man
- half-raised the pistol, but something stayed his hand, something stronger
- than any mere physical opposition could have done.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glared at the half-averted face, confounded by the most extraordinary
- impression that ever had entered his incomprehensible brain. Something
- strange and wonderful was transpiring before his very eyes, something so
- marvellous that even he, mysterious seer of the Ganges, was stunned into
- complete amazement and unbelief.
- </p>
- <p>
- That strange, uncanny intelligence of his, born of a thousand mysteries,
- was being tried beyond all previous exactions. It was as if he now saw
- this woman for the first time, as if he had never looked upon her face
- before. A mist appeared to envelop her, and through this veil he saw a
- face that was new to him, the face of Yvonne, and yet <i>not</i> hers at
- all. Absolute wonder crept into his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- As if impelled by the power of his gaze, she faced him once more. For what
- seemed hours to him, but in reality only seconds, his searching eyes
- looked deep into hers. He saw at last the soul of this woman, and it was
- not the soul he had known as hers up to that tremendous moment. And he
- came to know that she was no longer afraid of him or his powers. His hand
- was lowered, his eyes fell, and his lips moved; but there were no words,
- for he addressed a spirit. All the venom, all the hatred fled from his
- soul. His knee bent in sudden submission, and his eyes were raised to hers
- once more, but now in their sombre depths was the fidelity of the dog.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go at once,” she said, and her voice was as clear as a bell.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shot a swift glance at the prostrate Frederic and straightened his tall
- figure, as would a soldier under orders. His understanding gaze sought
- hers again. There was another command in her eyes. He placed the weapon on
- the table. It had been a distinct command to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One of us will use it,” she said monotonously. “Go!”
- </p>
- <p>
- With incredible swiftness he was gone. The curtains barely moved as he
- passed between them, and the heavy door made no sound in opening and
- closing. There was no one in the hall. The sound of the shot had not gone
- beyond the thick walls of that proscribed room on the top floor. Somewhere
- at the rear of the house an indistinct voice was uttering a jumbled stream
- of French.
- </p>
- <p>
- Many minutes passed. There was not a sound, not a movement in the room.
- Brood, kneeling beside the outstretched figure of his unintended victim,
- was staring at the graying face with wide, unblinking eyes. He looked at
- last upon features that he had searched for in vain through all the sullen
- years. There was blood on his hands and on his cheek, for he had listened
- at first for the beat of the heart. Afterward his agonised gaze had gone
- to the bloodless face. There it was arrested.
- </p>
- <p>
- A dumb wonder possessed his soul. He knelt there petrified by the shock of
- discovery. In the dim light he no longer saw the features of Matilde, but
- his own, and his heart was still. In that revealing moment he realised
- that he had never seen anything in Frederic's countenance save the dark,
- never-to-be-forgotten eyes, and they were his Matilde's.
- Now those eyes were closed. He could not see them, and the blindness was
- struck from his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had always looked into the boy's eyes, he had never been able to seek
- farther than those haunting, inquiring eyes, but now he saw the lean,
- strong jaw and the firm chin, the straight nose and the broad forehead,
- and none of these was Matilde's. These were the features of a man, and of
- but one man. He was seeing himself as he was when he looked into his
- mirror at twenty-one.
- </p>
- <p>
- All these years he had been blind; all these years he had gone on cursing
- his own image. In that overpowering thought came the realisation that it
- was too late for him to atone. His mind slowly struggled out of the
- stupefied bondage of years. He was looking at his own face. Dead, he would
- look like that! Matilde was gone for ever, the eyes were closed, but he
- was there; James Brood was still there, turning grayer and grayer of face
- all the time.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the pent-up rage of years rushed suddenly to his lips and an
- awful curse issued, but it was delivered against himself. He started to
- rise to his feet, his mind bent on the one way to end the anguish that was
- too great to bear. The revolver!
- </p>
- <p>
- It had been cruel, it should be kind. His heart leaped. He had a few
- seconds to live, not longer than it would take to find the weapon and
- place it against his breast—just so long and no longer would he be
- compelled to live.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had forgotten the woman. She was standing just beyond the body that
- stretched itself between them. Her hands were clasped against her breast
- and her eyes were lifted heavenward. She had not moved throughout that age
- of oblivion.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her and suddenly became rigid. Slowly he sank back, his eyes
- distended, his jaw dropping. He put out a hand and saved himself from
- falling, but his eyes did not leave the face of the woman who prayed,
- whose whole being was the material representation of prayer. But it was
- not Yvonne, his wife, that he saw standing there. It was another Matilde!
- </p>
- <p>
- A hoarse, inarticulate sound came from his gaping mouth, and then issued
- the words that his mind had created unknown to him while he knelt, but now
- were uttered in a purely physical release from the throat that had held
- them back through a period of utter unconsciousness. He never knew that he
- spoke them; they were not the words that his conscious mind was now
- framing for deliverance. He said what he had already started to say when
- his soul was full of hatred for Yvonne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You foul, cringing———” and then came the new
- cry—“Matilde, Matilde! Forgive! Forgive!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly her eyes were lowered until they fell full upon his stricken face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I going mad?” he whispered hoarsely. As he stared the delicate, wan
- face of Matilde began to fade and he again saw the brilliant, undimmed
- features of Yvonne. “But it <i>was</i> Matilde! What trick of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet and advanced upon her, stepping across the body of
- his son in his reckless haste. For many seconds they stood with their
- faces close together, he staring wildly, she with a dull look of agony in
- her eyes, but unflinching. What he saw caused an icy chill to sweep
- through his tense body and a sickness to enter his soul. He shrank back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who—who are you?” he cried out in sudden terror. He felt the
- presence of Matilde. He could have stretched out his hand and touched her,
- so real, so vivid was the belief that she was actually there before him.
- “Matilde was here—I saw her, I saw her. And—and now it is you!
- She is still here. I can feel her hand touching mine—I can feel—no,
- no! It is gone—it—has passed. She has left me again. I—I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold, lifeless voice of Yvonne was speaking to him, huskier than ever
- before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Matilde <i>has</i> been here. She has always been with her son. She is
- always near you, James Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—are—you—saying?” he gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned wearily away and pointed to the weapon on the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is to use it—you or I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened his mouth, but uttered no sound. His power of speech was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went on in a deadly monotone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You intended the bullet for me. It is not too late. Kill me, if you will.
- I give you the first chance—take it, for if you do not I shall take
- mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I cannot kill you, I cannot kill the woman who stood where you
- are standing a moment ago. Matilde was there! She was alive; do you hear
- me? Alive and—ah!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The exclamation fell from his lips as she suddenly leaned forward, her
- intense gaze fixed on Frederic's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “See! Ah, see! I prayed, and I have been answered. See!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned. Frederic's eyes were open. He was looking up at them with a
- piteous appeal, an appeal for help, for life, for consciousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not dead! Frederic, Frederic, my son——” Brood dropped
- to his knees and frantically clutched at the hand that lay stretched
- beside the limp figure. The pain-stricken eyes closed slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne knelt beside Brood. He saw a slim, white hand go out and touch the
- pallid brow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall save your soul, James Brood,” a voice was saying, but it seemed
- far away. “He shall not die. Your poor, wretched soul may rest secure. I
- shall keep death away from him. You shall not have to pay for this; no,
- not for this. The bullet was meant for me. I owe my life to him, you shall
- owe his to me. But you have yet to pay a greater debt than this can ever
- become. He is your son. You owe another for his life, and you will never
- be out of her debt, not even in hell, James Brood!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly Frederic's eyes opened again. They wavered from one face to the
- other and there was in them the unsolvable mystery of divination. As the
- lids drooped once more, Brood's manner underwent a tremendous change. The
- stupefaction of horror and doubt fell away in a flash and he was again the
- clear-headed, indomitable man of action. The blood rushed back into
- his veins, his eyes flashed with the returning fire of hope, his voice was
- steady, sharp, commanding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The doctor!” he cried in Yvonne's ear, as his strong fingers went out to
- tear open the shirt-bosom. “Be quick! Send for Hodder; we must save him.”
- She did not move. He whirled upon her fiercely. “Do as I tell you! Are you
- so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr Hodder is on the way now,” she said dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- His hands ceased their operations as if checked by a sudden paralysis.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the way here?” he cried incredulously. “Why———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is coming,” she said fiercely. “I sent for him. Don't stop now, be
- quick! You know what to do. Stanch the flow of blood. Do something, man!
- You have seen men with mortal wounds, and this man <i>must</i> be saved!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He worked swiftly, deftly, for he did know what to do. He had worked over
- men before with wounds in their breasts, and he had seen them through the
- shadow of death. But he could not help thinking, as he now worked, that he
- was never known to miss a shilling at thirty paces.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was speaking. Her voice was low, with a persistent note of accusation
- in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was an accident, do you understand? You did not shoot to kill him. The
- world shall never know the truth, unless he dies, and that is not to
- happen. You are safe. The law cannot touch you, for I shall never speak.
