Billy, with that fine inner sense that some boys have, perceived that there was deep emotion of a silent sort between the minister and Mark, and he drifted away from them unnoticed, back toward the car.
“Billy!” whispered Lynn, rising from the upper step in the shadow of the church.
The boy turned with a quick silent stride and was beside her:
“I couldn't help it, Miss Lynn, I really couldn't—There was something very important—Cart—That is—Cart needed me! I knew you'd understand.”
“Yes, Billy, I understand. Somehow I knew you were with Mark. It's good to have a friend like you, Billy!” She smiled wanly.
Billy looked up half proud, half ashamed:
“It's nothin'!” said Billy, “I just had to. Cart—well, I had to.”
“I know, Billy—Mark needed you. And Billy,—if there's any trouble—any—any—that is if Mark ever needs you, you'll stick by him I know?”
“Sure!” said Billy looking up with a sudden searching glance, “Sure, I'll stick by him!”
“And if there's anything—anything that ought to be done—why—I mean anythingwecould do—Billy,—you'll let us know?”
“Sure, I will!” There was utmost comprehension in the firm young voice. Billy kicked his heel softly into the grass by the walk, looking down embarrassedly. He half started on toward the car and then turning back he said suddenly, “Why doncha go see Cherry, Miss Lynn?”
“Cherry?” she said startled, her face growing white in the darkness.
The boy nodded, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and regarding her with sudden boldness. He opened his lips as if he would speak further, then thought better of it and closed them again firmly, dropping his eyes as if he were done with the topic. There was a bit of silence, then Lynn said gravely:
“Perhaps I will,” and “Thank you, Billy.”
Billy felt as though the balm of Gilead had suddenly been poured over his tired heart.
“G'night!” he murmured, feeling that he had put his troubles into capable hands that would care for them, as he would himself.
There had been no word spoken between the minister and Mark as they went together toward the parsonage, but there had seemed to each to be a great clearing of the clouds between them, and a tender love springing anew, with warm understanding and sympathy. Mark felt himself a boy again, with the minister's arm across his shoulder, and a strong yearning to confide in this understanding friend, swept over him. If there had been a quiet place with no one about just then there is no telling what might have happened to change the story from that point on, but their silent intercourse was rudely interrupted by the voice of Laurie Shafton breaking in:
“Oh, I say, Mr. Severn, who did you say that man was that could fix cars? I'd like to call him up and see if he doesn't happen to have some bearings now. He surely must have returned by this time hasn't he? I'd like to take these girls a spin. The moon is perfectly gorgeous. We could go in the lady's car, only it is smaller and I thought I'd ask your daughter to go along.”
“Oh!” said the minister suddenly brought back into the world of trivial things? “Why,thisis Mr. Carter, Mr. Shafton. He can speak for himself.”
Mark stood with lifted head and his princely look regarding the interloper with cold eyes. He acknowledged the introduction almost haughtily, and listened to the story of the burnt out bearings without a change of countenance, then said gravely:
“I think I can fix you up in the morning.”
“Not to-night?” asked the spoiled Laurie with a frown of displeasure.
“Not to-night,” said Mark with a finality that somehow forbade even a Shafton from further parley.
Opal had regarded Mark from the vine covered porch as he stood with bared head in the moonlight and clattered down on her tiny patent leather pumps to be introduced. She came and stood hanging pertly on Laurie Shafton's arm as if he were her private property, with her large limpid eyes fixed upon the stranger, this prince of a man that had suddenly turned up in this funny little country dump.
She put her giddy little tongue into the conversation, something about how delicious it would be to take a little ride to-night, implying that Mark might go along if he would fix up the car. She was dressed in a slim, clinging frock of some rich Persian gauzy silk stuff, heavy with beads in dull barbaric patterns, and girt with a rope of jet and jade. Her slim white neck rose like a stem from the transparent neck line, and a beaded band about her forehead held the fluffy hair in place about her pretty dark little head. She wore long jade earrings which nearly touched the white shoulders, and gave her the air of an Egyptian princess. She was very gorgeous, and unusual even in the moonlight, and she knew it, yet this strange young man gave her one cold scrutinizing glance and turned away.
“I'll see you again in the morning, Mr. Severn,” he said, and wringing the minister's hand silently, he went back across the lawn. The spell was broken and the minister knew it would be of no use to follow. Mark would say no more of his trouble tonight.
It was so that Lynn, coming swiftly from her shadow, with troubled thoughts, came face to face with Mark:
He stopped suddenly as if something had struck him.
“Oh, Mark!” she breathed softly, and put out her hand.
He made a swift motion away from her, and said quickly:
“Don't touch me, Marilyn,—I-am—not—worthy!”
