CHAPTER XIIILOLA GOES TO FENWAY'SItseemed to Dr. Crossett, waiting there in the room, with this silent old man, that John had been gone a very long time. It was almost morning now, five hours, time enough surely for much to have happened. He had insisted, some hours before, on Maria’s going to bed, for in spite of her grief she was so tired by the emotions of the evening, that it was impossible for her to keep her eyes open, and he had discovered her, sitting upright in a chair, sound asleep, with the tears rolling down her cheeks.He had made many efforts to induce Dr. Barnhelm to speak of Lola, and of the events leading up to her sudden desertion of them, but to all his questions, or remarks, the old man refused any answer, other than to look up, almost vacantly, and shake his head.A woman lies on a chaise.LOLA IN DICK FENWAY’S ROOMS.“He is stunned,” thought Dr. Crossett. “As yet his brain is too numbed to realize; to-morrow, unless John brings her home, he will be desperate.” Would shecome home? That was the question. That she had been extravagant, and, through a desire for beautiful clothes, had been, little by little, led into a maze of debts, of which she had been afraid to tell them, and that the sudden temptation, when she had unexpectedly come upon that roll of bank notes, had been too much for her to resist. All this was obvious, and, sad as it was, was not unforgivable. That she had deceived John, however, and, day after day, had lied to him, and gone to the man whom, of all others, she had most reason to avoid, was a treachery hard to excuse, even to this man, who was doing his very best to find excuses.What was the outcome to be? He could not decide. There had been so much of real hate, and contempt, in her manner to them, that it was out of the question to put it all down to excitement, or girlish anger.He quite realized that she had “burned her bridges behind her,” that her manner of going had left her no possibility of coming back, unless she came humbly, and in repentance.Try as he might he could not picture that. Humble she might be, and repentant, but not until her spirit was broken by suffering.He knew much of the world, much of human nature, and he knew that she would have to make her choice at once between evil and good. That alone she could not hope to live, as she had said that she was going to live. The good in her heart might save her even now. She was like a child. When this man offered her money and all the beautiful things she longed for, did she know the price she would be asked to pay? When she found it out would she shut her eyes, and go blindly on, or would the innate delicacy of her nature, the instinctive purity of girlhood, save her, as it has saved thousands before her? This was the only hope. He tried to have confidence; after all, she was her mother’s daughter. He cherished that thought. Her child could not sink so low! Great God! She could not do it!In the stillness of the early morning he heard the clang of the iron doors of the elevator as they were thrown open in the hall outside, and a moment later John came in.One look at his face was enough to tell him that he brought no good news, but whatever it was he must know it.“Well, John?” He came forward to meet him. “What have you to tell us?”John looked quickly at Dr. Barnhelm, and Dr. Crossett understood that what he had to tell would destroy any remaining hope that the old man might have cherished.“Thank you, John, for doing what you have done.”Dr. Barnhelm spoke quietly, but with a great weariness in his voice. “I know that I am not alone in my sorrow, but I wish to know nothing of what you have discovered; nothing now, or ever, of where she has gone, or of the things that she has done, or will do. I am going to ask you both not to speak of her in my hearing. It must be as though she were dead, until the day she comes back to me.”He rose as he finished, and walked to the door.“But Doctor, will she ever come back?” John said despondently. “Do you think that we shall ever see her again?”“I am quite sure of it,” Dr. Barnhelm answered. “There can be no question of that; she will come back.”There was no hope or joy in his voice, only absoluteconviction, and something a little like fear, at least that was the thought that came to them both, as he quietly left the room.“He is wrong, Doctor,” John said as the door closed. “I have seen her. She is not coming back.”“She told you so?” questioned Dr. Crossett eagerly.“No. I did not speak to her. I saw her going up Broadway in Dick Fenway’s automobile. He was with her. She had gone to him. Is with him now. I tried to stop them, but I failed. They were not alone. They had a Mrs. Harlan with them.”“A woman! Thank God for that,” exclaimed the Doctor. “We may be in time yet, my boy.”“You don’t know this woman,” John spoke bitterly. “Her presence wouldn’t protect any girl from such a man as that. She laughs at the things you and I call decency, or virtue. Between Dick Fenway and such a woman, Lola hasn’t a chance; not a hope! They won’t stop, either of them, until they have dragged her down to their own level!”