Early the next morning a telegram came for Julia. From its condensed message she learned that her room-mate at college, who was likewise a dear and intimate friend, had been taken seriously ill, and wanted her to come on the first train. Major Dudley was present when she received the summons, and she immediately asked his advice. It was that she should depart on the noon train for the East, and remain as long as circumstances required. He was feeling prime, and Aunt Frances and Peter should look after his comfort.
Transfixed upon the horns of this new dilemma, Julia rushed upstairs and began mechanically to get her things together for a hurried departure. She knew that she would go, although she told herself repeatedly that she could not. She must be at home that evening, for her future happiness depended upon the issue of that night. Yet Bess was sick—desperately ill—and had wired her to hasten. Yes, she would go to her friend in distress, and send a note by Peter to Doctor Glenning, advising him of this unforeseen emergency. Perhaps it was just as well, she told herself at length, to prolong indefinitely the hour when he should tell her all. This, indeed, would be a supreme and unerring test.
So it came to pass that the train for the East bore Miss Julia Dudley away from Macon that day at noon, and that Uncle Peter, for the second time, bore to Doctor Glenning a delicately tinted, square envelope. John groaned when he read the note, and let his hands drop despairingly. Of course it could not be helped. He realized that she was right in going, and he loved her the more for it, but the missive gave no date upon which the writer might return. There was nothing for him to do but live the days through as best he could until he should see her again, and keep himself strong. The waiting would be hard, but he could do it. All hesitation, all temporizing, had vanished. He would be ready for his part on the first evening after she came home.
Filled with a peculiar elation, a joyful exultation, he went about his daily work with a song in his heart. He was looking far better than he did when he first came to Macon. His step was firmer, his eyes less sombre, his face not so haggard. So ten days passed, and fair week came, and the place began to fill up with visitors from neighbouring towns. Fair week in Kentucky naturally represents a good time. In this State, if in none other, the horse is king, and all homage and honour are given him on the days of the races. And fair week, like Christmas, comes only once a year, and is looked forward to with equally as much zest and impatience. On this important occasion the business houses, banks, and offices in general close their doors at noon, and do not open them again until the last heat of the last race is over. The three or four days during which the festivities occur are one big holiday for young and old, and business cares and business thoughts are thrown to the wind. The fair in Macon this year began the second week in July, and continued four days, commencing with Wednesday. It promised to be the largest and best attended meeting of the kind ever held. There were entries for the various races from all over the State, and some rare sport was promised when the blooded champions met to decide the victor. The purses were generous, the half mile track was conceded to be the best in the circuit, and spirits rose high in anticipation. There was to be a brass band from Louisville, an experienced starter from Lexington, and the judges, for the most part, were horsemen selected from towns close at hand.
John grew more and more restless as the days passed and Julia did not come. He had one letter from her, but she gave no hint as to when he might expect her home. He wrote at once and urged her to come as soon as she could, and, receiving no reply to this, fell to calling on the Major, hoping thus to hear something definite. She sent her father a message every day, but it was always about the sick friend, who had taken a slight turn for the better, but would not consent for Julia to leave her.
It was the night before the day upon which the fair began, about eleven o'clock, when Glenning, sitting in his office with a worried face, received a call from the home of a wealthy merchant. He arose at once, and went to the house. It was a deep chest cold contracted by one of the members of the family which he had to treat, but it was close onto midnight when he came into the front hall for his hat. The servant who was waiting to let him out stepped forward and said that there was an old friend in the parlor who would like to speak to him. Slightly annoyed at this further demand upon his time, John opened the door indicated, and entered the room.
A shiver as of the pangs of death enveloped him on the instant. He stood rigidly erect, his face growing whiter and whiter until the pallor which rested upon it was ghastly. The room was a sumptuous apartment; a bower of luxury. The furnishings were rich, but chaste, and blended harmoniously, creating an effect which soothed. A lamp burned on a table in the center of the room; a beautiful thing, glowing like some rare, exotic flower. The thick, ruby-tinted shade smothered the flame, and diffused it rosily. There was the odour of perfume in the air; not grossly rank, and offensive, but subtly elusive; a delicate hint of some rare and sense-numbing attar. She stood a little to one side of the table. She was rather low, but superbly shaped. Her hands were behind her, with fingers loosely laced. The lamp-glow encompassed her as in a subdued flame. It fell upon her burnished hair—dull gold and copper blent, and sank trembling into the depths of her eyes. Each feature was perfect, or so nearly perfect that the chastening light made it appear such. She was smiling.