Then quickly turning he sprang into his car and started the engine.
The minister stood in the moonlight looking sadly after the wayward boy whom he had loved for years.
Lynn came swiftly toward her father, scarcely seeing the two strangers. She had a feeling that he needed comforting. But the minister, not noticing her approach, had turned and was hurrying into the house by the side entrance.
“Come on girls, let's have a little excitement,” cried Laurie Shafton gaily, “How about some music? There's a piano in the house I see, let's boom her up!”
He made a sudden dive and swooped an arm intimately about each girl's waist, starting them violently toward the steps, forgetting the lame ankle that was supposed to make him somewhat helpless.
The sudden unexpected action took Marilyn unaware, and before she could get her footing or do anything about it she caught a swift vision of a white face in the passing car. Mark had seen the whole thing! She drew back quickly, indignantly flinging the offending arm from her waist, and hurried after her father; but it was too late to undo the impression that Mark must have had. He had passed by.
Inside the door she stopped short, stamping her white shod foot with quick anger, her face white with fury, her eyes fairly blazing. If Laurie had seen her now he would scarcely have compared her to a saint. To think that on this day of trouble and perplexity this gay insolent stranger should dare to intrude and presume! And before Mark!
But a low spoken word of her mother's reached her from the dining-room, turning aside her anger:
“I hate to ask Lynn to take her into her room. Such a queer girl! It seems like a desecration! Lynn's lovely room!”
“She had no right to put herself upon us!” said the father in troubled tones. “She is as far from our daughter as heaven is from the pit. Who is she, anyway?”
“He merely introduced her as his friend Opal.”
“Is there nothing else we can do?”
“We might give her our room, but it would take some time to put it in order for a guest. There would be a good many things to move—and it would be rather awkward in the morning, cots in the living-room. I suppose Lynn could come in with me and you sleep on a cot—!”
“Yes, that's exactly it! Do that. I don't mind.”
“I suppose we'll have to,” sighed the mother, “for I know Lynn would hate it having a stranger among her pretty intimate things—!”
Marilyn sprang up and burst into the dining-room:
“Mother! Did you think I was such a spoiled baby that I couldn't be courteous to a stranger even if she was a detestable little vamp? You're not to bother about it any more. She'll come into my room with me of course. You didn't expect me to sail through life without any sacrifices at all did you, Motherie? Suppose I had gone to Africa as I almost did last year? Don't you fancy there'd have been some things harder than sharing my twin beds with a disagreeable stranger? Besides, remember those angels unaware that the Bible talks about. I guess this is up to me, so put away your frets and come on in. It's time we had worship and ended this day. But I guess those two self-imposed boarders of ours need a little religion first. Come on!”
She dropped a kiss on each forehead lightly and fled into the other room.
“What a girl she is!” said her father tenderly putting his hand gently on the spot she had kissed, “A great blessing in our home! Dear child!”
The mother said nothing, but her eyes were filled with a great content.
Marilyn, throwing aside her hat and appearing in the front door called pleasantly to the two outside:
“Well, I'm ready for the music. You can come in when you wish.”
They sauntered in presently, but Marilyn was already at the piano playing softly a bit from the Angel Chorus, a snatch of Handel's Largo, a Chopin Nocturne, one of Mendelssohn's songs without words. The two came in hilariously, the young man pretending to lean heavily on the girl, and finding much occasion to hold her hands, a performance to which she seemed to be not at all averse. They came and stood beside the piano.
“Now,” said Opal gaily, when Marilyn came to the end of another Nocturne: “That's enough gloom. Give us a little jazz and Laurie and I'll dance awhile.”
Marilyn let her hands fall with a soft crash on the keys and looked up. Then her face broke up into a smile, as if she had put aside an unpleasant thought and determined to be friendly:
“I'm sorry,” she said firmly, “We don't play jazz, my piano and I. I never learned to love it, and besides I'm tired. I've been playing all day you know. You will excuse anything more I'm sure. And it's getting late for Sabbath Valley. Did you have any plans for to-night?”
Opal stared, but Marilyn stared back pleasantly, and Laurie watched them both.
“Why, no, not exactly,” drawled Opal, “I thought Laurie would be hospitable enough to look me up a place. Where is your best hotel? Is it possible at all?”
“We haven't a sign of a hotel,” said Marilyn smiling.
“Oh, horrors, nothing but a boarding house I suppose. Is it far away?”
“Not even a boarding house.”
“Oh, heavens! Well, where do you stop then?”