- This is between you and me. Do you understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at her set, rigid face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It was an accident. And this is between you and me. We shall settle
- it later on. Now I see you as you are—as Yvonne. I—wonder———”
- His hand shook with a sudden spasm of indecision. He had again caught that
- baffling look in her dark eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Attend!” she cried, and he bent to the task again. “He is not going to
- die. It would be too cruel if he were to die now and miss all the joy of
- victory over you, his lifelong foe. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened behind them and they looked up to see the breathless
- Hindu. He came straight to the woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He comes. Ranjab has obey. I have told him that the revolver was
- discharge accidentally, by myself, by the unhappy son of a dog, I. It is
- well. Ranjab is but a dog. He shall die to-day and his lips be
- sealed for ever. Have no fear. The dead shall be silent.” His voice
- trailed off into a whisper, for his eyes were looking into hers. “No,” he
- whispered, after a moment, “no; the dead are not silent. One who is dead
- has spoken to Ranjab.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush!” said the woman. Brood's hands were shaking again, shaking and
- uncertain. “The doctor? He comes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even now,” said the Hindu, turning toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Hodder came blinking into the room. A gaping assistant from his office
- across the street followed close behind, carrying a box of instruments.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Turn up the lights,” said the surgeon crisply. It seemed hours before the
- soft glow was at its full and the room bathed in its mellow light. All
- this time not a word was uttered. “Ah!” exclaimed Dr Hodder at last. “Now
- we'll see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was kneeling beside Frederic an instant later.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bad!” he said after a single glance. “Wiley, get busy now. Clear that
- table, Ranjab. Water, quick, Wiley. Lively, Ranjab. Shove 'em off, don't
- waste time like that. Ah, now lend a hand, both of you. Easy! So!” Three
- strong, nerveless pairs of hands raised the inert figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello! What's this?” The incomprehensible Hindu in his ruthless clearing
- of the table had left the revolver lying where Yvonne had placed it. “Good
- Lord, take it away! It's done enough damage already.” It was Wiley, the
- assistant, who picked it up gingerly and laid it on a chair near by. “Now,
- where's the butler? Send for an ambulance, and—you, Wiley, call up
- the hospital and say———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” came in Yvonne's husky, imperative voice. “No, not the hospital. He
- is not to be taken away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, madam, you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I insist! It is not to be thought of, Dr Hodder. He must remain in this
- house. I will get his room ready for him. He is—to—stay—here!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we'll see,” said the surprised surgeon, and forthwith put her out
- of his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- James Brood was standing stock-still and rigid in the centre of the
- room. He had not moved an inch from the position he had taken when the
- doctor pushed him aside in order to clear the way to the table. Yvonne
- came straight to him. The matter of half a yard separated them as she
- stopped and spoke to him, her voice so low that the bustling doctor could
- not have distinguished a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You owe it to Frederic to allow Ranjab's story to stand. There is no one
- to dispute it. I command you to protect the good name of your son. That
- weapon was accidentally discharged by your servant, and you will have to
- swear to it, James Brood, if called upon to do so, for I shall swear to
- it, and Ranjab, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall conceal nothing,” he groaned. “Do you think I am a craven coward
- as well as a———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, you will do as I command. He is going to live. That is why
- I demand it of you. If he were to die—well, even then you would not
- be permitted to speak. I shall stand here beside you, James Brood, and if
- you utter one word to contradict Ranjab's story I shall shoot you down.
- Can you not see how desperately in earnest I am?” She reached over and
- caught up the revolver from the chair as she was speaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a full minute they looked into each other's eyes, and he—the
- strong, invulnerable Brood—was the first to give way. The steely
- glitter faded before the swift rush of a new feeling that swept over him—an
- extraordinary feeling of tenderness toward this woman who fought him with
- something more than her own cause at stake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand. You are right. If he gets well, this beastly thing must
- never be known. We will leave it to him. If he chooses to tell the truth,
- then———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have your promise—<i>now?</i>” she demanded intensely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. Now go!” Involuntarily he straightened his tall figure and pointed
- toward the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not to be removed from this house,” she insisted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ten minutes ago you were suggesting a different———” he
- began sneeringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The whole world has changed since then, James Brood,” she said, and her
- shoulders drooped. Almost instantly she recovered her poise. “I have a
- great deal to say to you later on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a great deal,” he said meaningly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her flinch and was conscious of a curious pang, a poignant yet
- indefinable pang of remorse.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went swiftly from the room. He looked for the revolver. It was gone.
- Somehow he found himself wondering if she had taken it away with her in
- the fear that he would turn it against himself in case——
- </p>
- <p>
- “No powder stains,” he heard Hodder saying to his assistant. “Not a sign
- of 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right,” said the assistant, shaking his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Couldn't have been—no, of course not,” went on the first speaker in
- a matter-of-fact tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn't look that way,” agreed the assistant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fired from some little distance, I'd say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fifteen or twenty feet, perhaps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It suddenly dawned upon Brood that they were talking of suicide.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heaven, Hodder, it—it wasn't <i>that!</i>” he cried hoarsely.
- “What right have you to doubt my word? I tell you I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your word, Jim? This is the first word you've spoken since I came into
- the room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is—is it a mortal wound?” broke from the other's lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't tell. First aid now, that's the point. We'll get him downstairs in
- a few minutes. More light. I can't see a thing in this—hello! What's
- this? A photograph? Fell out of his pocket when I—oh, I see! Your
- wife. Sorry I got blood on it.” He laid the small bit of pasteboard on the
- table. “Wiley! See if you can get a mattress. We'll move him at once.
- Lively, my lad. He's alive, all right, Jim. Do our best. Looks bad. Poor
- kid. He's not had a very happy life of it, I'm afraid—I beg pardon!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In considerable embarrassment he brought his comments to an end and bent
- lower to examine the small black hole in the left breast of his patient.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic's lips moved. The doctor's ear caught the strangled whisper that
- issued.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Curious,” he remarked, turning to Brood with something like awe in his
- eyes. “I'm sure he said 'Mother.' But he never knew his mother, did he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ours afterward
- Brood sat alone in the room where the tragedy occurred. Much had
- transpired in the interim to make those hours seem like separate and
- distinct years to him, each hour an epoch in which a vital and memorable
- incident had been added to his already overfull measure of experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had refused to see the newspaper men who came. Dr Hodder wisely had
- protested against secrecy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Murder will out,” he had said fretfully, little realising how closely the
- trite old saying applied to the situation. He had accepted the statements
- of Yvonne and Ranjab as to the accidental discharge of the weapon, but for
- some reason had refrained from asking Brood a single question, although he
- knew him to be a witness to the shooting.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne saw the reporters and, later on, an inspector of police. Ranjab
- told his unhappy story. He had taken the weapon from a hook on the wall
- for the purpose of cleaning it. It had been hanging there for years, and
- all the time there had been a single cartridge left in the cylinder
- unknown to anyone. He had started to remove the cylinder as he left the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- All these years the hammer had been raised; death had been hanging over
- them all the time that the pistol occupied its insecure position on the
- wall. Somehow, he could not tell how, the hammer fell as he tugged at the
- cylinder. No one could have known that the revolver was loaded. That was
- all that he could say, except to declare that if his master's son died he
- would end his own miserable, valueless life.
- </p>
- <p>
- His story was supported by the declarations of Mrs Brood, who, while
- completely exonerating her husband's servant, had but little to say in
- explanation of the affair. She kept her wits about her. Most people would
- have made the mistake of saying too much. She professed to know nothing
- except that they were discussing young Mr Brood's contemplated trip abroad
- and that her husband had given orders to his servants to pack a revolver
- in his son's travelling-bag.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had paid but little attention to the Hindu's movements. All she could
- say was that it was an accident—a horrible, blighting accident. For
- the present it would not be possible for anyone to see the heart-broken
- father. Doubtless later on he would be in the mood to discuss the dreadful
- catastrophe, but not now. He was crushed with the horror of the thing that
- had happened. And so she explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- The house was in a state of subdued excitement. Servants spoke in whispers
- and tiptoed through the halls. Nurses and other doctors came. Two old men,
- shaking as with palsy, roamed about the place, intent only on worming
- their way into the presence of their friend and supporter to offer
- consolation and encouragement to him in his hour of tribulation. They
- shuddered as they looked into each other's faces, and they shook their
- heads without speaking, for their minds were filled with doubt. They did
- not question the truth of the story as told, but they had their own
- opinions.
- </p>
- <p>
- In support of the theory that they did not believe there was anything
- accidental in the shooting of Frederic it is only necessary to speak of
- their extraordinary attitude toward Ranjab. They shook hands with him and
- told him that Allah would reward him. Later on, after they had had time to
- think it all out for themselves, being somewhat slow of comprehension,
- they sought out James Brood and offered to accept all the blame for having
- loaded the revolver without consulting him, their object having been to
- destroy a cat that infested the alley hard by. They felt that it was
- absolutely necessary to account for the presence of the unexploded
- cartridge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As a matter of fact, Jim, old man,” insisted Mr Riggs, “I am entirely to
- blame for the whole business. I ought to have had more sense than to leave
- a shell in———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had nothing to do with it,” said Mr Dawes fiercely. “It was I who
- loaded the devilish thing, and I'm going to confess to the police. To be
- perfectly honest about it, I sort of recollect cocking it before I hung it
- up on the nail. I sort of recollect it, I say, and that's more than you
- can do. No, sir, Jim; I'm the one to blame. I ought to be shot for my
- carelessness. It was———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's no sense in your lying at a time like this,” said Mr Riggs
- caustically, glaring at his lifelong friend. “I suppose it's because he
- can't help it, Jim. Lying has got to be such a habit with him that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” interrupted Mr Dawes vigorously, “to show you that I am not lying,
- I intend to give myself up to the police and take the full penalty for
- criminal and contributory negligence. I suppose you'll still say I'm lying
- after they've sent me to jail for a couple of years for———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. “And I shall have you
- arrested for perjury if you try any of your tricks on me. I loaded it, I
- cocked sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I suppose you fired it off!” exclaimed Mr Dawes savagely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Riggs took a long breath. “Yes, sir, you scoundrel, I am ready to swear
- that I <i>did</i> fire it off!” They glared at each other with such
- ferocity that Brood, coming between them, laid his hands on their
- shoulders, shaking his head as he spoke to them gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, old pals. I understand what it is you are trying to do. It's
- no use. I fired the shot. It isn't necessary to say anything more to you,
- I'm sure, except that, as God is my witness, I did not intend the bullet
- for Frederic. It was an accident in that respect. Thank you for what you
- would do. It isn't necessary, old pals. The story that Ranjab tells must
- stand for the time being. Later on—well, I may <i>write</i> my own
- story and give it to the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Write it?” said Mr Dawes, and Brood nodded his head slowly,
- significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Jim, you—you mustn't do that!” groaned Mr Dawes, appalled. “You
- ain't such a coward as to do that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is one bullet left in that revolver. Ranjab advised me to save it—for
- myself. He's a thoughtful fellow,” said Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jim,” said Mr Riggs, squaring himself, “it's too bad that you didn't hit
- what you shot at.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr Dawes turned on him in a flash. “None o' that, Joe,” he said, and this
- time he was very much in earnest. “She's all right. You'll all find out
- she's all right. I tell you a woman can't nurse a feller back from the
- edge of the grave, yes, from the very bottom of it almost, and not betray
- her true nature to that same feller in more———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jim,” interrupted Mr Riggs, ignoring his comrade's defence, “I see she's
- going to nurse Freddy. Well, sir, if I was you, I'd———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood stopped him with an impatient gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must ask you not to discuss Mrs Brood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was just going to say, Jim, that if I was you I'd thank the Lord that
- she's going to do it,” substituted Mr Riggs somewhat hastily. “She's a
- wonderful nurse. She told me a bit ago that she was going to save his life
- in spite of the doctor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does Dr Hodder say?” demanded Brood, pausing in his restless pacing
- of the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He says the poor boy is as good as dead,” said Mr Riggs,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ain't got a chance in a million,” said Mr Dawes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were surprised to see Brood wince. He hadn't been so thin-skinned
- in the olden days. His nerve was going back on him, that's what it was;
- poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffened his back and taken it
- like a man. It did not occur to them that they might have broken the news
- to him with tact and consideration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can depend on us, Jim, to pull him through,” said Mr Riggs
- quickly. “Remember how we saved you back there in Calcutta when all the
- fool doctors said you hadn't a chance? Well, sir, we're still———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If any feller can get well with a bullet through his——” began
- Mr Dawes encouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his
- hands over his eyes and sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on his
- lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess we'd better go,” whispered Mr Riggs, after a moment of
- indecision, and then, inspired by a certain fear for his friend, struck
- the gong resoundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room,
- encountering Ranjab just outside the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must stick to it, Ranjab,” said Mr Riggs sternly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “With your dying breath,” added Mr Dawes, and the Hindu, understanding,
- gravely nodded his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” said Brood, long afterward, raising his haggard face to meet the
- gaze of the motionless brown man who had been standing in his presence for
- many minutes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She ask permission of <i>sahib</i> to be near him until the end,” said
- the Hindu. “She will not go away. I have heard the words she say to the <i>sahibah</i>,
- and the <i>sahibah</i> is silent as the tomb. She say no word for herself,
- just sit and look at the floor and never move. Then she accuse the <i>sahibah</i>
- of being the cause of the young master's death, and the <i>sahibah</i>
- only nod her head to that and go out of the room and up to the place where
- the young master is, and they cannot keep her from going in. She just look
- at the woman in the white cap and the woman step aside. The <i>sahibah</i>
- is now with the young master and the doctors. She is not of this world, <i>sahib</i>,
- but of another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Miss Desmond? Where is she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She wait in the hall outside his door. Ranjab have speech with her. She
- does not believe Ranjab. She look into his eye and his eye is not honest;
- she see it all. She say the young master shoot himself and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab,” said Brood stolidly. “She must know,
- she and her mother. To-night I shall see them, but not now. Suicide!