“I will go to her,” the Doctor spoke eagerly. “She would fear me less than she would you, or her father,because she has wronged me less. I will go there, as soon as it is daylight.”A seated man and a standing woman talk.LOLA IS HAPPY IN DOCTOR FENWAY’S ROOMS.“Go where? Do you suppose that if I could have found out where they have taken her that I would be here now?” demanded John. “I went to this Mrs. Harlan’s apartment as fast as a taxicab could get me there. Her maid said that Mrs. Harlan had not returned, and was not expected before late in the following day. The hall boys absolutely denied having seen her since noon. What was I to do? While I stood there at the door she may have been standing within six feet of me, laughing at me, as she did once before to-night. How was I to know? I left there, and rode downtown to Fenway’s rooms, on the chance that he had left her. They let me go upstairs to his apartment. At the door a servant tried to stop me, but I threw him aside, and went in. There was a crowd of half-drunken men and girls there. I asked for him, and they told me that they hardly expected him to return as he had gone away with a regular peach! Damn them! They wouldn’t tell me where I could hope to find him, and when I grew excited they laughedat me. By God, Doctor, I’ve been laughed at too often to-night. Someone is going to pay me for it.”“My dear boy,” said the Doctor gently, “surely we have enough to bear now; bringing another tragedy into our lives is not going to do any good.”“What’s the use of talking?” John was quite unnerved by all the experiences and shocks of the last few hours. “I came here because it was useless to search any more until daylight. But I am going to find that man. He can’t hide himself from me forever. He may take her away. He probably will, but I’ll go after them. Not to bring her back; I can’t do that. I can’t ever, ever think of her again with anything but pity, but, by God, I can take him out of her life; yes, and I am going to do it!”“My dear boy!” Dr. Crossett would have given much to be able to comfort him, but as he had said, “it wasn’t any use to talk, suppose we sleep over this. We can’t do anything for several hours yet, and we are both tired out. Come!”“Sleep! Do you expect me to sleep with the thought of Lola and that mean being together, driving me almost insane? Oh, I was a fool to come here. Ishould have kept on hunting for them. I must have known you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it is to love a girl, and to lose her; to think of her and some other man living, laughing, loving one another, without a thought of you.”For a moment the Doctor seemed about to reply, but with only a slight hesitation he smiled rather sadly to himself, and spoke gently but with a trace of irony.“We will grant, John, that I do not understand; that I know nothing of loving a woman whom fate sees fit to separate me from; but I do know this: Always there must be one love stronger than another; as it was with you and Lola, so it always is. One who loves, and gives, one who is loved, and takes; not always selfishly, but always it is so. In your life you may love again, for you are young, but you will never again be able to give to any woman just what you gave to her. It is not any man’s to give more than once. If I were you I should try to be worthy of the love that, on your part at least, was a very sacred thing. Any scandal you bring upon her now, any act of selfish revenge for your very real wrongs, is just going to become the darkest shadow on your memory of her. If I coulddo it, my boy, I should forget the woman, and only remember the love you had for her, for in all your life you will never know a finer thing.”“You are a good man, Doctor, and I am ashamed for having spoken as I did,” replied John earnestly. “I can’t make you any promise, because to me there is only one thing to live for, just now—to find them. What will happen then I don’t know, but I must speak to her once more, and to him. I am going home now, to change my clothes, and to write a note to the bank. You must try to get some sleep. I will see you during the day.”“Am I to depend upon that?” inquired the Doctor.“Yes,” John answered. “No matter what happens I will keep you informed.”He went away, down the elevator, and through the deserted streets, to his rooms. He saw no beauty in the dim, misty light of the summer morning, or the faint glow of the first rays of the rising sun. He saw nothing but Lola’s face, as she had stood up in Fenway’s car, and looked back, and laughed at him.When Maria came into the front room to put it straight before breakfast she found Dr. Crossett stillsitting where John had left him. He looked up and spoke pleasantly to her as she entered, but she thought that he had, as she expressed it to herself, “a queer, far-off look in his eyes, like a person that had been thinking of things that had happened a long time ago.”Lola was sleeping very peacefully in a large and rather ornate brass bed, in one of Mrs. Harlan’s guest rooms. As she lay there, dressed in one of that lady’s absurdly ample night robes, she was smiling to herself happily—some freak of what we choose to call our sub-conscious mind had flashed across her brain—a dream. There was no hardness in her face now, no look of fear, or glitter of excitement in her eyes. She was dreaming of John, and the day he had brought her a beautiful bunch of roses; little Nellie, poor little girl, was there.