Thus they faced each other again.
There was stark silence in the room. The man could not speak, and the woman was not yet ready to. He stood, scarcely breathing, arms at his sides, motionless. One straight lock of hair had fallen, and drew a sharp black line across his forehead. He was looking at her, steadily, desperately. His face was a mask of marble, but the woman knew too well that the volcano was there beneath all that icy calm; surging, seething, leaping and wrestling for a vent.
"Aren't you glad to see me?"
The voice was low and pleading, and full of melody. It smote upon the man's sensibilities with the force and effect of an electric current. His muscles became convulsed; his hands turned into clenched fists; his jaws knotted.
"No!" he said, at last, in a hollow monosyllable.
"Yes, you are! Tell the truth. How are you, John?"
She was coming towards him, still smiling, one half bare arm outheld, the embodiment and the perfect type of female loveliness. He avoided her, and moved to another part of the room. It was all back again, intensified an hundred fold. He knew it was of the devil; he knew that the one great trial of his life was upon him. He did not love her in the least—he swore in his soul that moment that he bore no particle of affection for her. It was something else—something unearthly and horrible, which sought to draw him on. The other nights of dalliance which he had known returned, limned upon his conscience in lines of burning fire. And he had thought himself safe! He moved back a pace, where he could not see the angel-faced devils in her eyes. Look at her he must. She saw his fear, and laughed low in her full, white throat.
"Won't you shake hands with me, and tell me that you are glad to see me?"
There was no resentment in her voice or attitude that he had shunned her. She stood easily, the train to her dress sweeping over the soft carpet to one side as she had turned. The laces on her breast were creamy and feathery, and her girdle was a zone of gold.
Again he waited till his voice was steady, and again he answered, "No!"
"Won't you but touch my hand if I ask you to?—for the sake of Jericho!"
Her supplicating words brought madness, but the man withstood. He knew, through all the blinding wrack of emotions which tossed in his brain, that in distance alone was safety. Should he feel but her finger tips, he was damned. With that six or eight feet of floor space between them he was master of himself. For the third time he answered "No!"
She had been unprepared for this reserve, this fearful coldness. The last time they were together—the last time!—and he had left without a word of farewell to her, without telling her that he was going away. But she knew why he had gone. She was older than he, and had seen more of life. But the element of mercy in her soul was wofully deficient in magnitude. She made no further attempt at once after his third refusal, but stood with head slightly bent, and eyes downcast.
"You were not very just to me."
Her words came in silken soft purrs from her warm lips—and Glenning prayed!
"You treated me badly to go, with never a word, never a written message. I should not have done the same with you John! I have missed you sorely, but my pride has held me back from trying to communicate with you in any way. I have come for the first two days of the fair; I cannot stay longer. The people in this house are distant relatives. I did not know that I would see you, except, possibly, upon the street, and then I knew that you would not recognize me. I was present when they sent a message for you tonight, and I planned this meeting. I wanted to see you again, for a little while. I think you might sit down and talk with me for a moment. It can't be for long, for the hour is late, you know."
The quality of her voice was as of one who had been mistreated. There were short breaks in it; suppressions of emotion, and her head had bent towards the light, while the burnished disc of her coiled hair was as a spider's woven mesh.
"I came away because it was better for us both that I should come, and you know a farewell was out of the question. I do not see that I have used you badly. You know to what we were drifting. Why bandy words? You know that had I stayed in Jericho my soul would have been lost today, and I would have been an outcast, or dead! It is better so. It is best that we never meet again if we can help it."
He spoke tensely and rapidly and moved towards the door as he concluded. But she was nearer it. The game was not played out. She silently glided in front of him and put her back against the door, stretching her arms out to form a barricade, and again she laughed—a sound which made the man recoil and nervously draw his hand across his forehead and eyes.
He had heard it before! It awoke old memories which he had believed dead, but the tomb of the heart will open again to a remembered word, laugh, expression, or perfume. And the attar! It was hers. He had never smelled anything like it. It was Oriental in its mysterious sweetness and effect. Barely discernible to the nostrils, it crept to the brain and wrought shadow-pictures upon the tapestry of the mind which it were better for mortal eyes not to behold. He was feeling the force of this strange perfume, which, coupled with her fascinating, if baneful personality, was beginning to beset him mercilessly. She knew her power, so well! But he was fortified with a hidden strength of which she did not know—brown eyes of trust, and a face as sweet and innocent as a flower. She barred his way. He could not pass until she gave him leave. He might have swept her aside with two fingers, but he was afraid to try. He knew what it was to be near her.