“We don't stop, we live,” said Marilyn smiling. “I'm afraid the only thing you can do unless you decide to go back home tonight is to share my room with me,—I have twin beds you know and can make you quite comfortable. I often have a college friend to stay with me for a few weeks.”
Opal stared round eyed. This was a college girl then, hidden away in a hole like this. Not even an extra spare room in the house!
“Oh my gracious!” she responded bluntly, “I'm not used to rooming with some one, but it's very kind of you I'm sure.”
Marilyn's cheeks grew red and her eyes flashed but she whirled back to her keyboard and began to play, this time a sweet old hymn, and while she was playing and before the two strangers had thought of anything to say, Mr. Severn came in with the Book in his hand, followed by his wife, who drew a small rocker and sat down beside him.
Marilyn paused and the minister opened his Bible and looked around on them:
“I hope you'll join us in our evening worship,” he said pleasantly to the two guests, and then while they still stared he began to read: “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me,” on through the beautiful chapter.
It was as Greek to the strangers, who heard and did not comprehend, and they looked about amazed on this little family with dreamy eyes all listening as if it meant great treasures to them. It was as if they saw the Severns for the first time and realized them as individuals, as a force in the world, something complete in itself, a family that was not doing the things they did, not having the things considered essential to life, nor trying to go after any of the things that life had to offer, but living their own beautiful lives in their own way without regard to the world, and actually enjoying it! That was the queer part about it. They were not dull nor bored! They were happy! They could get out from an environment like this if they choose, andthey did not. Theywantedto stay here. It was incredible!
Laurie got out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, got out his match box, selected a match, and all but lit it. Then somehow there seemed to be something incongruous about the action and he looked around. No one was seeing him but Opal, and she was laughing at him. He flushed, put back the match and the cigarette, and folded his arms, trying to look at home in this strange new environment. But the girl Marilyn's eyes were far away as if she were drinking strange knowledge at a secret invisible source, and she seemed to have forgotten their presence.
Then the family knelt. How odd! Knelt down, each where he had been sitting, and the minister began to talk to God. It did not impress the visitors as prayer. They involuntarily looked around to see to whom he was talking. Laurie reddened again and dropped his face into his hands. He had met Opal's eyes and she was shaking with mirth, but somehow it affected him rawly. Suddenly he felt impelled to get to his knees. He seemed conspicuous reared up in a chair, and he slid noiselessly to the floor with a wrench of the hurt ankle that caused him to draw his brows in a frown. Opal, left alone in this room full of devout backs, grew suddenly grave. She felt almost afraid. She began to think of Saybrook Inn and the man lying there stark and dead! The man she had danced with but a week before! Dead! And for her! She cringed, and crouched down in her chair, till her beaded frock swept the polished floor in a little tinkley sound that seemed to echo all over the room, and before she knew it her fear of being alone had brought her to her knees. To be like the rest of the world—to be even more alike than anybody else in the world, that had always been her ambition. The motive of her life now brought her on her knees because others were there and she was afraid to sit above lest their God should come walking by and she should see Him and die! She did not know she put it that way to her soul, but she did, in the secret recesses of her inner dwelling.
Before they had scarcely got to their knees and while that awkward hush was yet upon them the room was filled with the soft sound of singing, started by the minister, perhaps, or was it his wife? It was unaccompanied, “Abide with me, Fast falls the eventide, the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide!” Even Laurie joined an erratic high tenor humming in on the last verse, and Opal shuddered as the words were sung, “Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes, Shine through the dark and point me to the skies.” Death was a horrible thing to her. She never wanted to be reminded of death. It was a long, long way off to her. She always drowned the thought in whatever amusement was at hand.
The song died away just in time or Opal might have screamed. She was easily wrought up. And then this strange anomoly of a girl, her young hostess, turned to her with a natural smile just as if nothing extraordinary had been going on and said:
“Now, shall we say good-night and go upstairs? I know you must be tired after your long ride, and I know father has had a hard day and would like to get the house settled for the night.”
Opal arose with a wild idea of screaming and running away, but she caught the twinkle of Laurie's eyes and knew he was laughing at her. So she relaxed into her habitual languor, and turning haughtily requested:
“Would you send your maid to the cyar for my bag, please?”
Before anyone could respond the minister stepped to the door with a courteous “Certainly,” and presently returned with a great blue leather affair with silver mountings, and himself carried it up the stairs.
At the head of the stairs Marilyn met him, and put her head on his shoulder hiding her face in his coat, and murmured, “Oh, Daddy!”
Severn smoothed her soft hair and murmured gently: “There, there little girl! Pray! Pray! Our Father knows what's best!” but neither of them were referring to the matter of the unwelcome guests.
