CHAPTER III
THE TEMPTER'S VOICE
On the sixth day Bivens rose early and declared that he would try the ducks. The day before had been, in the local vernacular, a "weather breeder"—a day of breathless seas, a soft haze hanging from the sky, a lazy, sensuous, dreamy, alluring tenderness in the air.
The barometer was falling now and dark, snowy-looking clouds were piling up on the western horizon. A breeze came stealing out of the cloud-banks with the chill of snow in its breath.
Bivens insisted on going out at once, against the advice of Stuart and the protest of the guide. He not only insisted on going after the ducks but, what was worse, swore that he was going to get his mail and telegrams from the shore.
Stuart protested vigorously.
"I've told you that the guide is the only man who can run that tender over the crooked course to the mainland, and if he goes away we'll have no one to take us out."
"What do you need a guide for? It's not a half-mile to those blinds. I've seen you every day go back and forth in plain view of the yacht. Nan could row out there and back by herself. Send him ashore. Don't you know how to put out your own decoys?"
He spoke with the stubbornness of a spoiled child.
"If a bad blow comes we'll need two strong men to handle the boat."
"Rot!" Bivens cried. "We've got two tenders. Send your guide ashore with one of the sailors to run his engine. The other man can tow us out and back."
Against his judgment he allowed Bivens to have his way.
The little man clambered on deck and bustled about, giving orders to the sailor who was stowing the lunch and ammunition.
When Stuart stopped the tender at the first blind, about five hundred yards away, Bivens protested.
"Here, here! I'm no mollycoddle if I have been sick. I can throw a stone to this blind. This isn't the one I want. There it is down yonder toward the end of that marsh. I saw thousands of ducks circling around it yesterday."
"But they'll come here to-day," Stuart urged. "The wind has shifted and they shift their course with the wind. This blind is all right."
"I won't have it!" Bivens stormed. "Go to the other!"
"This is all right to-day, I tell you," Stuart replied.
Bivens's face flushed with rage.
"Look here, Jim, I've given in to you every day we've been down here. I'm going to have my way this time."
He turned to the sailor who was running the tender's engine and spoke sharply.
"Go to that other blind!"
The sailor sprang to the wheel and the tender shot ahead. Stuart settled back in his seat with angry disgust, and Bivens laughed.
"Cheer up, it's no use to give orders for a funeral yet. If we can't get back to that yacht in fifteen minutes against any wind that blows to-day, I'll eat my hat. I'm feeling better than I have for months. I'm in for a good time. Don't be a piker."
Stuart determined to make the best of it.
"All right," he answered cheerfully.
"I'll be responsible for any trouble that comes, so don't you worry."
"You're not in New York now, Cal," Stuart said with a grunt. "You may own the earth, but the sea still has a way of its own."
"Good Lord, man, I could walk back to the yacht at low water, it all goes bare."
"Yes, unless the wind hauls in to the northeast and rolls in a big tide through that inlet."
"All right, let her roll. The tender will come back and pull us in."
By the time the decoys were out it began to spit snow, and the wind had freshened.
As the sailor was about to start back, Stuart spoke sharply:
"Listen to me now, Niels."
The Norwegian tipped his cap and stood at attention.
"Yes, sir!"
"Keep a sharp watch on this weather. If you see the wind haul to the north, put a compass in your tender, take your bearing from the yacht to this blind, in case it should shut in thick, and come after us in double-quick time. You understand?"
"Yes sir."
"If it looks bad, don't wait too long."
"I'll watch it, sir," was the prompt response, as he stooped to start his wheel.
"And Niels!" Stuart called again. "If it should be blowing a gale you'd better bring the cook along to steer while you watch your engine. Have him fix a light supper before he starts.
"Aye, aye, sir!" he cried, as the little craft shot away, leaving a streak of white foam in her wake.
Bivens was vastly amused at Stuart's orders.
"Jim, you're as fussy as an old maid. You ought to marry and join the human race."