- Poor, poor Lydia!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Lydia say she blame herself for everything. She is a coward, she
- say, and Ranjab he understand. She came yesterday and went away. Ranjab
- tell her the <i>sahib</i> no can see her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yesterday? I know. She came to plead with me. I know,” groaned Brood
- bitterly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will not speak her thoughts to the world, <i>sahib</i>,” asserted
- Ranjab. “Thy servant have spoken his words and she will not deny him. It
- is for the young master's sake. But she say she <i>know</i> he shoot
- himself because he no can bear the disgrace———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Enough, Ranjab,” interrupted the master. “To-night I shall tell her
- everything. Go now and fetch me the latest word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Hindu remained motionless just inside the door. His eyes were closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ranjab talk to the winds, <i>sahib</i>. The winds speak to him. The young
- master is alive. The great doctor he search for the bullet. It is bad. But
- the <i>sahibah</i> stand between him and death. She hold back death. She
- laugh at death. She say it no can be. Ranjab know her now. Here in this
- room he see the two woman in her, and he no more will be blind. She stand
- there before Ranjab, who would kill, and out of the air came a new spirit
- to shield her. Her eyes are the eyes of another who does not live in the
- flesh, and Ranjab bends the knee. He see the inside. It is not black. It
- is full of light, a great big light, <i>sahib</i>. Thy servant would kill
- his master's wife, but, Allah defend! He cannot kill the wife who is
- already dead. His master's wives stand before him—two, not one—and
- his hand is stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was regarding him through wide—open, incredulous eyes. “You—you
- saw it, too?” he gasped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The serpent is deadly. Many time Ranjab have take the poison from its
- fangs and it becomes his slave. He would have take the poison from the
- serpent in his master's house, but the serpent change before his eye and
- he become the slave. She speak to him on the voice of the wind and he
- obey. It is the law. Kismet! His master have of wives two. Two, <i>sahib</i>,
- the living and the dead. They speak with Ranjab to-day and he obey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was dead silence in the room for many minutes after the remarkable
- utterances of the mystic. Master and man looked into each other's eyes and
- spoke no more, yet something passed between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The <i>sahibah</i> has sent Roberts for a priest,” said the Hindu at
- last.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A priest? But I am not a Catholic—nor Frederic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam is. The servants are saying that the priest will be here too late.
- They are wondering why you have not already killed me, <i>sahib</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kill you, <i>too?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are now saying that the last stroke of the gong, <i>sahib</i>, was
- the death-sentence for Ranjab. It called me here to be slain by you.
- I have told them all that I fired the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go down at once, my friend,” said Brood, laying his hand on the man's
- shoulder. “Let them see that I do not blame you, even though we permit
- them to believe this lie of ours. Go, my friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man bent his head and turned away. Near the door he stopped stock-still
- and listened intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The <i>sahibah</i> comes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aye, she said she would come to me here,” said Brood, and his jaw
- hardened. “Hodder—sent for me, Ranjab, an hour ago, but—but he
- was conscious then. His eyes were open. I—I could not look into
- them. There would have been hatred in them—hatred for me, and I—I
- could not go. I was a coward. Yes, a coward, after all. She would have
- been there to watch me as I cringed. I was afraid of what I might do to
- her then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not conscious now, <i>sahib</i>” said the Hindu slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still,” said the other, compressing his lips, “I am afraid—I am
- afraid. Ranjab, you do not know what it means to be a coward! You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet, <i>sahib</i>, you are brave enough to stand on the spot where he
- fell, where his blood flowed, and that is not what a coward would do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened and closed swiftly and he was gone. Brood allowed his
- dull, wondering gaze to sink to his feet. He was standing on the spot
- where Frederic had fallen. There was no blood there now. The rug had been
- removed, and before his own eyes the swift-moving Hindu had washed
- the floor and table and put the room in order. All this seemed ages ago.
- Since that time he had bared his soul to the smirking Buddha, and
- receiving no consolation from the smug image, had violently cursed the
- thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since then he had waited—he had waited for many things to happen. He
- knew all that took place below stairs. He knew when Lydia came and he
- denied himself to her. The coming of the police, the nurses and the
- anæsthetician, and later on Mrs John Desmond and the reporters. All this
- he had known, for he had listened at a crack in the open door. And he had
- heard his wife's calm, authoritative voice in the hall below, giving
- directions. Now for the first time he looked about him and felt himself
- attended by ghosts. In that instant he came to hate this once-loved
- room, this cherished retreat, and all that it contained. He would never
- set his foot inside of its four walls again. It was filled with ghosts!
- </p>
- <p>
- On the corner of the table lay a great heap of manuscript, the story of
- his life up to the escape from Thassa. The sheets of paper had been
- scattered over the floor by the surgeon, but now they were back in perfect
- order, replaced by another hand. He thought of the final chapter that
- would have to be written if he went on with the journal. It would have to
- be written, for it was the true story of his life. He strode swiftly to
- the table. In another instant the work of many months would have been torn
- to bits of waste paper. But his hand was stayed. Someone had stopped
- outside his door. He could not hear a sound, and yet he knew that a hand
- was on the heavy latch. He suddenly recalled his remark to the old men. He
- would have to <i>write</i> the final chapter, after all.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited. He knew that she was out there, collecting all of her strength
- for the coming interview. She was fortifying herself against the crisis
- that was so near at hand. To his own surprise and distress of mind he
- found himself trembling and suddenly deprived of the fierce energy that he
- had stored up for the encounter. He wondered whether he would command the
- situation, after all, notwithstanding his righteous charge against her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had wantonly sought to entice Frederic, she had planned to dishonour
- her husband, she had proved herself unwholesome and false, and her heart
- was evil. And yet he wondered whether he would be able to stand his ground
- against her.
- </p>
- <p>
- So far she had ruled. At the outset he had attempted to assert his
- authority as the master of the house in this trying, heart-breaking
- hour, and she had calmly waved him aside. His first thought had been to
- take his proper place at the bedside of his victim and there to remain
- until the end, but she had said: “You are not to go in. You have done
- enough for one day. If he must die, let it be in peace and not in fear.
- You are not to go in,” and he had crept away to hide!
- </p>
- <p>
- He remembered her words later on when Hodder sent for him to come down.
- “Not in fear,” she had said.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the edge of the table, where it had reposed since Dr Hodder dropped it
- there, was the small photograph of Matilde. He had not touched it, but he
- had bent over it for many minutes at a time, studying the sweet, never-to-be-forgotten,
- and yet curiously unfamiliar features of that long-ago loved one. He
- looked at it now as he waited for the door to open, and his thoughts
- leaped back to the last glimpse he had ever had of that adorable face.
- Then it was white with despair and misery; here it looked up at him with
- smiling eyes and the languor of unbroken tranquillity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he realised that the room was quite dark. He dashed to the window
- and threw aside the broad, thick curtains. A stream of afternoon sunshine
- rushed into the place. He would have light this time; he would not be
- deceived by the darkness, as he had been once before. This time he would
- see her face plainly. There should be no sickening illusion. He
- straightened his tall figure and waited for the door to open.
- </p>
- <p>
- The window at his back was open. He heard a penetrating but hushed voice
- speaking from one of the windows across the court, from his wife's window,
- he knew without a glance of inquiry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Céleste, her maid, was giving orders in great agitation to the furnace-man
- in the yard below.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, you big fool! I am not dismiss. I am not going away—no.
- Tak' <i>zem</i> back. <i>Madame</i> has change her mind. I am not fire
- non, <i>non!</i> Tak' zem back, <i>vitement!</i> I go some other day!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door was opened suddenly and Yvonne came into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f she had
- hesitated outside the room to summon the courage to face the man who would
- demand so much of her, there was nothing in her manner when she entered to
- indicate that such had been the case. She approached him without a symptom
- of nervousness or irresolution. Her dark eyes met his without wavering,
- and there was purpose in them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She devoted a single glance of surprise to the uncurtained window on
- entering the door, and an instant later scrutinised the floor with
- unmistakable interest, as if expecting to find something there to account
- for his motive in admitting the glare of light, something to confound and
- accuse her. But there was no fear in the look.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had put on a rather plain white blouse, open at the neck. The cuffs
- were rolled up nearly to the elbows, evidence that she had been using her
- hands in some active employment and had either forgotten or neglected to
- restore the sleeves to their proper position. A chic black walking-skirt
- lent to her trim, erect figure a suggestion of girlishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her arms hung straight down at her sides, limply it would have seemed at
- first glance, but in reality they were rigid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have come, as I said I would,” she said, after a long, tense silence.