"Let me pass!" he exclaimed, resting the knuckle of his forefinger upon the corner of the table.
"You look very handsome tonight!" she told him, ignoring his demand. "Can you not find a like compliment in your heart for me?"
He did not reply, but his face was flushed and his breath was coming faster.
"You seem to have aged considerably," she resumed, "although it has been only a few weeks since you went away. But it has helped you. I'm going to give you a last chance now. Won't you come and speak to me as you used to do? If you won't, I am coming to you!"
Her arms fell to her sides.
The man knew she meant it, and a rage which was his salvation began to mount slowly within him.
"If I do as you ask, will you stand aside, and allow me to go?"
"Yes, if you will want to go—then!"
He came straight towards her, his whole nature set and hard as adamant. Her head was bent as he approached. Only when he stopped within arm's length and held out his hand did she flash the wonder of her topaz eyes full into his, and giving him her hand, bent towards him in a last mighty effort to conquer. He felt the blood rush to his brain so that her face was blurred before him; he was conscious of white arms gliding above his shoulders, then with a low, strangled curse of anger he had pushed her from him, and was in the hall. Another moment the outer door closed behind him, and he was creeping through the deserted streets, shivering as with palsy, an inarticulate blending of prayer, blasphemy, and an absent woman's name upon his lips.
Glenning did not attend the fair the first two days. He had good and sufficient reasons for finding his practice so urgent that he could not leave it, but the afternoon of the third day he drove out. The sights and sounds which greeted him as he passed through the gates were all familiar. To one side some half grown boys were throwing at rag babies. Further on was the merry-go-round, piping its crazy tune, and carrying its precious freight of happy children. Yonder was the booth where beer was dispensed, and it had a liberal patronage, for the day was hot. Tents were scattered here and there, with gaudy, distorted pictures, representing something impossible in nature or art, reared before them to tempt the unsophisticated. There, too, was the fakir, crying his swindling schemes in a strident voice. Nestled to the track, and crowded with restless humanity, was the grandstand. At one end of this was the betting shed. John secured his horse, and went around to the track stables. The races that afternoon had small interest for him. His thoughts were of The Prince, and his chances on the morrow. He found the door to the colt's stall securely locked on the inside, and a stable hand laughingly told him that no one was allowed to enter. John rapped on the door and called Peter. The old fellow recognized his voice and let him in, locking the door behind him. The stall was well lighted and John could see the colt plainly. He appeared in the best condition, and his bay coat was glistening from the constant rubbing his attendant gave him.
"Does any one ever come in here but you, Uncle Peter?"
"No,suh! Dey ain' nobody stuck he haid in heah 'cep' me!"
"That's right. No one else has any business in here. There's lots of trickery about horse-racing, Uncle Peter, so don't let a soul get within arm's length of The Prince!"
"Yo' neen' pester yo' haid 'bout dat, suh!"
"Miss Dudley has not yet returned, but the Major will be here tomorrow afternoon, and so will I. You ride The Prince, Uncle Peter?"
A pair of indignant white eyeballs rolled towards the questioner.
"Yo' 'low I gwi' let any udder nigguh git straddle dis hoss! Yes, suh, I ride 'im, 'n' I ride 'im at de head ob de whole bunch!"
"He is looking splendid," John replied, and then he inspected the box stall carefully, seeing that there were no holes in which a horse might catch his foot and go lame. Then, with a few parting injunctions to Peter, he left the grounds. He remembered that the afternoon train from the East arrived at half past three, and there might be a letter. Fifteen minutes later he was turning in the driveway in front of the Dudley mansion. There were people on the portico, and at first glance he saw that one was Julia, still in her traveling dress. And there was the Major—but the third was an old man he had never seen before. Probably some resident of Macon, who, learning of the Major's recent indisposition, had come out for a friendly chat.
Glenning hitched his horse to a post at one side and turned eagerly to the house. Julia met him at the steps with eyes swimming in tears, and a face suffused with happiness.
"There's been some awful mistake!" she whispered, squeezing his hand unconsciously. "Uncle Arthur is not dead at all; he is here with us!"
It would be useless to attempt a description of the many feelings which assailed the young man when he heard this news. But his surprise and confusion were covered by the Major, who advanced joyfully on the instant, and took his hand.