Stuart scanned the horizon, watching a flock of ducks working their way northward. The sign was ominous. Birds know which way the wind is going to blow before it comes, and if a gale is on the way they always work into the teeth of it. They are all equipped with barometers somewhere inside their little brain-cells.
It was useless to tell this to Bivens. He didn't have sense enough to understand it. But he quietly made up his mind to take up the decoys and row in as soon as the tide ebbed down to two feet of water.
In the meantime he would make the best of the situation. The ducks began to come in and decoy like chickens. He killed half a dozen and in the excitement began to forget the foolhardiness of the trip.
Bivens shot a dozen times, missed, got disgusted and began to fret and complain.
At first Stuart made no answer to his nagging suggestions until Bivens got to the one thing that had evidently been rankling in his heart.
"Jim, you're the biggest puzzle I ever struck. Every time I look at you I have to rub my eyes to see if I'm awake. Would you mind telling me the mental process by which you rejected my offer?"
"What's the use to discuss it, I've made up my mind—and that's the end of it."
"But I want to know," Bivens persisted. "Your silence on the subject makes me furious every time I think of it. How any human being outside of an insane asylum could be so foolish is beyond my ken."
"I know it is, so let's drop it," Stuart interrupted.
"I won't drop it. You rile me. You're the only man I've struck on this earth that didn't have his price."
"Perhaps we have different ways of fixing values. To me value is a thing which gives life. If it brings death is it valuable? You are not yet fifty years old and a wreck. What's the use? What can you do with your money now?"
"It brings luxury, ease, indulgence, power, admiration, wonder, and the envy of the world."
"What's the good of luxury if you can't enjoy it; ease if you never take it; indulgence when you have lost the capacity to play; power if you're too busy getting more to stop and wield it?"
"Jim, you're the biggest fool I ever knew, without a single exception," Bivens said, petulantly.
Stuart glanced anxiously toward the yacht. It was three o'clock. The tide had ebbed half out and there was barely enough water on the flats now for the tender to cross. It was snowing harder and the wind had begun to inch in toward the north.
"No more ducks to-day, Cal," Stuart said briskly, returning to his tone of friendly comradeship. "We've got to get away from here. It's getting colder every minute. It will be freezing before night."
"Well, let it freeze," Bivens cried, peevishly. "What do we care? It's just ten minutes' run when the tender comes."
To Stuart's joy he saw the men start the tender.
"It's all right, they're coming now!" he exclaimed. "We'll have another crack or two before they get here."
He crouched low in the blind for five minutes without getting a shot, rose and looked for the tender. To his horror he saw her drifting helpless before the wind, her engine stopped and both men waving frantically their signals of distress.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "The tender's engine is broken down."
Bivens rose and looked in the direction Stuart pointed.
"Why don't the fools use the oars?"
"They can't move her against this wind!"
"Will they go to sea?" Bivens asked, with some anxiety.
"No, they'll bring up somewhere on a mud flat or marsh in the bay on this low water, but God help them if they can't fight their way back before flood tide."
"Why?" Bivens asked, incredulously.
"They'd freeze to death in an open boat to-night."
"Norwegian sailors? Bosh! Not on your life! They were born on icebergs."
Stuart rose and looked anxiously at the receding tide. He determined to try to reach the yacht at once. He put the guns into their cases, snapped the lids of the ammunition boxes, stowed the ducks he had killed under the stern of the boat, and stepped out into the shallow, swiftly moving water. He decided to ignore Bivens and regard him as so much junk. He pulled the boat out of the blind, shoved it among the decoys, and took them up quickly while the little financier sat muttering peevish, foolish complaints.
"Now if you will lie down on the stern deck, I'll see if I can shove her."
"Why can't I sit up?" Bivens growled.
"You can, of course, but I can't move this boat against the wind if you do."
"All right, but it's a rotten position to be in and I'm getting cold."
Stuart made no reply, but began to shove the little boat as rapidly as possible across the shallow water.
The snow had ceased to fall and the cold was increasing every moment. He scanned the horizon anxiously, but could see no sign of the disabled tender.