- Her voice was low, huskier than ever, but without a tremor of excitement.
- “You did not say you would wait for me here, but I knew you would do so.
- The hour of reckoning has come. We must pay, both of us. I am not
- frightened by your silence, James, nor am I afraid of what you may say or
- do. First of all, it is expected that Frederic will die. Dr Hodder has
- proclaimed it. He is a great surgeon. He ought to know. But he doesn't
- know—do you hear? He does not know. I shall not let him die.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One moment, if you please,” said her husband coldly. “You may spare me
- the theatrics. Moreover, we will not discuss Frederic. What we have to say
- to each other has little to do with that poor boy downstairs. This is <i>your</i>
- hour of reckoning, not his. Bear that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very much mistaken,” she interrupted, her gaze growing more fixed
- than before. “He is a part of our reckoning. He is the one great character
- in this miserable, unlooked-for tragedy. Will you be so kind as to
- draw those curtains? And do me the honour to allow me to sit in your
- presence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was infinite scorn in her voice. “I am very tired. I have not been
- idle. Every minute of my waking hours belongs to your son, James Brood,
- but I owe this half-hour to you. You shall know the truth about me,
- as I know it about you. I did not count on this hour ever being a part of
- my life, but it has to be, and I shall face it without weeping over what
- might have been. Will you draw the curtains?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hesitated a moment and then jerked the curtains together, shutting out
- the pitiless glare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you be seated there?” he said quietly, pointing to a chair at the
- end of the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- She switched on the light in the big lamp, but instead of taking the chair
- indicated, sank into one on the opposite side of the table, with the
- mellow light full upon her lovely, serious face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit there,” she said, signifying the chair he had requested her to take.
- “Please sit down,” she went on impatiently, as he continued to regard her
- forbiddingly from his position near the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be better able to say what I have to say standing,” he said
- significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you expect me to plead with you for forgiveness?” she inquired, with
- an unmistakable look of surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may save yourself the humiliation of such——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you are gravely mistaken,” she interrupted. “I shall ask nothing of
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we need not prolong the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have come to explain, not to plead,” she went on resolutely. “I want to
- tell you why I married you. You will not find it a pleasant story, nor
- will you be proud of your conquest. It will not be necessary for you to
- turn me out of your house. I entered it with the determination to leave it
- in my own good time. I think you had better sit down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her fixedly for a moment, as if striving to materialise a
- thought that lay somewhere in the back of his mind. He was vaguely
- conscious of an impression that he could unfathom all this seeming
- mystery without a suggestion from her if given the time to concentrate his
- mind on the vague, hazy suggestion that tormented his memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down opposite her and rested his arms on the table. The lines about
- his mouth were rigid, uncompromising, but there was a look of wonder in
- his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- She leaned forward in her chair, the better to watch the changing
- expression in his eyes as she progressed with her story. Her hands were
- clenched tightly under the table's edge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are looking into my eyes, as you have looked a hundred times,” she
- said after a moment. “There is something in them that has puzzled you
- since the night when you looked into them across that great ballroom in
- London. You have always felt that they were not new to you, that you have
- had them constantly in front of you for ages. Do you remember when you
- first saw me, James Brood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared, and his eyes widened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never saw you in my life until that night in London, I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look closely. Isn't there something more than doubt in your mind as you
- look into them now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I confess that I have always been puzzled by by something I cannot
- understand in—but all this leads to nothing,” he broke off harshly.
- “We are not here to mystify each other, but to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To explain mysteries, that's it, of course. You are looking. What do you
- see? Are you not sure that you looked into my eyes long, long ago? Are
- there not moments when my voice is familiar to you, when it speaks to you
- out of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat up, rigid as a block of stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, by Heaven, I have felt it all along! To-day I was convinced
- that the unbelievable had happened. I saw something that———”
- He stopped short, his lips parted.
- </p>
- <p>
- She waved her hand in the direction of the Buddha.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you never petitioned your too-stolid friend over there to
- unravel the mystery for you? In the quiet of certain lonely, speculative
- hours have you not wondered where you had seen me before, long, long
- before the night in London? In all the years that you have been trying to
- convince yourself that Frederic is not your son has there not been the
- vision of———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you saying to me? Are you trying to tell me that you are
- Matilde?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If not Matilde, then who am I, pray?” she demanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sank back frowning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It cannot be possible. I would know her a thousand years from now. You
- cannot trick me into believing—but, who are you?” He leaned forward
- again, clutching the edge of the table. “I sometimes think you are a ghost
- come to haunt me, to torture me. What trick, what magic is behind all
- this? Has her soul, her spirit, her actual being found a lodging-place
- in you, and have you been sent to curse me for———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose half-way out of her chair, leaning farther across the
- table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, James Brood, I represent the spirit of Matilde Valeska, if you will
- have it so. Not sent to curse you, but to love you. That's the pity of it
- all. I swear to you that it is the spirit of Matilde that urges me to love
- you and to spare you now. It is the spirit of Matilde that stands between
- her son and death. But it is not Matilde who confronts you here and now,
- you may be sure of that. Matilde loved you. She loves you now, even in her
- grave. You will never be able to escape from that wonderful love of hers.
- If there have been times—and God help me, there were many, I know—when
- I appeared to love you for myself, I swear to you that I was moved by the
- spirit of Matilde. I—I am as much mystified, as greatly puzzled as
- yourself. I came here to hate you, and I have loved you; yes, there were
- moments when I actually loved you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice died away into a whisper. For many seconds they sat looking into
- each other's eyes, neither possessing the power to break the strange spell
- of silence that had fallen upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it is not Matilde who confronts you now, but one who would not spare
- you as she did up to the hour of her death. You are quite safe from ghosts
- from this hour on, my friend. You will never see Matilde again, though you
- look into my eyes till the end of time. Frederic may see, may feel the
- spirit of his mother, but you—ah, no! You have seen the last of her.
- Her blood is in my veins, her wrongs are in my heart. It was she with whom
- you fell in love, and it was she you married six months ago, but now the
- curtain is lifted. Don't you know me now, James? Can your memory carry you
- back twenty-three years and deliver you from doubt and perplexity?
- Look closely, I say. I was six years old then, and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood was glaring at her as one stupefied. Suddenly he cried out in a loud
- voice. “You are you are the little sister? The little Thérèse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was standing now, leaning far over the table, for he had shrunk down
- into his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The little Thérèse, yes! Now do you begin to see? Now do you begin to
- realise what I came here to do? Now do you know why I married you? Isn't
- it clear to you? Well, I have tried to do all these things so that I might
- break your heart as you broke hers. I came to make you pay!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her voice was high-pitched
- and unnatural. Her eyes seemed to be driving him deeper and deeper into
- the chair, forcing him down as though with a giant's hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The little, timid, heart-broken Thérèse who would not speak to you,
- nor kiss you, nor say goodbye to you when you took her darling sister away
- from the Bristol in the <i>Kartnerring</i> more than twenty years ago. Ah,
- how I loved her, how I loved her! And how I hated you for taking her away
- from me. Shall I ever forget that wedding night? Shall I ever forget the
- grief, the loneliness, the hatred that dwelt in my poor little heart that
- night? Everyone was happy, the whole world was happy; but was I? I was
- crushed with grief. You were taking her away across the awful sea, and you
- were to make her happy, so they said, <i>aïe</i>, so said my beloved,
- joyous sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You stood before the altar in St Stephens's with her and promised,
- promised, promised everything. I heard you. I sat with my mother and
- turned to ice, but I heard you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that you
- promised naught but happiness to each other. She was twenty-one. She
- was lovely; ah, far lovelier than that wretched photograph lying there in
- front of you. It was made when she was eighteen. She did not write those
- words on the back of the card. I wrote them, not more than a month ago,
- before I gave it to Frederic. To this house she came twenty-three
- years ago. You brought her here the happiest girl in all the world. How
- did you send her away? How?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stirred in the chair. A spasm of pain crossed his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I was the happiest man in all the world,” he said hoarsely. “You are
- forgetting one thing, Thérèse.” He fell into the way of calling her
- Thérèse as if he had known her by no other name. “Your sister was not
- content to preserve the happiness that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop!” she commanded. “You are not to speak evil of her now. You will
- never think evil of her after what I am about to tell you. You will curse
- yourself. Somehow I am glad that my plans have gone awry. It gives me the
- opportunity to see you curse yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her sister!” muttered the man unbelievingly. “I have married the child
- Thérèse. I have held her sister in my arms all these months and never
- knew. It is a dream. I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but you have <i>felt</i>, even though———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He struck the table violently with his fist. His eyes were blazing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What manner of woman are you? What were you planning to do to that
- unhappy boy—her son? Are you a fiend to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In good time, James, you will know what manner of woman I am,” she
- interrupted quietly. Sinking back in the chair, she resumed the broken
- strain, all the time watching him through half—closed eyes. “She
- died ten years ago. Her boy was twelve years old. She never saw him after
- the night you turned her away from this house. On her death-bed, as
- she was releasing her pure, undefiled soul to God's keeping, she repeated
- to the priest who went through the unnecessary form of absolving her, she
- repeated her solemn declaration that she had never wronged you by thought
- or deed. I had always believed her, the holy priest believed her, God
- believed her. You would have believed her, too, James Brood. She was a
- good woman. Do you hear? And you put a curse upon her and drove her out
- into the night. That was not all. You persecuted her to the end of her
- unhappy life. You did that to my sister!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet you married me,” he muttered thickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not because I loved you; oh, no! She loved you to the day of her death,
- after all the misery and suffering you had heaped upon her. No woman ever
- endured the anguish that she suffered throughout those hungry years. You
- kept her child from her. You denied him to her, even though you denied him
- to yourself. Why did you keep him from her? She was his mother. She had
- borne him; he was all hers. But no! It was your revenge to deprive her of
- the child she had brought into the world. You worked deliberately in this
- plan to crush what little there was left in life for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You kept him with you, though you branded him with a name I cannot utter;
- you guarded him as if he were your most precious possession, and not a
- curse to your pride; you did this because you knew that you could drive
- the barb more deeply into her tortured heart. You allowed her to die,
- after years of pleading, after years of vain endeavour, without one
- glimpse of her boy, without ever having heard the word mother on his lips.
