"Wait. You are sure that you do this because you love me?"
"Yes."
"And you are ready to sacrifice your name, your life, to a creature who, according to your view of conditions, should be the very last woman to bear your name—to become your wife? You do this because you love me? It must be a great love, indeed, Roderick, to compel you to such an act—oh it must have been a very great love, indeed."
"It is a great love; and there will be no sacrifice: there will be satisfaction."
She arose from the chair, but stood as she was, with her back toward him.
"You have forgotten one thing," she said, gently.
"I have forgotten nothing."
She raised her right arm, and pointed toward the house, through the trees.
"You have forgotten the man, in there," she said, no less gently. It was his turn to shudder, but he repeated with doggedness in his tone:
"I have forgotten nothing."
"You mean to deal with him—afterward?"
"Yes."
"How? If I consent to all that you have asked, will you deal with him—gently?"
"Can you plead for him, even now, when—?"
"Hush! Answer my question, if you please."
"I will deal with him more gently than he deserves. I promise you that."
"I shall be satisfied with that promise." She turned about and faced him, and there was a smile on her lips, now, although Roderick entirely misunderstood the cause of it. He drew backward, farther away from her. But she followed after him, holding out one hand for him to take, and persisting in the effort when he refused to see it. There were tears under her lashes again, but she was smiling through them; and then, while she followed him, and he still sought to avoid her, Patricia lost all control over herself. She half-collapsed, half-threw herself upon the chair again, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
"Don't Patricia; please, don't," he said to her, brokenly. "You make it much harder for both of us. This has been a terrible scene for you to pass through, I know, but after a little you will realize its wisdom—and the full justice of the cause I plead."
She controlled herself. She started to her feet.
"Come with me," she cried out to him; and then, before he could stop her, she darted away out of his reach, flew down the steps, and along the pathway, toward the house. He followed. There was nothing else for him to do. She waited for him at the top of the steps where he had first seen her; and, when he would have detained her, she eluded him a second time, and fled through the doorway, into the wide hall of the house—of Richard Morton's dwelling place.
"Come," she called after him again; and again he followed.
THE MYSTERY
The house was a large one. It covered a great deal of ground although it was only one story high. A wide hall ran through the center of the main building, and there were doors to the right and the left. Through the first doorway to the right, Patricia made her escape; and, through it, Roderick Duncan followed her. But he brought up suddenly, the instant he had crossed the threshold, and stood there, staring. Patricia had passed swiftly ahead of him, and Roderick saw her drop upon her knees beside a couch-bed, whereon a man was lying—and that man was Richard Morton.
Duncan was too greatly amazed for connected thought, but he was conscious of the fact that Morton's eyes sought him over the shoulder of Patricia, who knelt beside the couch. He had never thought that Morton's eyes were quite so expressive. They seemed almost to speak to him, to wonder at his presence there; but, stranger than all else, to express unquestionable pleasure because of his presence. He thought it remarkable that Morton did not move; that the man made no effort to rise, or to speak; that there was neither smile nor frown upon his white, still face. Then, Patricia's voice broke the spell that was upon him. She turned, and beckoned to him.
"Come here, Roderick," she said, softly. "Come and speak to Richard. Tell him that you have come all the way out here, by a special train, to marry me, and that you have brought a minister along with you to perform the ceremony. Come, Roderick, come. He will be made very happy by the news." She turned toward the stricken man, again, and added: "Won't you, Richard?"
Slowly the lids dropped for an instant over those strangely brilliant eyes, and, when they were raised again, the eyes seemed to smile at Roderick; but there was no other emotion visible about the prostrate man.
"I have not told you about him, Roderick," Patricia said, rising to her feet, "but I will do so now, in his presence. He wishes it so; do you not, Richard?"
Again, those eyes closed for an instant, and Roderick understood that the gesture, if gesture it could be called, meant an affirmative.
"Richard wishes you to know all the truth about him," she continued. "I have promised him, many times, that some day I would tell you. He meant to kill himself that night, when he drove his roadster away from Cedarcrest. He guided his car, purposely, into the mass of rocks at the roadside. I found him there. Patrick O'Toole, who is devoted to me, was with me, you know. We saw the wreck, and stopped. Then, we found Richard. Oh, it was awful. I thought he was dead, and I believed that I was his murderer. I still think that I was the unconscious cause of it all, although he will not have it so. I was moaning over him, when Mr. Radnor—you remember him?—found us. He took us to a sanatorium that he knew about, where he said there was a good doctor; and so it proved. I forgot all about Jack Gardner's car, but later I sent Patrick back after it."