He had gone perhaps two hundred yards when the boat grounded on the flats. He saw at once that it was impossible to make the yacht until flood tide. The safest thing to do was to get out and push to the island marsh, two or three hundred yards away. There they could take exercise enough to keep warm until the tide came in again. It would be a wait of two hours in bitter cold and pitch darkness, but there was no help for it.
Bivens sat up and growled:
"What the devil's the matter? Can't you hurry up, I'm freezing to death!"
"We can't make it on this tide. We'll have to go to the marsh."
"Can't we walk over the flats and let the boat go?"
"I could walk it, but you couldn't."
"Why not?" Bivens asked, angrily.
"Because you haven't the strength. This mud is six inches deep and tough as tar. You'd give out before you'd gone two hundred yards."
"Nothing of the sort!" Bivens protested, viciously. "I'll show you!"
He stepped out of the boat and started wading through the mud. He had made about ten steps when his boot stuck fast, he reeled and fell. The water was less than six inches deep but his arms were wet to the skin as far as the elbows, and the icy water got into his boots and drenched his feet.
Stuart picked him up without comment and led him back to the boat. Bivens was about to climb in when the lawyer spoke quickly:
"You can't sit down now. You've got to keep your body in motion or you'll freeze. Take hold of the stern of the boat and shove her."
Muttering incoherent curses the little man obeyed while his friend walked in front, pulling on the bow line.
In fifteen minutes they reached the marsh and began the dreary tramp of two hours until the tide should rise high enough to float their boat again.
"Why can't we walk along this marsh all the way to where the yacht lies?" Bivens asked, fretfully. "We can fire a gun and the doctor can help us on board."
"We can't go without the boat. The marsh is a string of islands cut by three creeks. The doctor has no way to get to us. Both tenders are gone."
Stuart kept Bivens moving just fast enough to maintain the warmth of his body without dangerous exhaustion.
The wait was shorter than expected. The tide suddenly ceased to run ebb and began to come in. The reason was an ominous one. The wind had hauled squarely into the north and increased its velocity to forty miles an hour and each moment the cold grew more terrible. Stuart found the little boat afloat on the flood tide, jumped in without delay and began his desperate battle against wind and tide.
It was absolutely necessary for Bivens to keep his body in motion, so Stuart gave him an oar, and ordered him to get on his knees and help shove her ahead. He knew it was impossible for him to keep his feet.
Bivens tried to do as he was told and made a mess of it. He merely succeeded in shoving the boat around in a circle, preventing Stuart from making any headway.
"What's the matter?" Bivens yelled above the howl of the wind. "You're pushing against me, just spinning around. Why don't you keep her straight?"
Stuart saw they could never make headway by that method, turned and shot back into the marsh.
"Get out!" he shouted sternly. "You can walk along the edge—I can shove her alone."
Bivens grumbled, but did as he was ordered.
"Don't you leave the edge of that marsh ten feet!" Stuart shouted, cheerfully. "I think we'll make it now."
"All right," was the sullen answer.
It was a question whether one man had the strength to shove the little boat through the icy, roaring waters and keep her off the shore. He did it successfully for a hundred yards and the wind and sea became so fierce he was driven in and could make no headway. He called Bivens, gave him an oar and made him walk in the edge of the water and hold the boat off while he placed his oar on the mud bottom and pushed with might and main to drive her ahead.
Again and again he was on the point of giving up the struggle. It seemed utterly hopeless.
It took two hours of desperate battling to make half a mile through the white, blinding, freezing, roaring waters.
The yacht now lay but three hundred feet away from the edge of the marsh. Stuart could see her snow-white side glistening in the phosphorescent waves as they swept by her. The lights were gleaming from her windows and he could see Nan's figure pass in the cabin.
As he stood resting a moment before he made the most difficult effort of all to row the last hundred yards dead to the windward, he caught the faint notes of the piano. She was playing, utterly unconscious of the tragic situation in which the two men stood but a hundred yards away. The little schooner was still aground resting easily on her flat bottom in the mud, where the tide had left her as it ebbed. Unless she went on deck, it was impossible for Nan to realize the pressure of the wind.