“Take them, dear,” she muttered softly. “You don’t mind, do you, John?” And John smiled back at her, as they both thrilled at the memory of their first kiss. How good he was, she thought; how gentle and—darkness, absolute darkness, such as the mind cannot picture—a fierce pang shooting through her heart, likea flame—slowly—life coming back, life and thought—and memory—but the pain was there, and a horror, a new burning in her blood, like that awful burning in her heart. What was it—this thing that frightened her—this new, strange nature that forced her to do its will? She must get away, far away from these thoughts; she must run, quick—quick, or it would be too late. She must have help. “Father! Father! Father!”The sound of her own voice woke her, and she found herself sitting up in bed, her hand clutching at her heart.“Lola! What in the world is it?” Mrs. Harlan came running into her room. “Good heavens, how you frightened me.”“It was a dream,” said Lola, the terror slowly fading out of her face. “A bad dream, and such a queer pain, here.” She laid her hand again over her heart.“You’re not used to late suppers, I guess,” responded the always practical Mrs. Harlan. “Go back to sleep now, because we’ve a million things to do if we expect to get that afternoon train for Atlantic City. Howmuch money did Dick give you to do your shopping with?”“I think he said it was five hundred dollars,” said Lola carelessly. “I didn’t count it. He said I could get what else I needed as we went along.”“He’s a prince,” exclaimed Mrs. Harlan heartily. “We can stop in and leave an order with Madam Zelya, to be sent after us.”“We can not,” replied Lola. “There’s just one thing in the world that’s worrying me this morning; that is that I was fool enough to pay her all that money.”
Itseemed to Dr. Crossett, waiting there in the room, with this silent old man, that John had been gone a very long time. It was almost morning now, five hours, time enough surely for much to have happened. He had insisted, some hours before, on Maria’s going to bed, for in spite of her grief she was so tired by the emotions of the evening, that it was impossible for her to keep her eyes open, and he had discovered her, sitting upright in a chair, sound asleep, with the tears rolling down her cheeks.
He had made many efforts to induce Dr. Barnhelm to speak of Lola, and of the events leading up to her sudden desertion of them, but to all his questions, or remarks, the old man refused any answer, other than to look up, almost vacantly, and shake his head.
A woman lies on a chaise.LOLA IN DICK FENWAY’S ROOMS.
LOLA IN DICK FENWAY’S ROOMS.
“He is stunned,” thought Dr. Crossett. “As yet his brain is too numbed to realize; to-morrow, unless John brings her home, he will be desperate.” Would shecome home? That was the question. That she had been extravagant, and, through a desire for beautiful clothes, had been, little by little, led into a maze of debts, of which she had been afraid to tell them, and that the sudden temptation, when she had unexpectedly come upon that roll of bank notes, had been too much for her to resist. All this was obvious, and, sad as it was, was not unforgivable. That she had deceived John, however, and, day after day, had lied to him, and gone to the man whom, of all others, she had most reason to avoid, was a treachery hard to excuse, even to this man, who was doing his very best to find excuses.
What was the outcome to be? He could not decide. There had been so much of real hate, and contempt, in her manner to them, that it was out of the question to put it all down to excitement, or girlish anger.
He quite realized that she had “burned her bridges behind her,” that her manner of going had left her no possibility of coming back, unless she came humbly, and in repentance.
Try as he might he could not picture that. Humble she might be, and repentant, but not until her spirit was broken by suffering.
He knew much of the world, much of human nature, and he knew that she would have to make her choice at once between evil and good. That alone she could not hope to live, as she had said that she was going to live. The good in her heart might save her even now. She was like a child. When this man offered her money and all the beautiful things she longed for, did she know the price she would be asked to pay? When she found it out would she shut her eyes, and go blindly on, or would the innate delicacy of her nature, the instinctive purity of girlhood, save her, as it has saved thousands before her? This was the only hope. He tried to have confidence; after all, she was her mother’s daughter. He cherished that thought. Her child could not sink so low! Great God! She could not do it!