Morton's eyes began to wink rapidly, and Roderick called Patricia's attention to the fact.
"Yes; I know that I am getting ahead of my story," she said, as if she perfectly understood what the winking meant. "Richard was like a dead man when we arrived at the sanatorium—all save his eyes, and the fact that he breathed. He was completely paralyzed; only his eyes, and the lids over them, retained the power of motion. He was terribly injured. The doctor said he would not die, but that he would never move a muscle of his body again, no matter how long he might live. The power of speech was gone, too. Only his eyes lived; the rest of him—all but his eyes and his great heart—was dead."
Morton's eyes began to wink rapidly, again.
"Yes, I shall tell it all; only, let me do it in my own way," Patricia said to him. "Mr. Radnor told me that he had given fictitious names for both of us to the doctor. At first, I was offended because of it, but later, I was glad. The doctor permitted me to assist in the nursing—I ... I told him that I was Richard's wife. Mr. Radnor had already given that impression. I did not deny it; I made it more emphatic, in order that I might take the direction of affairs. When Mr. Radnor went away, he said he would return the following day; but I did not want him to do that, and so, when the next day came, I persuaded the doctor to telephone to him that he must not come. Also, when Mr. Radnor took his departure, I sent Patrick with him, to care for Jack's car. I told him to deliver it at the garage, and then to return to me, at the sanatorium, for further orders. But, when he came back, he told me he had abandoned the car in the streets of New York, knowing that it would be found and claimed, and wishing to avoid the necessity of answering questions. Am I telling the story satisfactorily now, Richard?"
Slowly, the speaking eyes drooped their assent, and she went on:
"At the end of a few days, Richard was much better of his hurts. There was no change in the other condition—the one that still holds him so helpless. I seemed to have a positive genius for understanding him, and he made me know—you see, I kept asking questions till he made the positive or the negative sign. I hit upon that idea because once, Roderick, you made me read 'The Count of Monte Cristo,' and I remembered old Nortier—Well, Richard made me understand several things. One was that he wished to come here, as soon as possible; another was that, most emphatically, he did not wish to have any of the old friends and acquaintances in New York know what had happened to him. Fortunately, he had a large sum of money in his pockets—What are you insisting about now, Richard?" she concluded, with a smile, perceiving that the eyelids of the stricken man were working rapidly. He looked steadily at her, and she shrugged her shoulders.
"Very well," she said, "I understand you. Roderick, he wishes me to tell you that he had the money with him because he intended to run away with me, that evening, and that he came very near to doing so. He wants me to tell you that he was a brute, and everything bad and mean and low and—there! I hope you are satisfied, Richard."
The eyes slowly closed and opened again.
"Richard had a large sum with him. I, also, had a considerable amount with me. I had had some thought of running away from all of you, and had prepared myself for such an emergency. Well, when I knew what Richard wanted, I took command of things. I did not consult him at all, but went directly ahead, in my own way. I always did that, you know, Roderick. I engaged a private car and a special train to bring us here; engaged them in the name of—in the assumed name, you know. One week from the day we entered the sanatorium, we left it again, went aboard the special train, and came here. Patrick came with us. He refused to leave.
"Oh, yes; I am forgetting something. You needn't wink so hard, Richard. I shall tell all of it. Richard protested with his eyes against my accompanying him. I do believe that he never once stopped blinking them, all the way out here. He would have said horrid things to me, if he could have spoken. I think that I was sometimes really glad he could not do so, fearing what he might have said. But nobody else could understand him; I could, and did. He was utterly helpless, and it was my fault that he was so. Yes, it was, and is, Richard, so stop protesting. I bribed the doctor at the sanatorium, to say nothing at all about us, and above all to keep every bit of information away from Mr. Radnor. Then, we came here.