She was playing one of the dreamy waltzes to which she had danced amid the splendours of her great ball.
The music came over the icy waters accompanied by the moan and shriek of the wind through the rigging with unearthly weird effect.
"Say, why do we stop so much?" Bivens growled. "I'm freezing to death. Let's get to that yacht!"
"We'll do our best," Stuart answered gravely, "and if you know how to pray now's your time."
"Oh, Tommyrot!" Bivens said, contemptuously, "I can throw a stone to her from here."
"Get in!" Stuart commanded, "And lie down again flat on your back."
Bivens obeyed and the desperate fight began.
He made the first few strokes with his oars successfully and cleared the shore, only to be driven back against it with a crash. A wave swept over the little craft dashing its freezing waters into their faces.
Stuart drew his hand across his forehead and found to his horror the water was freezing before he could wipe it off.
He grasped Bivens's hands and found a cake of ice on his wrist. He shoved the boat's nose again into the wind and pulled on his oars with a steady, desperate stroke, and she shot ahead. For five minutes he held her head into the sea and gained a few yards. He set his feet firmly against the oak timbers in the boat's side and began to lengthen his quick, powerful stroke. He found to his joy he was making headway. He looked over his shoulder and saw that he was half way. He couldn't be more than a hundred and fifty feet and yet he didn't seem to be getting any nearer. It was now or never. He bent to his oars with the last ounce of reserve power in his tall sinewy frame, and the next moment an oar snapped, the boat spun round like a top and in a minute was hurled back helpless on the marsh.
As the sea dashed over her again Bivens looked up stupidly and growled:
"Why the devil don't you keep her straight?"
Stuart sprang out and pulled the numbed man to his feet, half dragged and lifted him ashore.
"Here, here, wake up!" he shouted in his ear. "Get a move on you, or you're a goner." He began to rub Bivens's ice-clad wrists and hands, and the little man snatched them away angrily.
"Stop it!" he snarled. "My hands are not cold now."
"No, they're freezing," he answered as he started across the marsh in a dog trot, pulling Bivens after him. The little man stood it for a hundred yards, suddenly tore himself loose and angrily faced his companion.
"Say, suppose you attend to your own hide—I can take care of myself."
"I tell you, you're freezing. You're getting numb. As soon as I can get your blood a little warm we've got to wade through that water for a hundred yards and make the yacht."
"I'll do nothing of the sort," Bivens said, with dogged determination. "I'll stay here till the next tide and walk out when the water's ebbed off."
Stuart shook him violently and shouted above the shriek of the wind.
"Do you know when that will be, you fool?"
"No, and I don't care. I'm not going to plunge into that icy water now."
"The tide won't be out again before four o'clock to-morrow morning."
"All right we'll walk around here until four."
"You'll freeze to death, I tell you! Your hands and feet are half frozen now."
"I'm not half as cold as I was," Bivens whined, fretfully.
"You're losing the power to feel. You've got to plunge into that water with me now and we can fight our way to safety in five minutes. The water is only three feet deep, and I can lift you over the big waves. We'll be there in a jiffy. Come on!"
He seized his arm again and dragged him to the edge of the water. Bivens stopped short, tore himself from Stuart's grip and kicked his shins like a vicious, enraged schoolboy.
"I'll see you to the bottomless pit before I'll move another inch!" he yelled savagely. "Go to the devil and let me alone. I'll take care of myself, if you'll attend to your own business."
Stuart folded his arms and looked at him a moment, debating the question as to whether he would wring his neck or just leave him to freeze.
Bivens rushed up to the lawyer and tried to shake his half-frozen fist in his face.
"I want you to understand, that I've taken all I'm going to from you to-day, Jim Stuart!" he fairly screamed. "Put your hand on me again and I'll kill you if I can get hold of one of these guns. I want you to remember that I'm the master of millions."