Mrs. Severn was solicitous about asking if there was anything the guest would like, a glass of milk, or some fruit? And Opal declined curtly, made a little moue at Shafton and followed up the stairs.
“Well!” she said rudely, as she entered the lovely room and stared around, “so this is your room!” Then she walked straight to the wall on the other side of the room where hung a framed photograph of Mark at twelve years old; Mark, with all the promise of his princely bearing already upon him.
“So this is the perfect icicle of a stunning young prince that was down on the lawn, is it? I thought there was some reason for your frantic indifference to men. Is his name Billy or Mark? Laurie said it was either Billy or Mark, he wasn't sure which.”
Mark Carter and Billy as they rode silently down the little street toward Aunt Saxon's cottage did not speak. They did not need to speak, these two. They had utmost confidence in one another, they were both troubled, and had no solution to offer for the difficulty. That was enough to seal any wise mouth. Only at the door as Billy climbed out Mark leaned toward him and said in a low growl:
“You're all right, Kid! You're the best friend a man ever had! I appreciate what you did!”
“Aw!” squirmed Billy, pulling down his cap, “That's awright! See you t'morra' Cart! S'long!” And Billy stalked slowly down the street remembering for the first time that he had his aunt yet to reckon with.
With the man's way of taking the bull by the horns he stormed in:
“Aw, Gee! I'm tired! Now, I'spose you'll bawl me out fer a nour, an' I couldn't help it! You always jump on me worst when I ain't to blame!”
Aunt Saxon turned her pink damp face toward the prodigal and broke into a plaintive little smile:
“Why, Willie, is that you? I'm real glad you've come. I've kept supper waiting. We've got cold pressed chicken, and I stirred up some waffles. I thought you'd like something hot.”
Billy stared, but the reaction was too much. In order to keep the sudden tears back he roared out crossly:
“Well, I ain't hungry. You hadn't oughtta have waited. Pressed chicken, did ya say? AwGee! Just when I ain't hungry! Ef that ain'tluck! An' waffles! You oughtta known better! But bring 'em on. I'll try what I can do,” and he flung himself down in his chair at the table and rested a torn elbow on the clean cloth, and his weary head on a grimy hand. And then when she put the food before him, without even suggesting that he go first and wash, he became suddenly conscious of his dishevelled condition and went and washed his hands and facewithout being sent! Then he returned and did large justice to the meal, his aunt eyeing furtively with watery smiles, and a sigh of relief now and then. At last she ventured a word by way of conversation:
“How is the man on the mountain?” Billy looked up sharply, startled out of his usual stolidity with which he had learned from early youth to mask all interest or emotion from an officious and curious world.
Miss Saxon smiled:
“Mrs. Carter told me how you and Mark went to help a man on the mountain. It was nice of you Billy.”
“Oh!that!” said Billy scornfully, rallying to screen his agitation, “Oh, he's better. He got up and went home. Oh, it wasn't nothing. I just went and helped Cart. Sorry not to get back to Sunday School Saxy, but I didn't think 'twould take so long.”
After that most unusual explanation, conversation languished, while Billy consumed the final waffle, after which he remarked gravely that if she didn't mind he'd go to bed. He paused at the foot of the stair with a new thoughtfulness to ask if she wanted any wood brought in for morning, and she cried all the time she was washing up the few dishes at his consideration of her. Perhaps, as Mrs. Severn had told her, there was going to come a change and Billy was really growing more manly.
Billy, as he made his brief preparation for bed told himself that he couldn't sleep, he had too much to worry about and dope out, but his head had no more than touched the pillow till he was dead to the world. Whatever came on the morrow, whatever had happened the day before, Billy had to sleep it out before he was fit to think. And Billy slept.
But up the street in the Carter house a light burned late in Mark's window, and Mark himself, his mother soothed and comforted and sent to sleep, sat up in his big leather chair that his mother had given him on the last birthday before he left home, and stared at the wall opposite where hung the picture of a little girl in a white dress with floating hair and starry eyes. In his face there grew a yearning and a hopelessness that was beyond anything to describe. It was like a face that is suffering pain of fire and studying to be brave, yet burns and suffers and is not consumed. That was the look in Mark Carter's eyes and around his finely chiseled lips. Once, when he was in that mood travelling on a railway carriage, a woman across the aisle had called her husband's attention to him. “Look at that man!” she said, “He looks like a lost soul!”