"At first, it did not occur to me that I should remain, but, when I understood how entirely dependent Richard was upon me, I had to stay. Think of what he had been, Roderick, and of the condition to which I had brought him! It seemed a very little thing for me to do, to stay here and be his wife—Yes, that is what I decided to do; only, he would not let me. Just think of it! I have begged and pleaded with him to marry me, and he has refused."
Again, the eyes began a violent winking, and Patricia, smilingly, said:
"Oh, yes. He wants me to tell you that he has begged and pleaded, just as hard, for me to return to New York, and leave him here, helpless and alone, and that I have been just as contrary about this, as he was about the other. There! Can you imagine our quarreling, Roderick? Well, just before you appeared here, this evening, we had been having a violent quarrel. I was really angry at Richard, when I went out upon the veranda—and met you. He had ordered me out of the house. He had said, as plainly as he could look it, that he didn't want me here; that I was only a trouble to him; that I made him unhappy by remaining; that he would be much better in every way if I were gone. He ... he made me understand that my ... my good name was in question; that I would be talked about. I confess that I had never thought of it in that light, before. I asked him again to marry me, and let me remain; but he refused. Then, I left him, in a huff, declaring that he couldn't drive me away. And then"—she turned directly toward Roderick this time, and held out both her hands—"I almost ran into your arms, Roderick."
"Do it now, Patricia," he replied, taking her hands, and drawing her closer.
"I can't. You are much too near to me. But—"
She did not finish what she was about to say; and Roderick held her tightly in his embrace for just one glorious moment, while the eyes of the stricken man glowed upon them with unspeakable joy in their living depths.
Patricia drew slowly and reluctantly away from Roderick's embrace, and once more got upon her knees beside the couch.
"You were right, Richard, after all," she said. "I think it would have killed me if I had found Roderick again, after I was the wife of another. You were right, dear one. You have always been right. But everything is made clear, now. Roderick is here. He loves me. You are pleased that he is here, and that he does love me, and my cup of happiness is filled to the brim. Speak to him, Roderick."
"Dick Morton, I think you are the bravest man I ever knew," said Roderick, stepping forward and permitting his hand to rest for a moment upon Morton's forehead. "I want you to be my friend, as long as you live, and I want Patricia to continue to care for you, just as long as you need her. We will go back East in a day or so, and you shall go with us."
The eyes winked a vehement negative, but Roderick continued:
"Oh, you'll think differently about it, after a bit of thought. In the meantime, how would it suit you to have a wedding, right here, in your room, before your eyes? Eh? He says 'Yes' to that, Patricia."
It was twenty-four hours later. Patricia and Roderick Duncan had just been united in marriage by the Reverend Dr. Moreley, and had turned about on the platform which projected from the front of the veranda to receive the congratulations of their witnesses, who were made up of the entire outfit of Three-Star ranch. The couch of the invalid was beside them, a cheer was still ringing in the air, when two dust-covered horsemen rode upon the scene.
They came to a sudden halt when it was discovered what they had intruded upon, but Burke Radnor, never at a loss for words, jumped from the saddle and came swiftly forward. The bride saw him, recognized him instantly, and smiled. Then, she beckoned to him.
"Come up here, Mr. Radnor," she called. "You were very good to me when I needed a friend, and I want to thank you for your silence, since then." Radnor flushed. "Please shake hands with my husband, and remember that I want both of you to forget your old differences. There shall be nothing but happiness here, now. And this is our dear friend, Mr. Richard Morton. He cannot shake hands with you, but he can look his pleasure at greeting you."
"How are you, Radnor?" said Roderick. "I think, we'd better follow Mrs. Duncan's advice, and be friends; eh? I think I know why you came, and now I'll see to it that you have a good story to wire to your paper, to-night. It will beat the one you hoped to get, all hollow. I'll get you to one side and alone, presently, and tell you all about it. Listen to those cowpunchers cheer, will you! But, I'll tell you what, it isn't a patch on the cheer that is in my heart."
"You have won the first woman in the land, Duncan," said Radnor, shaking hands heartily.
"The first woman? No, the last. It takes the last woman to do things, Radnor."
"And the best; eh?"
"Both, old chap."
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Minor inconsistencies in spellings have been corrected; the original spelling has been retained.
page 303: In the sentence: "The fact of our marriage will be published broadcast at once, and even his suspicions will be stilled." The word "and" has been added after "published."
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