"Yesterday in New York," Stuart answered with contempt, "you were the master of millions. Here to-night, on this marsh, in this desert of freezing waters, you're an insect, you're a microbe!"
"I'm man enough to take no more orders from a one-horse lawyer," Bivens answered, savagely.
"All right, to hell with you!" Stuart said, contemptuously, as he turned and left him.
He began to walk briskly along the marsh to keep warm.
Nan was playing the soft strains of an old-fashioned song. He stopped and listened a moment in awe at the strange effects. The sob and moan of the wind through the yacht's shrouds and halyards came like the throb of a hidden orchestra, accompanying the singer in the cabin. The old song stirred his soul. The woman who was singing it was his by every law of nature. The little shrivelled, whining fool, who would die if he left him there, had taken her from him; not by the power of manhood, but by the lure of gold that he had taken from the men who had earned it.
All he had to do to-night was to apply the law of self-interest by which this man had lived and waxed mighty, and to-morrow he could take the woman be loved in his arms, move into his palace its master and hers. There could be no mistake about Nan's feelings. He had read the yearning of her heart with unerring insight. Visions of a life of splendour, beauty and power with her by his side swept his imagination. A sense of fierce, exultant triumph filled his soul. But most alluring of all whispered joys was the dream of their love-life. The years of suffering and denial, of grief and pain, of bitterness and disappointment would make its final realization all the more wonderful. She was just reaching the maturity of womanhood, barely thirty-one, and had yet to know the meaning of love's real glory.
"She's mine and I'll take her!" he cried at last. "Let the little, scheming, oily, cunning scoundrel die to-night by his own law of self-interest—I've done my part."
Again the music swept over the white foaming waters. His heart was suddenly flooded with memories of his boyhood, its dreams of heroic deeds; his mother's serene face; his father's high sense of honour; and the traditions of his boyhood that make character noble and worth while, traditions that created a race of free-men before a dollar became the measure of American manhood.
"Have I done my part?" he asked himself, with a sudden start. "If he has his way he will die. Peevish, fretful, spoiled by the flattery of fools, he is incapable of taking care of himself under the conditions in which he finds himself. If I consent to his death am I not guilty of murder? Out of the heart are the issues of life! Have I the right to apply his own law? Could I save him in spite of himself if I made up my mind to do it? Pride and ceremony, high words and courtesy cut no figure in this crucial question. Could I save him if I would? If I can, and don't, I'm a murderer."
He turned quickly and retraced his steps. Bivens was crouching on his knees with his back to the fierce, icy wind, feebly striking his hands together.
"Are you going to fight your way with me back to that yacht, Cal?" he asked sternly.
"I am not," was the short answer. "I am going to walk the marsh till four o'clock."
"You haven't the strength. You can't walk fast enough to keep from freezing. You'll have to keep it up eight hours. You're cold and wet and exhausted. It's certain death if you stay. That water is rising fast. In ten minutes more it will be dangerous to try it. Will you come with me?"
"I've told you I'll take my chances here and I want you——"
He never finished the sentence, Stuart suddenly gripped his throat, threw him flat on his back, and while he kicked and squirmed and swore, drew a cord from his pocket and tied his hands and feet securely.
Paying no further attention to his groans and curses, he threw his little, helpless form across his shoulders, plunged into the water and began his struggle to reach the yacht. It was a difficult and dangerous task. The weight of Bivens's inert form drove his boots deep into the mud, and the wind's gusts of increasing fury threatened at almost every step to hurl them down. Again and again the waves broke on his face and submerged them both. Bivens had ceased to move or make a sound. Stuart couldn't tell whether he had been strangled by the freezing water or choked into silence by his helpless rage.
At last he struggled up the gangway, tore the cabin door open, staggered down the steps into the warm, bright saloon, and fell in a faint at Nan's feet.
The doctor came in answer to her scream and lifted Bivens to his stateroom, while Nan bent low over the prostrate form, holding his hand to her breast in a close, agonising clasp, while she whispered:
"Jim, speak to me! You can't die yet, we haven't lived!"