For a long time he sat and stared at the picture, without a motion of his body, or without even the flicker of an eyelash, as if he were set there to see the panorama of his thoughts pass before him and see them through to the bitter end. His eyes were deep and gray. In boyhood they had held a wistful expectation of enchanting things and doing great deeds of valor. They were eyes that dream, and believe, and are happy even suffering, so faith remain and love be not denied. But faith had been struck a deadly blow in these eyes now, and love had been cast away. The eyes looked old and tired and unbelieving, yet still searching, searching, though seeing dimly, and yet more dim every day, searching for the dreams of childhood and knowing they would never come again. Feeling sure that they might not come again because he had shut the door against them with his own hand, and by his own act cut the bridge on which they might have crossed from heaven to him.
A chastened face, humbled by suffering when alone, but proud and unyielding still before others. Mark Carter looking over his past knew just where he had started down this road of pain, just where he had made the first mistake, sinned the first sin, chosen pride instead of humility, the devil instead of God. And to-night Mark Carter sat and faced the immediate future and saw what was before him. As if a painted map lay out there on the wall before him, he saw the fire through which he must pass, and the way it would scorch the faces of those he loved, and his soul cried out in anguish at the sight. Back, back over his past life he tramped again and again. Days when he and Lynn and her father and mother had gone off on little excursions, with a lunch and a dog and a book, and all the world of nature as their playground. A little thought, a trifling word that had been spoken, some bit of beauty at which they looked, an ant they watched struggling with a crumb too heavy for it, a cluster of golden leaves or the scarlet berries of the squaw vine among the moss. How the memories made his heart ache as he thought them out of the past.
And the books they had read aloud, sometimes the minister, sometimes his wife doing the reading, but always he was counted into the little circle as if they were a family. He had come to look upon them as his second father and mother. His own father he had never known.
His eyes sought the bookcase near at hand. There they were, some of them birthday gifts and Christmases, and he had liked nothing better than a new book which he always carried over to be read in the company. Oh, those years! How the books marked their going! Even way back in his little boyhood! “Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates.” He touched its worn blue back and silver letters scarcely discernible. “The Call of the Wild.” How he had thrilled to the sorrows of that dog! And how many life lessons had been wrapped up in the creature's experience! How had he drifted so far away from it all? How could he have done it? No one had pushed him, he had gone himself. He knew the very moment when after days of agony he had made the awful decision, scarcely believing himself that he meant to stick by it; hoping against hope that some great miracle would come to pass that should change it all and put him back where he longed to be! How he had prayed and prayed in his childish faith and agony for the miracle, and—it had not come!God had gone back on him. He had not kept His promises! And then he had deliberately given up his faith. He could think back over all the days and weeks that led up to this. Just after the time when he had been so happy; had felt that he was growing up, and understanding so many of the great problems of life. The future looked rosy before him, because he felt that he was beginning to grasp wisdom and the sweetness of things. How little he had known of his own foolishness and sinfulness!
It was just after they had finished reading and discussing Dante's Vision. What a wonderful man Mr. Severn was that he had taken two children and guided them through that beautiful, fearful, wonderful story! How it had impressed him then, and stayed with him all these awful months and days since he had trodden the same fiery way—!
He reached his hand out for the book, bound in dull blue cloth, the symbol of its serious import. He had not opened the book since they finished it and Mr. Severn had handed it over to him and told him to keep it, as he had another copy. He opened the book as if it had been the coffin of his beloved, and there between the dusty pages lay a bit of blue ribbon, creased with the pages, and jagged on the edges because it had been cut with a jack knife. And lying smooth upon it in a golden curve a wisp of a yellow curl, just a section of one of Marilyn's, the day she put her hair up, and did away with the curls! He had cut the ribbon from the end of a great bow that held the curls at the back of her head, and then he had laughingly insisted on a piece of the curl, and they had made a great time collecting the right amount of hair, for Marilyn insisted it must not make a rough spot for her to brush. Then he had laid it in the book, the finished book, and shut it away carefully, and gone home, and the next day,—the very next day, the thing had happened!
He turned the leaves sadly:
“In midway of this our mortal life,I found me in a gloomy wood, astrayGone from the path direct:—”
It startled him, so well it fitted with his mood. It was himself, and yet he could remember well how he had felt for the writer when he heard it first. Terrible to sit here to-night and know it was himself all the time the tale had been about! He turned a page or two and out from the text there stood a line:
“All hope abandon ye who enter here.”
That was the matter with himself. He had abandoned all hope. Over the leaf his eye ran down the page:
“This miserable fateSuffer the wretched souls of those who livedWithout praise or blame, with that ill bandOf angels mixed, who nor rebellious provedNor yet were true to God, but for themselvesWere only.”