"My brother—Doctor Glenning! Lost for over half a lifetime and home again by the grace o' God in time to see a Dudley hoss walk away from the pick o' Marston's stables! Sit down, all o' you! Bless me, such a day! Daughter and brother on the same train, and neither knew each other till they met here on this portico! Arthur, my boy, this is better than a julep with the thuhmometuh at ninety-nine in the shade—'pon my soul! And all this mess about you bein' dead and the money comin' in the nick o' time to keep us out o' the po'-house—"
"Father!"
"Sit down, all o' you! I'm a bit excited, I fear! Peter!Peter!"
"You'll have to call louder than that, Major. Peter's in a stall at the race track stables this minute, mothering The Prince."
While the Major was speaking John had been standing by Julia's side, looking at the returned wanderer. He saw a man much like Major Dudley in height and build, with long white hair and a silvery beard which swept his chest. His face was tanned, his eyes keen, and his voice pleasant, though a trifle loud.
"So he is, doctor—and tomorrow's the day! There's so much to tell and so much to listen to. Arthur, we'll spend the remainder of our days talking and listening. But the juleps! Here, Julia, you're even better than Peter at this decoction. Make us three, child. I know your uncle's tired. Take a chair, doctor—"
But Glenning was already in the hall following swiftly in the train of the young lady commissioned to mix the drinks. He overtook her at the door between the library and dining-room. She heard him in pursuit, and turned there to smile at him.
"Oh, I'msoglad you've come!" he exclaimed, taking her two hands and looking down into her eyes. "You have been away ages!"
"So long?" she laughed archly; "did you miss me?"
She wrested herself free and ran to the old side-board, where the decanters and sugar sat. He was by her side on the instant.
"Can it not be tonight?" he pleaded. "Will—your uncle's coming interfere?"
She turned a sober face towards him.
"It would not be right for me to absent myself from him the first evening after his arrival. You understand, don't you?"
"Certainly I do. I knew it was useless and silly for me to ask—but I want so much to have you to myself for one hour!"
"You shall—tomorrow night! What can it mean, Doctor Glenning?—that story of his death, and the money?"
"Somebody has made a mistake," he answered, and his face was very solemn.
"Evidently they have, but that doesn't cast any light on the mystery."
"It will be cleared up in time—let me carry that tray for you. It's silver, and heavy as lead."
She consented, and they repaired to the porch, where the juleps were quaffed eagerly. Then John made his excuses, feeling somewhat out of place in the flush of this reunion, but first securing Julia's promise to accompany him to the races the following afternoon.
That day was one which the people of Macon and the country round about never forgot. A light rain fell in the forenoon, sufficient to do away with the dust without making mud. In consequence the track was perfect, the atmosphere tempered, and in the afternoon not a cloud showed in the sky. The Dudleys went early and found seats just in front of the wire, which was the most desirable location. The news of Arthur Dudley's return had spread quickly, and people thronged about the two old men, for though he had always lived an isolated existence, Major Dudley enjoyed the respect and esteem of every one. The big race in which The Prince was expected to win his laurels was the last on the program, so there was plenty of time for receiving friends, and listening to the opinions of well-wishers. These were legion, for Marston had not a backer in all that vast throng. He was a pariah, by choice. He did not like people, and he did not want them to like him. He was on hand this afternoon. John saw his thick-set figure often in the crowd at the betting shed during the first races. He bet on his own horses, some of which were in every race, and he nearly always won, for his thoroughbreds belonged to a strain which was hard to beat.
A little after four the bell in the judges' stand clanged for the last race. John turned to Julia, who sat by his side.
"That summons The Prince!" he remarked, smiling.
He had never seen her more beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed from excitement, and her eyes were starry. She sighed, and looked at him anxiously.
"Be of good courage!" he said. "They cannot beat him!"
The horses were beginning to appear, and a brave showing they made; a sight to make any Kentuckian's heart swell with enthusiasm. Devil Marston's two racers came up first, and Glenning saw that they were built in becoming manner. Then as the bay colt walked proudly down the stretch with Uncle Peter on his back, a thunderous wave of acclaim rent the air. John turned once more to Julia, and he saw that her eyes were moist. The weighing of the jockeys and the drawing for place went forward speedily. There were five entries, and Peter came in the middle, the third from the pole. Then the jockeys were in the saddle again, and had started up the stretch to score. Again the eyes of the man went to the girl beside him. Her gloved hands were over her face, and he could see that she was making a mighty effort for control. He heard the piercing voice of the starter ordering some one to hold back.
"Look!" he exclaimed; "don't miss the getaway!"
Her hands dropped and her face came up bravely. She was pale now.