In the stillness of the early morning he heard the clang of the iron doors of the elevator as they were thrown open in the hall outside, and a moment later John came in.
One look at his face was enough to tell him that he brought no good news, but whatever it was he must know it.
“Well, John?” He came forward to meet him. “What have you to tell us?”
John looked quickly at Dr. Barnhelm, and Dr. Crossett understood that what he had to tell would destroy any remaining hope that the old man might have cherished.
“Thank you, John, for doing what you have done.”
Dr. Barnhelm spoke quietly, but with a great weariness in his voice. “I know that I am not alone in my sorrow, but I wish to know nothing of what you have discovered; nothing now, or ever, of where she has gone, or of the things that she has done, or will do. I am going to ask you both not to speak of her in my hearing. It must be as though she were dead, until the day she comes back to me.”
He rose as he finished, and walked to the door.
“But Doctor, will she ever come back?” John said despondently. “Do you think that we shall ever see her again?”
“I am quite sure of it,” Dr. Barnhelm answered. “There can be no question of that; she will come back.”
There was no hope or joy in his voice, only absoluteconviction, and something a little like fear, at least that was the thought that came to them both, as he quietly left the room.
“He is wrong, Doctor,” John said as the door closed. “I have seen her. She is not coming back.”
“She told you so?” questioned Dr. Crossett eagerly.
“No. I did not speak to her. I saw her going up Broadway in Dick Fenway’s automobile. He was with her. She had gone to him. Is with him now. I tried to stop them, but I failed. They were not alone. They had a Mrs. Harlan with them.”
“A woman! Thank God for that,” exclaimed the Doctor. “We may be in time yet, my boy.”
“You don’t know this woman,” John spoke bitterly. “Her presence wouldn’t protect any girl from such a man as that. She laughs at the things you and I call decency, or virtue. Between Dick Fenway and such a woman, Lola hasn’t a chance; not a hope! They won’t stop, either of them, until they have dragged her down to their own level!”
“I will go to her,” the Doctor spoke eagerly. “She would fear me less than she would you, or her father,because she has wronged me less. I will go there, as soon as it is daylight.”
A seated man and a standing woman talk.LOLA IS HAPPY IN DOCTOR FENWAY’S ROOMS.
LOLA IS HAPPY IN DOCTOR FENWAY’S ROOMS.
“Go where? Do you suppose that if I could have found out where they have taken her that I would be here now?” demanded John. “I went to this Mrs. Harlan’s apartment as fast as a taxicab could get me there. Her maid said that Mrs. Harlan had not returned, and was not expected before late in the following day. The hall boys absolutely denied having seen her since noon. What was I to do? While I stood there at the door she may have been standing within six feet of me, laughing at me, as she did once before to-night. How was I to know? I left there, and rode downtown to Fenway’s rooms, on the chance that he had left her. They let me go upstairs to his apartment. At the door a servant tried to stop me, but I threw him aside, and went in. There was a crowd of half-drunken men and girls there. I asked for him, and they told me that they hardly expected him to return as he had gone away with a regular peach! Damn them! They wouldn’t tell me where I could hope to find him, and when I grew excited they laughedat me. By God, Doctor, I’ve been laughed at too often to-night. Someone is going to pay me for it.”
“My dear boy,” said the Doctor gently, “surely we have enough to bear now; bringing another tragedy into our lives is not going to do any good.”
“What’s the use of talking?” John was quite unnerved by all the experiences and shocks of the last few hours. “I came here because it was useless to search any more until daylight. But I am going to find that man. He can’t hide himself from me forever. He may take her away. He probably will, but I’ll go after them. Not to bring her back; I can’t do that. I can’t ever, ever think of her again with anything but pity, but, by God, I can take him out of her life; yes, and I am going to do it!”
“My dear boy!” Dr. Crossett would have given much to be able to comfort him, but as he had said, “it wasn’t any use to talk, suppose we sleep over this. We can’t do anything for several hours yet, and we are both tired out. Come!”