How well he remembered the minister's little comments as he read, how the sermons had impressed themselves upon his heart as he listened, and yet here he was, himself, in hell! He turned over the pages again quickly unable to get away from the picture that grew in his mind, the vermilion towers and minarets, the crags and peaks, the “little brook, whose crimson'd wave, yet lifts my hair with horror,” he could see it all as if he had lived there many years. Strange he had not thought before of the likeness of his life to this. He read again:
“O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fireAlive art passing,—”
Yes, that was it. A City of Fire. He dwelt in a City of Fire! Hell! There was a hell on earth to-day and mortals entered it and dwelt there. He lived in that City of Fire continually now. He expected to live there forever. He had sinned against God and his better self, and had begun his eternal life on earth. It was too late ever to turn back. “All Hope abandon, ye who enter here.” He had read it and defied it. He had entered knowing what he was about, and thinking, poor fool that he was, that he was doing a wise and noble thing for the sake of another.
Over in the little parsonage, the white souled girl was walking in an earthly heaven. Ah! There was nothing,nothingthey had in common now any more. She lived in the City of Hope and he in the City of Fire.
He flung out the book from him and dropped his face into his hands crying softly under his breath, “Oh, Lynn, Lynn—Marilyn!”
For one instant Lynn stood against the closed door, flaming with anger, her eyes flashing fire as they well knew how to flash at times. Then suddenly her lips set close in a fine control the fire died out of her eyes, she drew a deep breath, and a quick whimsical smile lighted up her face, which nevertheless did not look in the least like one subdued:
“You know I could get very angry at that if I chose and we'd have all kinds of a disagreeable time, but I think it would be a little pleasanter for us both if you would cut that out, don't you?” She said it in a cool little voice that sounded like one in entire command of the situation, and Opal turned around and stared at her admiringly. Then she laughed one of her wild silvery laughs that made them say she had a lute-like voice, and sauntered over toward her hostess:
“You certainly are a queer girl!” she commented, “I suppose it would be better to be friends, inasmuch as we're to be roommates. Will you smoke with me?” and out from the depths of a beaded affair that was a part of her frock and yet looked more like a bag than a pocket, she drew forth a gold cigarette case and held it out.
Marilyn controlled the growing contempt in her face and answered with spirit:
“No, I don't smoke. And you won't smoke either—not in here!I'm sorry to seem inhospitable, but we don't do things like that around here, and if you have to smoke you'll have to go out doors.”
“Oh, really?” Opal arched her already permanently arched, plucked brows and laughed again. “Well, you certainly have lots of pep. I believe I'm going to like you. Let's sit down and you tell me about yourself?”
“Why don'tyoutell me aboutyourself?” hedged Marilyn relaxing into a chair and leaving the deep leather one for her guest, “I'm really a very simple affair, just a country girl very glad to get home after four years at college. There's nothing complex and nothing to tell I assure you.”
“You're entirely too sophisticated for all that simplicity,” declared Opal, “I suppose it's college that has given you so much poise. But why aren't you impressed with Laurie? Simplyeverybodyis impressed with Laurie! I don't believe you even know who he is!”
Lynn laughed:
“How should I? And what difference would it make any way? As for being impressed, he gave me the impression of a very badly spoiled boy out trying to have his own way, and making a great fuss because he couldn't get it.”
“And you didn't know that his father is William J. Shafton, the multi-millionaire?” Opal brought the words out like little sharp points that seemed to glitter affluently as she spoke them.
“No,” said Marilyn, “I didn't know. But it doesn't matter. We hadn't anything better to offer him than we've given, and I don't know why I should have been impressed by that. A man is what he is, isn't he? Not what his father is. He isn't your—brother—is he? I was over at the church when you arrived and didn't hear the introductions. I didn't even get your name.”
Opal laughed uproariously as if the subject were overwhelmingly amusing:
“No,” she said recovering, “I'm just Opal. Fire Opal they call me sometimes, and Opalescence. That's Laurie's name for me, although lately he's taken to calling me Effervescence. No, he's not my brother little Simple Lady, he's just one of my friends. Now don't look shocked. I'm a naughty married lady run off on a spree for a little fun.” Marilyn regarded her thoughtfully:
“Now stop looking at me with those solemn eyes! Tell me what you were thinking about me! I'd lots rather hear it. It would be something original, I'm sure. You're nothing if not original!”
“I was just wondering why,” said Marilyn still thoughtfully.
“Why what?”
“Why.Why you did it. Why you wanted to be that kind of a married woman when the real kind is so much more beautiful and satisfactory.”
“What do you know about it?” blazed Opal, “You've never been married, have you?”
“My mother has had such a wonderful life with my father—and my father with my mother!”