- That is what you did to my sister. For twelve long years you gloated over
- her misery. Man, man, how I hated you when I married you!” She paused,
- breathless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are creating an excuse for your devilish conduct!” he exclaimed
- harshly. “You are like Matilde, false to the core. You married me for the
- luxury I could provide, notwithstanding the curse I had put upon your
- sister. I don't believe a word of what you are saying to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you believe that I am her sister?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You, yes; I must believe that. Why have I been so blind? You are the
- little Thérèse, and you hated me in those other days. I remember well the———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A child's despairing hatred because you were taking away the being she
- loved best of all. Will you believe me when I say that my hatred did not
- endure for long? When her happy, joyous letters came back to us filled
- with accounts of your goodness, your devotion, I allowed my hatred to die.
- I forgot that you had robbed me. I came to look upon you as the fairy
- prince, after all. It was not until she came all the way across the ocean
- and began to die before our eyes—she was years in dying—it was not
- until then that I began to hate you with a real, undying hatred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet you gave yourself to me!” he cried. “You put yourself in her
- place! In Heaven's name, what was to be gained by such an act as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wanted to take Matilde's boy away from you,” she hurried on, and for
- the first time her eyes began to waver. “The idea suggested itself to me
- the night I met you at the comtesse's dinner. It was a wonderful, a
- tremendous thought that entered my brain. At first my real self revolted,
- but as time went on the idea became an obsession. I married you, James
- Brood, for the sole purpose of hurting you in the worst possible way: by
- having Matilde's son strike you where the pain would be the greatest. Ah,
- you are thinking that I would have permitted myself to have become his
- mistress, but you are mistaken. I am not that bad. I would not have damned
- his soul in that way. I would not have betrayed my sister in that way. Far
- more subtle was my design. I confess that it was my plan to make him fall
- in love with me and in the end to run away with him, leaving you to think
- that the very worst had happened. But it would not have been as you think.
- He would have been protected, my friend, amply protected. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you would have wrecked him; don't you see that you would have wrecked
- the life you sought to protect? How blind and unfeeling you were. You say
- that he was my son and Matilde's, honestly born. What was your object, may
- I inquire, in striking me at such cost to him? You would have made a
- scoundrel of him for the sake of a personal vengeance. Are you forgetting
- that he regarded himself as my son?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I do not forget, James. There was but one way in which I could hope
- to steal him away from you, and I went about it deliberately, with my eyes
- open. I came here to induce him to run away with me. I would have taken
- him back to his mother's home, to her grave, and there I would have told
- him what you did to her. If, after hearing my story, he elected to return
- to the man who had destroyed his mother, I should have stepped aside and
- offered no protest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I would have taken him away from you in the manner that would have
- hurt you the worst. My sister was true to you. I would have been just as
- true, and after you had suffered the torments of hell, it was my plan to
- reveal everything to you. But you would have had your punishment by that
- time. When you were at the very end of your strength, when you trembled on
- the edge of oblivion, then I would have hunted you out and laughed at you
- and told you the truth. But you would have had years of anguish—years,
- I say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have already had years of agony, pray do not overlook that fact,” said
- he. “I suffered for twenty years. I was at the edge of oblivion more than
- once, if it is a pleasure for you to hear me say it, Thérèse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It does not offset the pain that her suffering brought to me. It does not
- counterbalance the unhappiness you gave to her boy, nor the stigma you put
- upon him. I am glad that you suffered. It proves to me that you secretly
- considered yourself to be in the wrong. You doubted yourself. You were
- never sure, and yet you crushed the life out of her innocent, bleeding
- heart. You let her die without a word to show that you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was lost to the world for years,” he said. “There were many years when
- I was not in touch with———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But her letters must have reached you. She wrote a thousand of————”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They never reached me,” he said significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ordered them to be destroyed?” she cried in sudden comprehension.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must decline to answer that question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him a curious, incredulous smile and then abruptly returned to
- her charge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When my sister came home, degraded, I was nine years of age, but I was
- not so young that I did not know that a dreadful thing had happened to
- her. She was blighted beyond all hope of recovery. It was to me, little
- me, that she told her story over and over again, and it was I to whom she
- read all of the pitiful letters she wrote to you. My father wanted to come
- to America to kill you. He did come later on to plead with you and to kill
- you if you would not listen to him. But you had gone—to Africa, they
- said. I could not understand why you would not give to her that little
- baby boy. He was hers, and———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stopped short in her recital and covered her eyes with her hands. He
- waited for her to go on, sitting as rigid as the image that faced him from
- beyond the table's end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Afterward my father and my uncles made every effort to get the child away
- from you, but he was hidden; you know how carefully he was hidden so that
- she might never find him. For ten years they searched for him, and you.
- For ten years she wrote to you, begging you to let her have him, if only
- for a little while at a time. She promised to restore him to you. You
- never replied. You scorned her. We were rich, very rich. But our money was
- of no help to us in the search for her boy. You had secreted him too well.
- At last, one day, she told me what it was that you accused her of doing.
- She told me about Guido Feverelli, her music-master. I knew him,
- James. He had known her from childhood. He was one of the finest men I
- have ever seen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was in love with her,” grated Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps. Who knows? But if so, he never uttered so much as one word of
- love to her. He challenged you. Why did you refuse to fight him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because she begged me not to kill him. Did she tell you that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. But that was not the real reason. It was because you were not sure
- of your ground.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I deny that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind! It is enough that poor Feverelli passed out of her life. She
- did not see him again until just before she died. He was a noble
- gentleman. He wrote but one letter to her after that wretched day in this
- house. I have it here in this packet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew a package of letters, tied with a white ribbon, from her bosom
- and laid it upon the table before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But one letter from him,” she went on. “I have brought it here for you to
- read. But not now. There are other letters and documents here for you to
- consider. They are from the grave. Ah, I do not wonder that you shrink and
- draw back from them. They convict you, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now I can see why you have taken up this fight against me. You—you
- knew she was innocent,” he said in a low, unsteady voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why I have hated you, <i>aïe?</i> But what you do not understand is
- how I could have brought myself to the point of loving you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Loving me! Good Heaven, woman, what do you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Loving you in spite of myself,” she cried, beating upon the table with
- her hands. “I have tried to convince myself that it was not I, but the
- spirit of Matilde that had come to lodge in my treacherous body. I hated
- you for myself and I loved you for Matilde. She loved you to the end. She
- never hated you. That was it. The pure, deathless love of Matilde was
- constantly fighting against the hatred I bore for you. I believe as firmly
- as I believe that I am alive that she has been near me all the time,
- battling against my insane desire for vengeance. You have only to recall
- to yourself the moments when you were so vividly reminded of Matilde
- Valeska. At those times I am sure that something of Matilde was in me. I
- was not myself. You have looked into my eyes a thousand times with a
- question in your own. Your soul was striving to reach the soul of Matilde.
- Ah, all these months I have known that you love Matilde, not me. You loved
- Matilde that was in me. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have thought of her, always of her, when you were in my arms.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know how well you loved her,” she declared slowly. “I know that you
- went to her tomb long after her death was revealed to you. I know that
- years ago you made an effort to find Feverelli. You found his grave, too,
- and you could not ask him, man to man, if you had wronged her. But in
- spite of all that you brought up her boy to be sacrificed as———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I—am I to believe you? If he should be my son!” he cried,
- starting up, cold with dread.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is your son. He could be no other man's son. I have her dying word for
- it. She declared it in the presence of her God. Wait! Where are you
- going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going down to him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet, James. I have still more to say to you, more to confess. Here!
- Take this package of letters. Read them as you sit beside his bed—not
- his death-bed, for I shall restore him to health, never fear. If he
- were to die I should curse myself to the end of time, for I and I alone
- would have been the cause. Here are her letters, and the one Feverelli
- wrote to her. This is her death-bed letter to you. And this is a
- letter to her son and yours. You may some day read it to him. And here—this
- is a document requiring me to share my fortune with her son. It is a
- pledge that I took before my father died a few years ago. If the boy ever
- appeared he was to have his mother's share of the estate, and it is not an
- inconsiderable amount, James. He is independent of you. He need ask
- nothing of you. I was taking him home to his own.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrank slightly as he stood over her. There was more of wonder and
- pity in his face than condemnation. She looked for the anger she had
- expected to arouse in him, and was dumbfounded to see that it was not
- revealed in his steady, appraising eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your plan deserved a better fate than this, Yv—Thérèse. It was
- prodigious! I—I can almost pity you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you no pain, no regret, no grief?” she cried weakly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, controlling himself with difficulty. “Yes, I know all
- these and more.” He picked up the package of letters and glanced at the
- superscription on the outer envelope. Suddenly he raised them to his lips
- and, with his eyes closed, kissed the words that were written there. Her
- head drooped and a sob came into her throat. She did not look up until he
- began speaking to her again, quietly, even patiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why should you, even in your longing for revenge, have planned to
- humiliate and degrade him even more than I could have done? Was it just to
- your sister's son that you should blight his life, that you should turn
- him into a skulking, sneaking betrayer? What would you have gained in the
- end? His loathing, his scorn. Thérèse, did you not think of all this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have told you that I thought of everything. I was mistaken. I did not
- stop to think that I would be taking him away from happiness in the shape
- of love that he might bear for someone else. I did not know that there was
- a Lydia Desmond. When I came to know my heart softened and my purpose lost
- most of its force. He would have been safe with me, but would he have been
- happy? I could not give him the kind of love that Lydia promised. I could
- only be his mother's sister to him. He was not in love with me. He has
- always loved Lydia. I fascinated him, just as I fascinated you. He would
- not have gone away with me, even after you had told him that he was not
- your son. He would not do that to you, James, in spite of the blow you
- struck him. He was loyal to Lydia and to himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what did he think of <i>you?</i>” demanded Brood scornfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had not come upon us here he would have known me for who I am, and
- he would have forgiven me. I had asked him to go away with me. He refused.
- Then I was about to tell him the whole story of my life, of his life, and
- of yours. Do you think he would have refused forgiveness to me? No! He
- would have understood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But up to that hour he thought of you as—what shall I say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bad woman? Perhaps. I did not care. It was part of the price I was to
- pay in advance. I would have told him everything as soon as the ship on
- which we sailed was outside the harbour yonder. That was my intention, and
- I know you believe me when I say that there was nothing more in my mind.
- Time would have straightened everything out for him. He could have had his
- Lydia, even though he went away with me. Once away from here, do you think
- that he would ever return? No! Even though he knew you to be his father,
- he would not forget that he has never been your son. You have hurt him
- since he was a babe. Would he forget? Would he forgive? No! When you came
- into this room and found us, I was about to go down on my knees to him to
- thank him for saving me from my own designs. I realised then, as I had
- come to suspect in the past few months, that I had not counted on my own
- conscience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “James, I—I would not have carried out my plan. I had faltered, and
- my cause was lost. What have I accomplished? Am I able to gloat over you?