Leaning forward, John saw the line of horses coming nicely and well, and Peter trying with all his puny strength to hold The Prince in his place. His efforts were only partly successful, for the colt had come into his own at last, but as the group dashed under the wire that thrilling word "Go!" was hurled at them. There was a rustle and stir from end to end of the grandstand, as the immense crowd arose to its feet, the man and the girl with the rest. Their eyes were set on those flying forms skimming over the earth like birds. To the first quarter there was scarcely any change, for there was no mongrel blood racing in Kentucky on that great day. Neck and neck the brave brutes ran; panting side to panting side. So they whirled into the home stretch for the first time. Almost in front of his mistress the noble colt sprang out at the half, and took the pole! It was beyond belief! It was marvelous—unequalled in the annals of the turf! For it was not done in a quarter of a mile; it was done at once, in half a dozen leaps. Julia's heart sang with joy, and a choking feeling of elation hurt her throat. A smile of wonderment crept to her lips and stayed there, while The Prince led the next half mile and came under the wire two lengths ahead of Daystar, his closest antagonist.
The wooden structure upon which they stood shook, so fierce and long was the applause, and hands were thrust at Major Dudley and Julia so fast that they could not take them all, while a confused chorus of congratulations was poured upon them. But this was only the beginning. There might be many more heats. John went on the track to have a closer look at The Prince. The colt was breathing deeply and regularly; not a hair was turned from sweat and he showed no signs of distress. Some of the others were full of lather and were blowing heavily. The pace had been fast. Presently all withdrew to rest, and be rubbed down. Uncle Peter was exalted to the seventh heaven of delight as he rode away, prouder than Solomon in his palmiest days.
The next heat, however, was a shock, a surprise and a revelation. Imperial Don, Devil Marston's other entry, pushed his nose under the wire about six inches ahead of the colt's. People were dumfounded, for the horse had run fourth in the first heat, and not one had supposed him to be a possible winner.
Julia retained her self-possession, and spoke with a firm voice.
"Please go and ask Uncle Peter the reason."
John obediently made his way to The Prince's side.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
Peter kicked his feet free of the stirrups, and slid to the ground. He was trembling all over, and his face had assumed a grayish hue.
"I'll tell yo' suh, 'n' you tell Marse Dudley 'n' de young Missus jes' whut I tell yo', foh dat am de fac'! Dis ol' nigguh ain' lib dese long yeahs foh nuffin. Now I gwi' tell yo' how 'twuz, 'n' yo' wanter pay 'tention. Dat fus' time dis Don-hoss wahn't nowhahs, 'n' t'other'n o' Deb'l Marston's come a measly secon'. Dis time de Don-hoss he win by a gnat's heel. Yo' know why? Jis' 'kase dey hil' 'im up de fus' time, a-savin' 'im foh de secon'. Now I wants yo' to look at dis heah hoss!" He placed a trembling hand upon The Prince's arching neck. "Am he blowed? Am he tahed? Am he standin' on t'ree feet? Am he haid down 'tween he laigs? Now look at de res', 'n' please yo'. Yondah's dat Don-hoss, whut t'inks he's done so much, scearcely able to git he breff; ready to drap! Yondah's dat Daystah, whut didn't do nuffin 'tall, 'n' he's dat wet wid sweat 'n' weak dat he c'n hahdly stan' on fo' feet, let 'lone t'ree. Now, suh, yo' pay 'tention to me. Dem hosses hab done dey do. Dey's tahed to deff, bofe ob 'em. Dey's took tuhn 'bout runnin' dis heah thuhuhbred, 'n' one of 'em manage to creep 'head o' 'im, but dey's done. Dey'll try de same t'ing, time 'bout, dis nex' race, but 'twon't do. Dis hoss am jus' de same as if he'd nebber run a step. We's gwi' win, 'n' yo' c'n jis' res' on de wud o' dis ol' nigguh!"
Uncle Peter's explanation of the condition of affairs was, in truth, feasible, and it was equally true that Marston's horses were feeling keenly the terrible strain they had just undergone. Of their pluck, mettle and speed there could be no doubt, but they did not have the bottom of the bay colt, whose sires were famed for their endurance. John took the old man by the hand.
"Peter Dudley, don't let a Marston win over you today! I hope and believe you are right in all you've told me. I shall tell it over to Miss Dudley for her encouragement. You know what's in this piece of horse-flesh—then get it out. And listen, Uncle Peter! I've known horses intimately all my life. Let me suggest something to you. Trail the leading horse for the first half mile, then go to the front and stay there!"