He sighed and gasped:
"Is he alive?"
"Yes, in his stateroom there, cursing you with every breath."
The young lawyer closed his eyes, blinded with tears, murmuring over and over again:
"Thank God!—Thank God!"
CHAPTER IV
THE MOCKERY OF THE SUN
Stuart refused to talk to Nan, went abruptly to his stateroom, and spent a night of feverish dreams. His exhaustion was so acute, restful sleep was impossible. Through the night his mind went over and over the horror of the moment on that marsh when he had looked into the depths of his own soul and seen the flames of hell.
Between the times of dozing unconsciousness, which came at intervals, he wondered what had become of the two men in that disabled tender. He waited with dread the revelation the dawn would bring. He rose with the sun and looked out of his stateroom window. The bay was a solid sheet of glistening ice. The sun was shining from a cloudless sky and the great white field sparkled and flashed like a sea of diamonds.
What a mockery that sunshine! Somewhere out on one of those lonely marshes it was shining perhaps on the stark bodies of the two men who were eating and drinking and laughing the day before. What did Nature care for man's joys or sorrows, hopes or fears? Beneath that treacherous ice the tide was ebbing and flowing to the throb of her even, pulsing heart. To-morrow the south wind would come and sweep it all into the sea again.
He wondered dimly if the God, from whose hands this planet and all the shining worlds in space had fallen, knew or cared? And then a flood of gratitude filled his soul at the thought of his deliverance from the shadow of crime. Instinctively his eyes closed and his lips moved in prayer:
"Thank God, for the sunlight that shines in my soul this morning and for the life that is still clean; help me to keep it so!"
Nothing now could disturb the serenity of his temper. He dressed hurriedly, went into the galley, made a fire and called Nan.
He rapped gently on the panelled partition which separated their staterooms. He could hear her low, softly spoken answer as if there were nothing between them.
"Yes, Jim, what is it? Are you ill?"
"No, hungry. You will have to help me get some breakfast."
"The cook hasn't come?" she asked in surprise.
There was a moment's hesitation and his voice sounded queer when he quietly answered:
"No."
She felt the shock of the thought back of his answer and he heard her spring out of bed and begin to dress hurriedly.
In ten minutes she appeared at the door of the galley, her hair hanging in glorious confusion about her face and the dark eyes sparkling with excitement.
"What on earth does it mean, Jim?" she asked breathlessly. "Cal could tell me nothing last night except that he had gotten wet and chilled and you had carried him on board against his protest. When the doctor put him to sleep with a lot of whiskey he was muttering incoherently about a quarrel he had with you. I thought you sent both tenders to the shore for mail and provisions. Why hasn't the cook returned?"
"He may never come, Nan."
"Why—Jim!" she gasped.
"They started to tow us in, the engine broke down. I think the carbureter probably froze and they were driven before the wind, helpless. There's a chance in a thousand that they reached an oyster shanty and found shelter. We'll hope for the best. In the meantime you and I will have to learn to cook again, for a few days."
"A few days!" Nan exclaimed.
"Yes. The bay is frozen. Our old guide is a good cook, but he's safe in harbor ashore. He had too much sense to venture out last night. He can't get here now until the ice breaks up."
Nan accepted the situation with girlish enthusiasm, became Stuart's assistant and did her work with a smile. It was a picnic. She laughed at the comical picture his tall figure made in a cook's apron and he made her wear a waitress' cap which he improvised from a Japanese paper napkin.
The doctor pronounced the meals better than he had tasted on the trip. Bivens was still in an ugly mood and refused to leave his stateroom or allow any one but the doctor to enter. He was suffering intense pain from his frost-bitten fingers and toes and ears, and still cherished his grudge against Stuart. He refused to believe there was the slightest necessity for such high-handed measures as he had dared to use. He had carefully concealed from both the doctor and Nan just what had occurred between them on the trip that day.