- What have I wrought, after all? I weakened under the love she bore for
- you, I permitted it to creep in and fill my heart. Do you understand? I do
- not hate you now. It is something to know that you have worshipped her all
- these years. You were true to her. What you did long, long ago was not
- your fault. You believed that she had wronged you. But you went on loving
- her. That is what weakened my resolve. You loved her to the end, she loved
- you to the end. Well, in the face of that, could I go on hating you? You
- must have been worthy of her love. She knew you better than all the world.
- You came to me with love for her in your heart. You took me, and you loved
- her all the time. I am not sure, James, that you are not entitled to this
- miserable, unhappy love I have come to feel for you—my own love, not
- Matilde's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are saying this so that I may refrain from throwing you out into the
- street———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” she cried, coming to her feet. “I shall ask nothing of you. If I am
- to go, it shall be because I have failed. I have been a blind,
- vainglorious fool. The trap has caught me instead of you, and I shall take
- the consequences. I have lost everything!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have lost <i>everything</i>,” said he steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You despise me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot ask you to stay here after this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I shall not go. I have a duty to perform before I leave this house. I
- intend to save the life of that poor boy downstairs, so that he may not
- die believing me to be an evil woman, a faithless wife. Thank God, I have
- accomplished something! You know that he is your son. You know that my
- sister was as pure as snow. You know that you killed her, and that she
- loved you in spite of the death you brought to her. That is something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood dropped into the chair and buried his face on his quivering arms. In
- muffled tones came the cry from his soul:
- </p>
- <p>
- “They've all said that he is like me. I have seen it at times, but I would
- not believe. I fought against it resolutely, madly, cruelly! Now it is too
- late and I <i>see!</i> I see, I feel! You curse of mankind, you have
- driven me to the killing of my own son!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood over him, silent for a long time, her hand hovering above his
- head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not going to die,” she said at last, when she was sure that she had
- full command of her voice. “I can promise you that, James. I shall not go
- from this house until he is well. I shall nurse him to health and give him
- back to you and Matilde, for now I know that he belongs to both of you and
- not to her alone. Now, James, you may go down to him. He is not conscious.
- He will not hear you praying at his bedside. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- A knock came at the door—a sharp, imperative knock. It was repeated
- several times before either of them could summon the courage to call out.
- They were petrified with the dread of something that awaited them beyond
- the closed door. It was she who finally called out:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Hodder, coatless and bare-armed, came into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he doctor blinked
- for a moment. The two were leaning forward with alarm in their eyes, their
- hands gripping the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, are we to send for an undertaker?” demanded Hodder irritably.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood started forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is—is he dead?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not, but he might as well be!” exclaimed the doctor. It was
- plain to be seen that he was very much out of patience. “You've called in
- another doctor and a priest, and now I hear that a Presbyterian parson is
- in the library. Hang it all, Brood, why don't you send for the coroner and
- undertaker and have done with it! I'm blessed if I———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne came swiftly to his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he conscious? Does he know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hodder, is there any hope?” cried Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll be honest with you, Jim. I don't believe there is. It went in here,
- above the heart, and it's lodged back here by the spine somewhere. We
- haven't located it yet, but we will. Had to let up on the ether for a
- while, you see. He opened his eyes a few minutes ago, Mrs Brood, and my
- assistant is certain that he whispered Lydia Desmond's name. Sounded that
- way to him, but, of course———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There! You see, James?” she cried, whirling upon her husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you'd better step in and see him now, Jim,” said the doctor,
- suddenly becoming very gentle. “He may come to again, and it may be the
- last time he'll ever open his eyes. Yes, it's as bad as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll go,” said Brood, his face ashen. “You must revive him for a few
- minutes, Hodder. There's something I've got to say to him. He must be able
- to hear and understand me. It is the most important thing in the———”
- He choked up suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll have to be careful, Jim. He's ready to collapse. Then it's all
- off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, Dr Hodder, my husband has something to say to his son that
- cannot be put off for an instant. I think it will mean a great deal to him
- in his fight for recovery. It will make life worth living for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hodder stared for a second or two.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll need a lot of courage, and if anything can put it into him he'll
- make a better fight. If you get a chance, say it to him, Jim. If it's got
- anything to do with his mother, say it. He has moaned the word a dozen
- times———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has to do with his mother!” Brood cried out. “Come! I want you to hear
- it, too, Hodder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There isn't much time to lose, I'm afraid,” began Hodder, shaking his
- head. His gaze suddenly rested on Mrs Brood's face. She was very erect,
- and a smile such as he had never seen before was on her lips, a smile that
- puzzled and yet inspired him with a positive, undeniable feeling of
- encouragement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not going to die, Dr Hodder,” she said quietly. Something went
- through his body that warmed it curiously. He felt a thrill, as one who is
- seized by a great, overpowering excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- She preceded them into the hall. Brood came last. He closed the door
- behind him after a swift glance about the room that had been his most
- private retreat for years.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was never to set foot inside its walls again. In that single glance he
- bade farewell to it for ever.
- It was a hated, unlovely spot. He had spent an age in it during those
- bitter morning hours, an age of imprisonment.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the landing below they came upon Lydia. She was seated on a window-ledge,
- leaning wearily against the casement. She did not rise as they approached,
- but watched them with steady, smouldering eyes in which there was no
- friendliness, no compassion. They were her enemies; they had killed the
- thing she loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood's eyes met hers for an instant, and then fell before the bitter look
- they encountered. His shoulders drooped as he passed close by her
- motionless figure and followed the doctor down the hall to the bedroom
- door. It opened and closed an instant later and he was with his son.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long time Lydia's sombre, piteous gaze hung upon the door through
- which he had passed and which was closed so cruelly against her, the one
- who loved him best of all. At last she looked away; her attention was
- caught by a queer, clicking sound near at hand. She was surprised to find
- Yvonne Brood standing close beside her, her eyes closed and her fingers
- telling the beads that ran through her fingers, her lips moving in
- voiceless prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl watched her dully for a few moments, then with growing
- fascination. The incomprehensible creature was praying! To Lydia this
- seemed to be the most unnatural thing in all the world. She could not
- associate prayer with this woman's character; she could not imagine her
- having been in all her life possessed of a fervent religious thought. It
- was impossible to think of her as being even hypocritically pious.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia began to experience a strange feeling of irritation. She turned her
- face away, unwilling to be a witness to this shallow mockery. She was
- herself innately religious. In her secret soul she resented an appeal to
- Heaven by this luxurious worldling; she could not bring herself to think
- of her as anything else. Prayer seemed a profanation on her scarlet lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia believed that Frederic had shot himself. She put Yvonne down as the
- real cause of the calamity that had fallen upon the house. But for her,
- James Brood never would have had a motive for striking the blow that
- crushed all desire to live out of the unhappy boy. She had made of her
- husband an unfeeling monster, and now she prayed! She had played with the
- emotions of two men, and now she begged to be pardoned for her folly! An
- inexplicable desire to laugh at the plight of the trifler came over the
- girl, but even as she checked it another and more unaccountable force
- ordered her to obey the impulse to turn once more to look into the face of
- her companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yvonne was looking at her. She had ceased telling the beads, and her hands
- hung limply at her sides. For a full minute, perhaps, the two regarded
- each other without speaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not going to die, Lydia,” said Yvonne gravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl started to her feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think it is your prayer, and not mine, that has reached God's
- ears?'” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The prayer of a nobler woman than either of you or I has gone to the
- throne,” said the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia's eyes grew dark with resentment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could have prevented all———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be good enough to remember that you have said all that to me before,
- Lydia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is your object in keeping me away from him at such a time as this,
- Mrs Brood?” demanded Lydia. “You refuse to let me go in to him. Is it
- because you are afraid of what———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are trying days ahead of us, Lydia,” interrupted Yvonne. “We will
- have to face them together. I can promise you this: Frederic will be saved
- for you. To-morrow, next day, perhaps, I may be able to explain
- everything to you. You hate me to-day. Everyone in this house hates
- me, even Frederic. There is a day coming when you will not hate me. That
- was my prayer, Lydia. I was not praying for Frederic, but for myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For yourself? I might have known you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You hesitate? Perhaps it is just as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to say to you, Mrs Brood, that it is my purpose to remain in this
- house as long as I can be———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are welcome, Lydia. You will be the one great tonic that is to
- restore him to health of mind and body. Yes, I shall go further and say
- that you are commanded to stay here and help me in the long fight that is
- ahead of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thank you, Mrs Brood,” the girl was surprised into saying.
- </p>
- <p>
- Both of them turned quickly as the door to Frederic's room opened and
- James Brood came out into the hall. His face was drawn with pain and
- anxiety, but the light of exaltation was in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, Lydia,” he said softly, after he had closed the door behind him.
- “He knows me. He is conscious. Hodder can't understand it, but he seems to
- have suddenly grown stronger. He———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stronger?” cried Yvonne, the ring of triumph in her voice. “I knew! I
- could feel it coming—his strength—even out here, James. Yes,
- go in now, Lydia. You will see a strange sight, my dear. James Brood will
- kneel beside his son and tell him———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come!” said Brood, spreading out his hands in a gesture of admission.
- “You must hear it, too, Lydia. Not you, Thérèse! You are not to come in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I grant you ten minutes, James,” she said with the air of a dictator.
- “After that I shall take my stand beside him and you will not be needed.”
- She struck her breast sharply with her clenched hand. “His one and only
- hope lies here, James. I am his salvation. I am his strength. When you
- come out of that room again it will be to stay out until I give the word
- for you to re-enter. Go, now, and put spirit into him. That is all I
- ask of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared for a moment and then lowered his head. A moment later Lydia
- followed him into the room and Yvonne was alone in the hall. Alone? Ranjab
- was ascending the stairs. He came and stood before her and bent his knee.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I forgot,” she said, looking down upon him without a vestige of the old
- dread in her eyes. “I have a friend, after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n a warm morning,
- toward the middle of June, Frederic and Lydia sat in the quaint, old-world
- courtyard, almost directly beneath the balcony of Yvonne's boudoir. He
- lounged comfortably, yet weakly, in the invalid-chair that had been
- wheeled to the spot by Ranjab, and she sat on a pile of cushions at his
- feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Looking at him, one would not have thought that he had passed through the
- valley of the shadow of death and was but now emerging into the sunshine
- of security. His face was pale, but there was a healthy gloss to the skin
- and a clear light in the eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week or more he had been permitted to walk about the house and into
- the garden, always leaning on the arm of his father or the faithful Hindu.