A moment later Glenning was back with Julia, telling her and the Major of Peter's explanation of the last heat. Julia was hopeful, but her father was in doubt. Glenning had his fears, too, but he kept them to himself.
When the third heat was called it was found that two of the horses had been withdrawn, their owners seeing that victory was hopeless. This left The Prince, and Devil Marston's Daystar and Imperial Don. Excitement was intense as the horses appeared for the final bout. An experienced eye could have seen that two of them were a little fagged, but the third was apparently as fresh and strong as he was the moment he left his stall for the first heat.
As the horses scored for a start Imperial Don had the pole, The Prince was second, with Daystar on the outside. They came down fast, for their blood was up, and there was to be no dallying. They got off easily, and everyone in that vast assemblage drew a long breath, then became silent. Imperial Don held his place gallantly, but The Prince's hot breath spouted upon his flank at every leap. The other horse was half a length behind. Thus they went, scarcely shifting their relative positions the first time around. Down the stretch and past the grandstand like winged things they flew, and then Imperial Don began to weaken. Again and again his rider applied the whip, but it was no use. The pace was simply killing, and the horse had done his best. At the quarter post The Prince took the pole, and Daystar, who had been held in reserve, came after him. He came like the wind, too—a long, white, phantom shape which seemed possessed of the devil. Before another quarter was run he was neck and neck with the bay colt, but there he stuck. It was a race good to behold. Thumping the springy earth in measured rhythm the fleet hoofs sped towards the goal. Into the home stretch they dashed. Three thousand pairs of eyes were watching them, and they seemed to know it. Like a span in harness they plunged forward; like two engines of the rail. The Prince's slim breast was flecked with white. His neck was outstretched; his pointed ears lay flat on his head. His long mane beat in the contorted face of the monkey-like figure on his back. Every strong muscle in all his lithe body was strained to the last limit. The racing blood of countless winners was aflame, and with almost human intelligence he strove bravely for the mastery. Inch by inch he began to lead away! On towards the wire, his red-rimmed eyes bulging, his veined nostrils inflamed and quivering. The watching people saw, and instantly such a shout arose that it pierced the blue above. Another moment, and the noble animal shot past the goal a neck ahead, and the race was won!
Glenning's engagement was for eight o'clock the following evening, but he did not come till nine. Julia met him at the door, garbed in some dainty white stuff with lace about it, and wearing one rose in her hair, which waved from her forehead and was dressed low upon her neck.
"I must apologize for my tardiness," he said, gravely, as they walked into the library, which was softly lighted by a shaded lamp. "But as I was starting out I had an urgent call from a very poor family on the edge of town. A little child had fallen and broken its leg. It was a "charity call," but I hope you will pardon me. I could not let it suffer."
She felt a warm glow steal to her cheeks as she listened.
"You did right," she told him; "I was sure you had a good reason for being late."
He tried to speak of the race, but could not. She was also mute. The hour was too tense for conventionalities. A silence fell between them. Then suddenly the man gathered together all his moral strength and arose to his feet. She looked up quickly. He did not meet her eyes till he had walked to the mantel. Then, facing about, he leaned his elbow upon it, and returned her gaze.
"The time is ripe for an understanding between us," he said, the awful strain under which he was labouring making his voice unnatural.
The girl could see that the old haunting gloom had come to his eyes. He was very white, and the crescent scar upon his forehead was outlined sharply, even in the dim light.
"It is a tale I had rather suffer death than tell, but I owe it to you before I can speak of other things which are in my heart."
She caught her breath at this, a quick, sibilant intaking, and because her hands had at that moment begun to tremble, she clasped them in her lap. Her large, sympathetic eyes were watching him closely.
"It is hard to begin," he resumed, "but I must do it alone; you cannot help me. The fault has been mine; let the shame and anguish be mine, too. Would you object if I told you of something else first?—it seems I am doomed to ask you to forgive much tonight!"
The pathos and sorrow in his words were almost more than she could bear, but she signed her permission dumbly, and waited.
"I think it all began that first night I saw you, in such distress. At any rate, my interest in you and your life was deep and genuine from that hour. I learned of your reverses—of your father's investment in the bank stock. Then the time came when Marston withheld the dividend, and I knew that you were without resources. Tom Dillard and I got together to see what we could do. We seemed pretty helpless, for Marston had everything his own way. Then something happened to me which gave me an idea. I had an uncle, too, whom I had not seen for years. He died a short time ago, and part of his estate came to me. It was in the shape of a life insurance policy which he had taken out in my favour without ever letting me know. When the check from the company came to me, through my uncle's attorneys, the temptation was more than I could resist." He left the mantel and took one step towards her, then stood firm-footed as he resumed, desperately. "I did it. I did it all. I fabricated the story of your uncle's death, and the lawyer who sent Major Dudley that check from St. Louis was my good friend, to whom I wrote. He simply had to buy eastern exchange in place of the insurance company's check. It was simple enough. Forgive me. I place my trust in your feeling heart and seeing soul, for without a clear vision and complete understanding in an affair like this there can be no forgiveness. Soon I will tell you why I did it all."