Opal stared at her amazed for an instant, then shrugged her shoulders lightly:
“Oh,that!” she said and laughed disagreeably, “If one wants to be a saint, perhaps, but there aren't manymen-saints I can tell you! You haven't seen my husband or you wouldn't talk like that! Imagine living a saintly life with Ed Verrons! But my dear, wait till you're married! You won't talk that rubbish any more!”
“I shall never marry unless I can,” said Lynn decidedly, “It would be terrible to marry some one I could not love and trust!”
“Oh, love!” said Opal contemptuously, “You can love any one you want to for a little while. Love doesn't last. It's just a play you soon get tired to death of. But if that's the way you feel don't pin your trust and your love as you call it to that princely icicle we saw down on the lawn. He's seen more of the world than you know. I saw it in his eyes. There! Now don't set your eyes to blazing again. I won't mention him any more to-night. And don't worry about me, I'm going to be good and run back to-morrow morning in time to meet my dear old hubby in the evening when he gets back from a week's fishing in the Adirondacks, and he'll never guess what a frolic I've had. But you certainly do amuse me with your indifference. Wait till Laurie gets in some of his work on you. I can see he's crazy already about you, and if I don't decide to carry him off with me in the morning I'll miss my guess if he doesn't show you how altogether charming the son of William J. Shafton can be. He never failed to have a girl fall for him yet, not one that hewentafter, and he's been after a good many girls I can tell you.”
Lynn arose suddenly, her chin a bit high, a light of determination in her eyes. She felt herself growing angry again:
“Come and look at my view of the moon on the valley,” she said suddenly, pulling aside the soft scrim curtain and letting in a flood of moonlight. “Here, I'll turn out the light so you can see better. Isn't that beautiful?”
She switched off the lights and the stranger drew near apathetically, gazing out into the beauty of the moonlight as it touched the houses half hidden in the trees and vines, and flooded the Valley stretching far away to the feet of the tall dark mountains.
“I hate mountains!” shuddered Opal, “They make me afraid! I almost ran over a precipice when I was coming here yesterday. If I have to go back that same way I shall take Laurie, or if he won't go I'll cajole that stunning prince of yours if you don't mind. I loathe being alone. That's why I ran down here to see Laurie!”
But Lynn had switched on the lights and turned from the window. Her face was cold and her voice hard:
“Suppose we go to bed,” she said, “will you have the bed next the window or the door? And what shall I get for you? Have you everything? See, here is the bathroom. Father and mother had it built for me for my birthday. And the furniture is some of mother's grandmother's. They had it done over for me.”
“It's really a dandy room!” said Opal admiringly, “I hadn't expected to find anything like this,” she added without seeming to know she was patronizing. “You are the only child, aren't you? Your father and mother just dote on you too. That must be nice. We had a whole houseful at home, three girls and two boys, and after father lost his money and had to go to a sanitarium we had frightful times, never any money to buy anything, the girls always fighting over who should have silk stockings, and mother crying every night when we learned to smoke. Of course mother was old fashioned. I hated to have her weeping around all the time, but all our set smoked and what could I do? So I just took the first good chance to get married and got out of it all. And Ed isn't so bad. Lots of men are worse. And he gives me all the money I want. One thing the girls don't have to fight over silk stockings and silk petticoats any more. I send them all they want. And I manage to get my good times in now and then too. But tell me, what in the world do you do in this sleepy little town? Don't you get bored to death? I should think you'd get your father to move to the city. There must be plenty of churches where a good looking minister like your father could get a much bigger salary than out in the country like this. When I get back to New York I'll send for you to visit me and show you a real good time. I suppose you've never been to cabarets and eaten theatre suppers, and seen a real New York good time. Why, last winter I had an affair that was talked of in the papers for days. I had the whole lower floor decorated as a wood you know, with real trees set up, and mossy banks, and a brook running through it all. It took days for the plumbers to get the fittings in, and then they put stones in the bottom, and gold fish, and planted violets on the banks and all kinds of ferns and lilies of the valley, everywhere there were flowers blossoming so the guests could pick as many as they wanted. The stream was deep enough to float little canoes, and they stopped in grottoes for champagne, and when they came to a shallow place they had to get out and take off their shoes and stockings and wade in the brook. On the opposite bank a maid was waiting with towels. The ladies sat down on the bank and their escorts had to wipe their feet and help them on with their shoes and stockings again, and you ought to have heard the shouts of laughter! It certainly was a great time! Upstairs in the ball room we had garden walks all about, with all kinds of flowers growing, and real birds flying around, and the walls were simply covered with American beauty roses and wonderful climbers, in such bowers that the air was heavy with perfume. The flowers alone cost thousands—What's the matter? Did you hear something fall? You startled me, jumping up like that! You're nervous aren't you? Don't you think music makes people nervous?”