- Each succeeding day saw his strength and vitality increase, and each night
- he slept with the peace of a care-free child. He was filled with
- contentment; he loved life as he had never dreamed it would be possible
- for him to love it. There was a song in his heart and there was a bright
- star always on the edge of his horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Lydia, she was radiant with happiness. The long fight was over. She
- had gone through the campaign against death with loyal, unfaltering
- courage; there had never been an instant when her staunch heart had failed
- her; there had been distress, but never despair. If the strain told on her
- it did not matter, for she was of the fighting kind. Her love was the
- sustenance on which she throve, despite the beggarly offerings that were
- laid before her during those weeks of famine. Her strong, young body lost
- none of its vigour; her splendid spirit gloried in the tests to which it
- was subjected, and now she was as serene as the June day that found her
- wistfully contemplating the results of victory.
- </p>
- <p>
- Times there were when a pensive mood brought the touch of sadness to her
- grateful heart. She was happy and Frederic was happy, but what of the one
- who actually had wrought the miracle? That one alone was unhappy,
- unrequited, undefended. There was no place for her in the new order of
- things. When Lydia thought of her, as she often did, it was with an
- indescribable craving in her soul. She longed for the hour to come when
- Yvonne Brood would lay aside the mask of resignation and demand tribute;
- when the strange defiance that held all of them at bay would disappear,
- and they could feel that she no longer regarded them as adversaries.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no longer a symptom of rancour in the heart of Lydia Desmond.
- She realised that her beloved's recovery was due almost entirely to the
- remarkable influence exercised by this woman at a time when mortal
- agencies appeared to be of no avail. Her absolute certainty that she had
- the power to thwart death, at least in this instance, had its effect not
- only on the wounded man, but on those who attended him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Hodder and the nurses were not slow to admit that her magnificent
- courage, her almost scornful self-assurance, supplied them with an
- incentive that otherwise might never have got beyond the form of a mere
- hope. There was something positively startling in her serene conviction
- that Frederic was not to die. No less a sceptic than the renowned Dr
- Hodder confided to Lydia and her mother that he now believed in the
- supernatural and never again would say “there is no God.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hodder had gone to James Brood at the end of the third day and, with the
- sweat of the haunted on his brow, had whispered hoarsely that the case was
- out of his hands. He was no longer the doctor, but an agent governed by a
- spirit that would not permit death to claim its own. And somehow Brood
- understood far better than the man of science.
- </p>
- <p>
- The true story of the shooting had long been known to Lydia and her
- mother. Brood confessed everything to them. He assumed all of the blame
- for what had transpired on that tragic morning. He humbled himself before
- them, and when they shook their heads and turned their backs upon him he
- was not surprised, for he knew they were not convicting him of assault
- with a deadly firearm. Later on the story of Thérèse was told by him to
- Frederic and the girl. He did his wife no injustice in the recital.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frederic laid his hand upon the soft brown head at his knee and voiced the
- thought that was in his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are wondering, as I am, too, what is to become of Yvonne after to-day,”
- he said. “There must be an end, and if it doesn't come now, when will it
- come? To-morrow we sail. It is certain that she is not to accompany
- us. She has said so herself, and father has said so. So to-day must
- see the end of things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frederic, I want you to do something for me,” said Lydia earnestly.
- “There was a time when I could not have asked this of you, but now I
- implore you to speak to your father in her behalf. I love her, Freddy
- dear. I cannot help it. She asks nothing of any of us; she expects
- nothing, and yet she loves all of us. If he only would unbend toward her a
- little———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, Lyddy dear. I don't believe it's altogether up to him. There is a
- barrier that we can't see, but they do, both of them. My mother stands
- between them. You see, I've come to know my father lately, dear. He's not
- a stranger to me any longer. I know what sort of a heart he's got. He
- never got over loving my mother, and he'll never get over knowing that
- Yvonne knows that <i>she</i> loved him to the day she died.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We know what it was in Yvonne that attracted him from the first, and she
- knows. He's not likely to forgive himself so easily. He didn't play fair
- with either of them, that's what I'm trying to get at. I don't believe he
- can forgive himself any more than he can forgive Yvonne for the thing she
- set about to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, Lyddy, she married him without love. She debased herself, even
- though she can't admit it even now. I love her, too. She's the most
- wonderful woman in the world. But she did give herself to the man she
- hated with all her soul and—well, there you are. He can't forget <i>that</i>,
- you know, and she can't. She loves him for herself now, and that's what
- hurts both of them. It hurts because they both know that he still loves my
- mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's his wife, however,” said Lydia, with a stubborn pursing of the
- lips. “She didn't wrong him, and, after all, she's only guilty of—well,
- she isn't guilty of anything except being a sister of the girl <i>he</i>
- wronged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'll have a talk with him if you think best,” said he, an eager gleam in
- his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I with Yvonne,” she said quickly. “You see, it's possible she is the
- one to be persuaded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, you've observed that they never see one another alone,” said
- he. “They never meet except when someone else is about. He rather resents
- the high-handed way in which she ordered him to stay away from me
- until I was safely out of danger. He says she saved my life. He says she
- performed a miracle. But he has never uttered a word of thanks or
- gratitude or appreciation to her. I'm sure of that, for she has told me
- so. And she is satisfied to go without his thanks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see what you mean,” she said with a sigh. “I suppose we just can't
- understand things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've no idea how beautiful you are to-day, Lyddy,” he cried
- suddenly, and she looked up into his glowing eyes with a smile of
- ineffable happiness. Her hand found his, and her warm, red lips were
- pressed to its palm in a hot, impassioned kiss. “It's great to be alive!
- Great!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it is,” she cried, “it is!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They might better have said that it is great to be young, for that is what
- it all came to in the analysis.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on Brood joined them in the courtyard. He stood, with his hand on
- his son's shoulder, chatting carelessly about the coming voyage, all the
- while smiling upon the radiant girl to whom he was promising paradise. She
- adored the gentle, kindly gleam in those one-time steady, steel-like
- eyes. His voice, too, of late was pitched in a softer key, and there was
- the ring of happiness in its every note. It was as if he had discovered
- something in life that was constantly surprising and pleasing him. He
- seemed always to be venturing into fresh fields of exploration and finding
- there something that was of inestimable value to his new estate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia left father and son after a few minutes, excusing herself on the
- ground that she wished to have a good, long chat with Yvonne. She did not
- delay her departure, but hurried into the house, having rather adroitly
- provided Frederic with an opening for an intercession in behalf of his
- lovely stepmother. Her meaning glance was not wasted on the young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lost no time in following up the advantage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “See here, father, I don't like the idea of leaving Yvonne out in the
- cold, so to speak. It's pretty darned rough, don't you think? Down in your
- heart you don't blame her for what she started out to do, and, after all,
- she's only human. Whatever happened in the past we—well, it's all in
- the past. She———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood stopped him with a gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My son, I will try to explain something to you. You may be able to
- understand things better than I. I fell in love with her once because an
- influence that was not her own overpowered me. There was something of your
- mother in her. She admits that to be true, and I now believe it. Well,
- that something, whatever it was, is gone. She is not the same. Yvonne is
- Thérèse. She is not the woman I loved two months ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor am I the boy you hated two months ago,” argued Frederic. “Isn't there
- a parallel to be seen there, father? I am your son. She is your wife. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was never a time when I really hated you, my son. I tried to, but
- that is all over. We will not rake up the ashes. As for my wife—well,
- I have tried to hate her. It is impossible for me to do so. She is a
- wonderful woman. But you must understand, on the other hand, that I do not
- love her. I did when she looked at me with your mother's eyes and spoke to
- me with your mother's lips. But she is not the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give yourself a chance, dad. You will come to love her for herself if
- only you will let go of yourself. You are trying to be hard. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again Brood interrupted. His face was pale, his eyes grew dark with pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't know what you are saying, Frederic. Let us discontinue the
- subject.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to be happy, I want———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be happy. I am happy. Have I not found out the truth? Are you not
- my beloved son? Are———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who convinced you of all that, sir? Who is responsible for your
- present happiness, and mine?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, I know!” exclaimed the father in some agitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'll regret it all your life if you fail her now, dad. Why, hang it
- all, you're not an old man! You are less than fifty. Your heart hasn't
- dried up yet. Your blood is still hot. And she is glorious. Give yourself
- a chance. You know that she's one woman in a million, and she's yours! She
- has made you happy, she can make you still happier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I am not old. I am far younger than I was fifteen years ago. That's
- what I am afraid of—this youth I really never possessed till now. If I
- gave way to it now I'd—well, I would be like putty in her hands. She
- could go on laughing at me, trifling with me, fooling me to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She wouldn't do that!” exclaimed his son hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't blame you for defending her. It's right that you should. You are
- forgetting the one important condition, however. She can never reconcile
- herself to the position you would put her in if I permitted you to
- persuade me that———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can tell you one thing, father, that you ought to know, if you are so
- blind that you haven't discovered it for yourself. She loves you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very young, my boy.” Brood shook his head and smiled faintly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's to become of her? You are leaving her without a thought for her
- future. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fancy she is quite capable of arranging her future. As a matter of
- fact, she had arranged it pretty definitely before this thing happened.
- Leave it to her, Frederic. It is impossible for me to take her away with
- us. It is not to be considered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, but bear this in mind: Lydia loves Yvonne, and she's heart-broken.
- Now we'll talk about her, if you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lydia had as little success in her rather more tactful interview with
- Yvonne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, dear, I am satisfied,” said she. “Everything has turned out as
- it should. The wicked enchantress has been foiled and virtue triumphs.
- Don't be unhappy on my account, Lydia. It will not be easy to say good-bye
- to you and Frederic, but—<i>là! là!</i> What are we to do? Now please
- don't speak of it again. Hearts are easily mended. Look at my husband—<i>aïe!</i>
- He has had his heart made over from top to bottom—in a rough
- crucible, it's true, but it's as good as new, you'll admit. In a way, I am
- made over, too. I am happier than I've ever been in my life. I'm in love
- with my husband, I'm in love with you and Frederic, and I am more than
- ever in love with myself. So there! Don't feel sorry for me. I shall have
- the supreme joy of knowing that not one of you will ever forget me or my
- deeds, good and bad. Who knows? I am still young, you know. Time has the
- chance to be very kind to me before I die.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That last observation lingered in Lydia's mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- But despite her careless treatment of the situation, Yvonne awaited with
- secret dread the coming of that hour when James Brood would say goodbye to
- her and, instead of turning her away from his house, would go out of it
- himself without a single <i>command</i> to her. He would not tell her that
- it was no longer her home, nor would he tell her that it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next day came, bright and sweet.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ship was to sail at noon.