Her head had gently sunk as he was speaking. She did not look up when he stopped. She did understand. She knew in a flash the reason for his course. But his revelation numbed her. She tingled from head to foot, and knew that should he command her eyes at this moment, swift surrender would follow. She waited for his voice, but it did not come.
"Go on!" she said, so low that he guessed, rather than heard the words.
He cast a glance around the room such as a drowning man might give when he felt the water closing over him. She had not encouraged him by so much as a flash from her eyes, and heaven knew he needed courage, if ever man did. She was so white and still! So dainty and spotless! Her folded hands were waxen, and her forehead and the one cheek which he could see were like some statue's. Her breathing was so soft that it did not stir the bosom of her dress.
"I have given you a suggestion of what befell me in Jericho; since then you have heard distorted truths, or more probably vicious falsehoods, from another source. Now listen to what I say. It shall be the whole truth, with nothing added, and nothing taken from.
"Jericho was my home. I was born and reared there, and I came back there after I had graduated in medicine, and began to practice. A number of families had moved into the place during the years I was away, and among them were a Mr. and Mrs. Lamberton. He was a traveling man, and was at home very little. The trouble began when I was called in one day, the occasion being some slight difficulty in hearing. When I entered the room I was stricken still with amazement. I had never seen such a perfectly beautiful creature in all my life. She was young, not tall, and possessed of a wonderful wealth of colouring. The apartment was permeated by some essence entirely new to me, some rare and delightful perfume. She was reclining upon a couch, alone. She, of course, knew who I was, and she did not rise, but bade me come to her. I did as she asked, and took a vacant chair near her. At that day I knew practically nothing of women, good or bad. My path had been a pretty rough one, and I had all I could do to go forward, although there was always the wish within me to know and associate with women, the natural complement of man. She stated her trouble briefly and clearly, in a most pleasing tone, and when I endeavoured to put some necessary questions I found to my dismay that my mind was muddled, and wouldn't work well. She smiled when she noticed my embarrassment. Whenever she turned her eyes upon me I felt dizzy. They were wine brown, and in them dwelt twin devils which beguiled. I had to touch her with my hands; to put back the hair from the affected ear. I was young—I was far more innocent than she—so help me God! I maintained my professional reserve with difficulty, and escaped from the room with my brain whizzing and my breast on fire. But the mischief was done. I could not forget her. I thought of her constantly during my waking hours. I did not stop to analyze the trend or character of my thoughts. At the time I do not think they had any definite shape. I simply could not withdraw my mind from that incident—that half hour in her presence. Nothing was said and nothing was done which a third person might not have heard and seen, but it was the awfulsuggestionback and beneath it all. Her attitude towards me, while not in the least familiar, was charged with an undefinable under current of what our future relations might become. I knew that I wished to see her again, but when the summons came on the second day from the one when I first called, I hung back. I was afraid, who had never known fear before. I had no excuse for refusing to go. I was a servant of the public, and my presence was demanded. To trump up a subterfuge would be to acknowledge to myself that I was a coward. I went.
"She received me in the same room. This time she was snugly settled in a large, easy chair, and the unbound glory of her hair swept down over the rich-hued house dress which she wore. This visit was considerably longer than the first. You know that a family physician very often shares the most intimate confidences of his patients. This day she told me something of her life; enough to lead me to believe that she was unhappily married, and that she and her husband were not congenial. A ready resentment sprang up in me towards the man who could call this superb being his, and then neglect her. So the wiles of Delilah were employed again, though at the time I did not suspect her.