Marilyn smiled pathetically, and dropped back to the edge of her bed:
“Pardon me,” she said, “I was just in one of my tempers again. I get them a lot but I'm trying to control them. I happened to think of the little babies I saw in the tenement districts when I was in New York last. Did you ever go there? They wear one little garment, and totter around in the cold street trying to play, with no stockings, and shoes out at the toes. Sometimes they haven't enough to eat, and their mothers are so wretchedly poor and sorrowful—!”
“Mercy!” shuddered Opal, “How morbid you are! What ever did you go to a place like that for? I always keep as far away from unpleasant things as I can. I cross the street if I see a blind beggar ahead. I just loathe misery! But however did you happen to think of them when I was telling you about my beautiful ball room decorations?”
Lynn twinkled:
“I guess you wouldn't understand me,” she said slowly, “but I was thinking of all the good those thousands of dollars would have done if they had been spent on babies and not on flowers.”
“Gracious!” said Opal. “Ihatebabies! Ed is crazy about them, and would like to have the house full, but I gave him to understand what I thought about that before we were married.”
“Ilovebabies,” said Marilyn. “They want me to go this Fall and do some work in that settlement, and I'm considering it. If it only weren't for leaving father and mother again—but I do love the babies and the little children. I want to gather them all and do so many things for them. You know they are all God's babies, and it seems pitiful for them to have to be in such a dreadful world as some of them have!”
“Oh,God!” shuddered Opal quite openly now, “Don't talk about God! IhateGod! He's just killed one of my best men friends! I wish you wouldn't talk about God!”
Marilyn looked at her sadly, contemplatively, and then twitched her mouth into a little smile:
“We're not getting on very well, are we? I don't like your costly entertainments, and you don't like my best Friend! I'm sorry. I must seem a little prude to you I'm afraid, but really, God is not what you think. You wouldn't hate Him, you would love Him,—if youknewHim.”
“Fancy knowing God—as you would your other friends! Howdreadful! Let's go to bed!”
Opal began to get out her lovely brushes and toilet paraphernalia and Lynn let down her wonderful golden mane and began to brush it, looking exquisite in a little blue dimity kimona delicately edged with' valenciennes. Opal made herself radiant in a rose-chiffon and old-point negligee and went through numerous gyrations relating to the complexion, complaining meanwhile of the lack of a maid.
But after the lights were out, and Lynn kneeling silently by her bed in the moonlight, Opal lay on the other bed and watched her wonderingly, and when a few minutes later, Marilyn rose softly and crept into bed as quietly as possible lest she disturb her guest, Opal spoke:
“I wonder what you would do if a man—the man you liked best in all the world,—had got killed doing something to please you. It makes you gocrazywhen you think of it—someone you've danced with lying dead that way all alone. I wonder whatyou'd do!”
Lynn brought her mind back from her own sorrows and prayers with a jerk to the problem of this strange guest. She did not answer for a moment, then she said very slowly:
“I think—I don't know—but IthinkI should go right to God and ask Him what to do. I think nobody else could show what ought to be done. There wouldn't be anything else to do!”
“Oh,murder!” said Opal turning over in bed quickly, and hiding her face in the pillow, and there was in the end of her breath just the suggestion of a shriek of fear.
But far, far into the night Marilyn lay on her sleepless pillow, her heart crying out to God: “Oh, save Mark! Take care of Mark! Show him the way back again!”
Afar in the great city a message stole on a wire through the night, and presently the great presses were hot with its import, printing thousands and thousands of extras for early morning consumption, with headlines in enormous letters across the front page:
“LAURENCE SHAFTON, SON OF WILLIAM J. SHAFTON, KIDNAPPED!”
“Mrs. Shafton is lying in nervous collapse as the result of threats from kidnappers who boldly called her up on the phone and demanded a king's ransom, threatening death to the son if the plot was revealed before ten o'clock this morning. The faithful mother gathered her treasures which included the famous Shafton Emeralds, and a string of pearls worth a hundred thousand dollars, and let them down from her window as directed, and then fainted, knowing nothing more till her maid hearing her fall, rushed into the room and found her unconscious. When roused she became hysterical and told what had happened. Then remembering the threat of death for telling ahead of time she became crazy with grief, and it was almost impossible to soothe her. The maid called her family physician, explaining all she knew, and the matter was at once put into the hands of capable detectives who are doing all they know how to locate the missing son, who has been gone only since Saturday evening; and also to find the missing jewels and other property, and it is hoped that before evening the young man will be found.”
Meantime, Laurence Shafton slept soundly and late in the minister's study, and knew nothing of the turmoil and sorrow of his doting family.