- </p>
- <p>
- At ten o'clock the farewells were being said. There were tears and
- heartaches, and there was fierce rebellion in the hearts of two of the
- voyagers. Yvonne had declined to go to the pier to see them off, and Brood
- was going away without a word to her about the future. That was manifest
- to the anxious, soul-tried watchers.
- </p>
- <p>
- In silence they made their way out to the waiting automobile. As Brood was
- about to pass through the broad front door a resolute figure confronted
- him. For a moment master and man stared hard into each other's eyes, and
- then, as if obeying an inflexible command, the former turned to glance
- backward into the hallway. Yvonne was standing in the library door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sahib!</i>” said the Hindu, and there was strange authority in his
- voice. “Tell her, <i>sahib</i>. It is not so cruel to tell her as it would
- be to go away without a word. She is waiting to be told that you do not
- want her to remain in your home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brood closed his eyes for a second, and then strode quickly toward his
- wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yvonne, they all want me to take you along with us,” he said, his voice
- shaking with the pent-up emotion of weeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- She met his gaze calmly, almost serenely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, of course, it is quite impossible,” she said. “I understand, James.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not possible,” he said, steadying his voice with an effort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is why I thought it would be better to say good-bye here and
- not at the pier. We must have some respect for appearances, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He searched her eyes intently, looking for some sign of weakening on her
- part. He did not know whether to feel disappointed or angry at what he
- saw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't believe you would have gone if I had——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not say it, James. You did not ask me, and I have not asked
- anything of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before I go,” he said nervously, “I want to say this to you: I have no
- feeling of resentment toward you. I am able to look back upon what you
- would have done without a single thought of anger. You have stood by me in
- time of trouble. I owe a great deal to you, Yvonne. You will not accept my
- gratitude—it would be a farce to offer it to you under the
- circumstances. But I want you to know that I am grateful. You———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on, please. This is the moment for you to say that your home cannot be
- mine. I am expecting it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes hardened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never say that to you, Yvonne. You are my wife. I shall expect
- you to remain my wife to the very end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, for the first time, her eyes flew open with surprise. A bewildered
- expression came into them almost at once. He had said the thing she least
- expected. She put out her hand to steady herself against the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do—do you mean that, James?” she said wonderingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are my property. You are bound to me. I do not intend that you shall
- ever forget that, Yvonne. I don't believe you really love me, but that is
- not the point. Other women have not loved their husbands, and yet—yet
- they have been true and loyal to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You amaze me!” she cried, watching his eyes with acute wonder in her own.
- “Suppose that I should refuse to abide by your—what shall I call
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Decision is the word,” he supplied grimly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will abide by it, that's all. I am leaving you behind without the
- slightest fear for the future. This is your home. You will not abandon
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I said that I would?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew herself up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I shall now tell you what I intend to do, and have intended to do
- ever since I discovered that I could think for myself and not for Matilde.
- I intend to stay here until you turn me out as unworthy. I love you,
- James. You may leave me here feeling very sure of that. I shall go on
- caring for you all the rest of my life. I am not telling you this in the
- hope that you will say that you have a spark of love in your soul for me.
- I don't want you to say it now, James. But you will say it to me one day,
- and I will be justified in my own heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>have</i> loved you. There was never in this world anything like the
- love I had for you. I know it now. It was not Matilde I loved when I held
- you in my arms. I know it now. I loved <i>you</i>; I loved your body, your
- soul———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Enough!” she cried out sharply. “I was playing at love then. Now I love
- in earnest. You've never known love such as I can really give. I know you
- well, too. You love nobly, and without end. Of late I have come to believe
- that Matilde could have won out against your folly if she had been
- stronger, less conscious of the pain she felt. If she had stood her
- ground, here, against you, you would have been conquered. But she did not
- have the strength to stand and fight as I would have fought. To-day
- I love my sister none the less, but I no longer fight to avenge her
- wrongs. I am here to fight for myself. You may go away thinking that I am
- a traitor to her, but you will take with you the conviction that I am
- honest, and that is the foundation for my claim against you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you are not a traitor to her cause,” he replied. “You are its
- lifelong supporter. You have done more for Matilde than———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Than Matilde could have done for herself? Isn't that true? I have forced
- you to confess that you loved her for twenty-five years with all
- your soul. I have done my duty for her. Now I am beginning to take myself
- into account. Some day we will meet again and—well, it will not be
- disloyalty to Matilde that moves you to say that you love me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a long time. When at last he spoke his voice was full of
- gentleness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not love you, Yvonne. I cannot allow you to look forward to the
- happy ending that you picture. You say that you love me. I shall give you
- the opportunity to prove it to yourself, if not to me. I order you,
- Thérèse, to remain in this house until I come to set you free.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him for a moment, and then an odd smile came into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A prisoner serving her time? Is that it, my husband?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are here when I return, I shall have reason to believe that your
- love is real, that it is good and true and enduring. I am afraid of you
- now. I do not trust you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that your sentence?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Call it that if you like, Thérèse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My keepers? Who are they to be? The old men of the sea——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your keeper will be the thing you call love,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you expect me to submit to this———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He held up his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not intend to impose this condition upon you by word of mouth. I
- was going away without a word, but you would have received from Mr Dawes a
- sealed envelope as soon as the ship sailed. It contains this command in
- writing. He will hand it to you, of course, but now that you know the
- contents it will not be necessary to———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when you <i>do</i> come back, am I to hope for something more than
- your pardon and a release?” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not promise anything,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew a long breath and there was the light of triumph in her eyes.
- Laying her slim hand on his arm, she said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am content, James. I am sure of you now. You will find me here when you
- choose to come back, be it one year or twenty. Now go; they are waiting
- for you. Be kind to them, and tell to them all that you have just told me.
- It will make them happy. They love me, you see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they <i>do</i> love you,” said he, putting his hands upon her
- shoulders. They smiled into each other's eyes. “Good-bye, Thérèse. I
- <i>will</i> return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye, James. No, do not kiss me. It would be mockery. Good
- luck, and God speed you home again.” Their hands met in a warm, firm
- clasp. “I will go with you as far as the door of my prison.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From the open door she smiled out upon the young people in the motor and
- waved her handkerchief in gay farewell. Then she closed the door and
- walked slowly down the hallway to the big library.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has taken the only way to conquer himself,” she mused, half aloud. “He
- is a wise man, a very wise man. I might have expected this of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pulled the bell-cord, and Jones came at once to the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When Mr Dawes and Mr Riggs return from the ship, tell them that I shall
- expect them to have luncheon with me. That's all, thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way, Jones, you may always set the table for three.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jones blinked. He felt that he had never behaved so wonderfully in all the
- years of service as he did when he succeeded in bowing in his habitual
- manner, despite the fact that he was “everlawstingly bowled over, so to
- speak.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For three, madam. Very well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A cold, blustery night in January, six months after the beginning of
- Yvonne's voluntary servitude in the prison to which her husband had
- committed her. In the big library, before a roaring fire, sat the two old
- men, very much as they had sat on the December night that heralded the
- approach of the new mistress of the house of Brood, except that on this
- occasion they were eminently sober. On the corner of the table lay a long,
- yellow envelope, a cablegram addressed to Mrs James Brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's been here for two hours, and she don't even think of opening it to
- see what's inside,” complained Mr Riggs, but entirely without reproach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's her business, Joe,” said Mr Dawes, pulling hard at his cigar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe someone's dead,” said Mr Riggs dolorously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like as not, but what of it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What of it, you infernal—but, excuse me, Danbury, I won't say it.
- It's against the rules, God bless 'em. If anybody's dead, she ought to
- know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But supposing nobody is dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's no use arguing with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She'll read it when she gets good and ready. At present she prefers to
- read the letters from Freddy and Lyddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe it's from Jim,” said his friend, a wistful look in his old eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I hope it is, by gee!” exclaimed the other, and then they got up
- and went over to examine the envelope for the tenth time. “I wish he'd
- telegraph or write, or do something, Dan. She's never had a line from him.
- Maybe this is something at last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What puzzles me is that she always seems disappointed when there's
- nothing in the post from him, and here's a cablegram that might be the
- very thing she's looking for, and she pays no attention to it. It
- certainly beats me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know what puzzles me more than anything else? I've said it a hundred
- times. She never goes outside this here house, except in the garden, day
- or night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Sh—h!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Brood was descending the stairs, lightly, eagerly. In another instant
- she entered the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How nice the fire looks!” she cried. Never had she been more radiantly,
- seductively beautiful. “My cablegram, where is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old men made a simultaneous dash for the long-neglected
- envelope. Mr Dawes succeeded in being the first to clutch it in his eager
- fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better read it, Mrs Brood,” he panted, thrusting it into her hand. “Maybe
- it's bad news.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She regarded him with one of her most mysterious smiles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my friend, it is <i>not</i> bad news. It is good news; it's from my
- husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you haven't read it,” gasped Mr Riggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but I know, just the same.” She deliberately slit the envelope with a
- slim finger and held it out to them. “Read it if you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They solemnly shook their heads, too amazed for words. She unfolded the
- sheet and sent her eyes swiftly over the printed contents. Then, to their
- further stupefaction, she pressed the bit of paper to her red lips. Her
- eyes flashed like diamonds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen! Here is what he says: 'Come by the first steamer. I want you to
- come to me, Thérèse.' And see! It is signed 'Your husband.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hurray!” shouted the two old men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “I shall not obey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! You—you won't go?” gasped Mr Riggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No!” she cried, the ring of triumph in her voice. She suddenly clapped
- her hands to her breast and uttered a long, deep sigh of joy. “No, I shall
- not go to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old men stared helplessly while she sank luxuriously into a big chair
- and stuck her little feet out to the fire. They felt their knees grow weak
- under the weight of their suddenly inert bodies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will come and unlock the door,” she went on serenely. “Ring for Jones,
- please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wha—what are you going to do?” Mr Dawes had the temerity to ask.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Send a cablegram to my husband saying———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused to smile at the flaming logs on the broad hearth, a sweet,
- rapturous smile that neither of the old men could comprehend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Saying—what?” demanded Mr Riggs anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I cannot go to him,” she said, as she stretched out her arms toward
- the East.
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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