"Then there grew in my heart a strange passion for this woman. Love strove to mount, but it quickly discovered that that which it was called upon to meet was not love. Then the devils of the flesh tore at me and strove to drive me on—to utter and complete damnation! They had arisen insiduously, arming themselves as they advanced, and I soon found myself in the throes of a struggle as old as the world of creation, and more difficult to overcome than any foe which might appear from without. These devils haunted, harassed, goaded and tortured me. They drove me to her again and again, and again and again I withstood them, holding fast to the sense of right within me, and striking back with all the moral strength of my nature. Then one day it was borne in upon me that I must yield—or retreat. No mere mortal could continue to face this most powerful of all earthly temptations, and keep himself unspotted. The last night we were together in Jericho she confessed her love for me, and offered me the bitter-sweet joy of her arms. Then a living God of mercy gave me the victory. Long ago I knew I did not love her. I knew that my feeling for her was born in hell—in the blackest and foulest corner thereof! She stood before me arrayed in voluptuous robes, the splendour of her perfect physical beauty dazzling me cruelly, and told me unabashed that she was mine, body and soul! I swear to you that I had never said one word of love to her. I looked upon her, and the devils surged to the attack with thong and goad. But I did not raise my hands from my sides. I fought them back and after a while found my voice and told her this could not be. With the spoken words my strength returned, and I left her thus, without farewell. The next night I came to Macon."
The deep, resonant tones ceased. The silence in the room was acute. Not even the sound of breathing was audible.
"I found you, whom God sent to be my salvation. The battle was not ended, though I had put the visible cause of it away. But memory will not die, and the eyes of the mind constantly behold the visions of yesterday. Now came the fight to stay away, and I found it just as hard to win as the other. Had it not been for you, and the hope which I allowed to find root in my soul, I would surely have succumbed. But this hope grew, a pure, white flower, and it banished the noisome weeds of grosser birth. Then a day came when I knew the old influence and the wild longing no more, for love had found me and had reclaimed me from the morass into which I had strayed. I need not tell you that I have gone through perditions of living fire! You, sweet girl, know nothing of this. But what I said to you upon the lawn not many days ago I say to you again tonight—I have come through clean! It is not a debauched body and a rotten soul I am bringing as my offering to you tonight. High heaven bear me witness that all I say is true! I do not claim any especial worthiness, but I do disclaim and declare false the libelous stories which Devil Marston brought from Jericho! You have heard the truth, and I am glad that at last you know."
An inflection almost of despair quivered through his last words. The girl before him was motionless, but now a rigour shook her from head to foot, then passed, and she was still looking down, apparently unmoved, and lifeless.
"There is yet another incident."
He spoke in a dead voice, without ring or timbre. He was hopeless, yet nerved to go to the last bitter dreg of confession.
"I saw her once while you were in the East with your sick friend—a few days before the fair. It was quite accidental. I had a call from the Maddoxes one evening. She was there—had come as a visitor for the races—some sort of relative. As I was leaving the house a servant told me a friend wished to see me in the parlour. I did not remain long. The old charm was there, and I should have been lost without the protection of your spirit, which armed me as I had never been armed before. When I started to leave the room she attempted to detain me, but I thrust her aside, and went out. That is the whole story, and horrible enough it seems to me! I dare not think what it must seem to you—you sweet, sheltered flower! Now that this miserable tale is told, I come tonight and offer you my love. It is a most tender feeling I harbour for you, Julia; a possessive, protective, jealous love, which would forever hold you safe and blameless; which would forever cradle you in the house of my heart, deep-walled and warm. Nothing that would hurt, or harm, or blight, or frighten, or pain you should reach you in that sheltered fold within my breast. Won't you say that you will come—you poor, little storm-beaten lamb, and give me the deep, dear joy of loving you and ministering unto you always?"
He did not approach her. He had no right. His confession stood like a wall between them until she should speak. Her face was burning now. He could see her flushed cheeks and tinted temples. That she still refrained from meeting his eyes kindled a faint flame of hope.
"This is a strange story for a girl to hear," she said, speaking each word low, but distinctly. "I forgive you for the deception about the money. Uncle Arthur has returned wealthy, and we can refund that to you soon. But—" she raised her head and looked at him—"can I forgive the rest?"
"Can you forgive it?" he repeated, pillowing his elbow on his palm, and resting his chin on his finger and thumb. "Can you forgive it? Your heart must answer. If you love me—if you love me—"
She could not endure the appeal in his eyes, and her own dropped, with a sigh.
The moments raced past.
"Julia, have you no word for me?"
Silence unbroken. He waited for a while longer, then moved slowly towards the door. She heard his footsteps pass and recede, and it seemed that the hope of her life was going too. He reached the door leading into the hall.
"John!"
The low call was weighted with despair and love.
In a moment he was standing before her, with both her hands in his.
"You called me!" he whispered, reading the message in her swimming eyes. "You called me!"
"Back to happiness, John, if I can give it to you! You have borne so much, poor boy!"