“Sleep! Do you expect me to sleep with the thought of Lola and that mean being together, driving me almost insane? Oh, I was a fool to come here. Ishould have kept on hunting for them. I must have known you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it is to love a girl, and to lose her; to think of her and some other man living, laughing, loving one another, without a thought of you.”
For a moment the Doctor seemed about to reply, but with only a slight hesitation he smiled rather sadly to himself, and spoke gently but with a trace of irony.
“We will grant, John, that I do not understand; that I know nothing of loving a woman whom fate sees fit to separate me from; but I do know this: Always there must be one love stronger than another; as it was with you and Lola, so it always is. One who loves, and gives, one who is loved, and takes; not always selfishly, but always it is so. In your life you may love again, for you are young, but you will never again be able to give to any woman just what you gave to her. It is not any man’s to give more than once. If I were you I should try to be worthy of the love that, on your part at least, was a very sacred thing. Any scandal you bring upon her now, any act of selfish revenge for your very real wrongs, is just going to become the darkest shadow on your memory of her. If I coulddo it, my boy, I should forget the woman, and only remember the love you had for her, for in all your life you will never know a finer thing.”
“You are a good man, Doctor, and I am ashamed for having spoken as I did,” replied John earnestly. “I can’t make you any promise, because to me there is only one thing to live for, just now—to find them. What will happen then I don’t know, but I must speak to her once more, and to him. I am going home now, to change my clothes, and to write a note to the bank. You must try to get some sleep. I will see you during the day.”
“Am I to depend upon that?” inquired the Doctor.
“Yes,” John answered. “No matter what happens I will keep you informed.”
He went away, down the elevator, and through the deserted streets, to his rooms. He saw no beauty in the dim, misty light of the summer morning, or the faint glow of the first rays of the rising sun. He saw nothing but Lola’s face, as she had stood up in Fenway’s car, and looked back, and laughed at him.
When Maria came into the front room to put it straight before breakfast she found Dr. Crossett stillsitting where John had left him. He looked up and spoke pleasantly to her as she entered, but she thought that he had, as she expressed it to herself, “a queer, far-off look in his eyes, like a person that had been thinking of things that had happened a long time ago.”
Lola was sleeping very peacefully in a large and rather ornate brass bed, in one of Mrs. Harlan’s guest rooms. As she lay there, dressed in one of that lady’s absurdly ample night robes, she was smiling to herself happily—some freak of what we choose to call our sub-conscious mind had flashed across her brain—a dream. There was no hardness in her face now, no look of fear, or glitter of excitement in her eyes. She was dreaming of John, and the day he had brought her a beautiful bunch of roses; little Nellie, poor little girl, was there.
“Take them, dear,” she muttered softly. “You don’t mind, do you, John?” And John smiled back at her, as they both thrilled at the memory of their first kiss. How good he was, she thought; how gentle and—darkness, absolute darkness, such as the mind cannot picture—a fierce pang shooting through her heart, likea flame—slowly—life coming back, life and thought—and memory—but the pain was there, and a horror, a new burning in her blood, like that awful burning in her heart. What was it—this thing that frightened her—this new, strange nature that forced her to do its will? She must get away, far away from these thoughts; she must run, quick—quick, or it would be too late. She must have help. “Father! Father! Father!”
The sound of her own voice woke her, and she found herself sitting up in bed, her hand clutching at her heart.
“Lola! What in the world is it?” Mrs. Harlan came running into her room. “Good heavens, how you frightened me.”
“It was a dream,” said Lola, the terror slowly fading out of her face. “A bad dream, and such a queer pain, here.” She laid her hand again over her heart.
“You’re not used to late suppers, I guess,” responded the always practical Mrs. Harlan. “Go back to sleep now, because we’ve a million things to do if we expect to get that afternoon train for Atlantic City. Howmuch money did Dick give you to do your shopping with?”
“I think he said it was five hundred dollars,” said Lola carelessly. “I didn’t count it. He said I could get what else I needed as we went along.”
“He’s a prince,” exclaimed Mrs. Harlan heartily. “We can stop in and leave an order with Madam Zelya, to be sent after us.”
“We can not,” replied Lola. “There’s just one thing in the world that’s worrying me this morning; that is that I was fool enough to pay her all that money.”