On the second morning after the freeze a light dawned on the little man's sulking spirits. During the night the ice softened and a strong southerly breeze had swept every piece of it to sea.
Again the bay was a blue, shimmering mirror, reflecting the white flying clouds, and the marshes rang with the resounding cries of chattering wild fowl.
It was just nine o'clock, and Nan was busy humming a song and setting the table for breakfast, when Stuart heard the distant drum-beat of a tender's engine. The guide was returning from the shore, or the lost tender had come. If it were the guide he would probably bring news of the other men. His course lay over their trail. He threw off his cook's apron, put on his coat, sprang out of the galley, and called below:
"A tender is coming, Nan. Don't come on deck until I tell you."
The smile died from her beautiful face as she answered slowly:
"All right, Jim."
In a moment he came back down the companion-way and spoke in quiet tones:
"It's just as I expected. They are both dead. The guide found them on the marsh over there, frozen."
"The marsh you and Cal were on?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes. Both of them were kneeling. They died with their hands clasped in prayer."
"And you saved Cal from that?" she gasped, and turning, fled into her stateroom.
He went in to change his clothes and help lift the bodies on deck. Through the panelled wall he heard Nan softly sobbing.
Bivens refused at first to believe the doctor's startling announcement. He hurriedly dressed, came on deck, and for five minutes stood staring into the white, dead faces.
Without a word he went below and asked the doctor to call Stuart.
When his old friend entered, he took his hand quietly and for once in his life the little, black, piercing eyes were swimming in tears as he spoke.
"You're a great man, Jim, and what's bigger, you're a good one. If God will forgive me for the foolish things I said and did yesterday, I'll try to make it up to you, old boy. Is it all right?"
Stuart's answer was a nod, a smile and a pressure of the hand.
CHAPTER V
A TRUMP CARD
The stirring scenes of Virginia brought Stuart more and more into intimate personal relations with Bivens and he had taken advantage of the fact to draw away from his wife. The fierce temptation through which he had fought had left its scar, sobered his imagination, and brought him up sharply against the realization of danger. He had ceased to see Nan alone. Bivens's increasing devotion had made this easy and on Harriet's return from Europe with an engagement as understudy in grand opera his life settled down once more to the steady development of his ideal of service to the common people.
Scarcely a day passed without bringing to the young lawyer some reminder of Bivens's friendship. Two great lawsuits involving the principles on which the structure of the modern business world rested were begun in the Federal courts. At the financier's secret suggestion the more important of these was placed in Stuart's hands. Bivens hoped to beat the Government in this suit, but in case the people should win he wanted the personal satisfaction of knowing that he had helped to make the fame of his best friend.
Stuart could scarcely credit his ears when Bivens said to him with a chuckle:
"How's your big suit to dissolve the American Chemical Company coming on, Jim?"
"We're going to win, beyond the shadow of a doubt!" was the enthusiastic reply.
"If you do, I want you to know, old boy, that I threw that job into your hands."
"What?"
"I caused the proper man to suggest your name at the right moment, to the right people."
"The American Chemical Company is your original pet, and you put me up against it?"
Stuart paused and looked at Bivens with a scowl.
"Look here, Cal," he went on angrily, "you didn't think that you could use our friendship to weaken this suit at a critical moment, did you?"
"Jim," the little man cried, in distress, "you can't believe that I thought you were that sort of a dog, after all that has passed between us?"
"It does seem incredible," Stuart agreed.
"No, my boy," Bivens went on, after a pause, "I don't have to do dirty little things like that. These big issues have been raised. They are bound to come to trial before the Supreme Court of the United States—our one great tribunal beyond reproach or suspicion. They will be decided on their merits. The issues involved are too big and far-reaching for pettifogging methods. I suggested your name to help you in your career. I couldn't do it any other way. The stock I now own in the American Chemical Company is a mere trifle. I'll have a good joke on our crowd if you do win. I'll celebrate with a state dinner and make them all drink to your health. They'll pull ugly faces but they'll do it and fall over one another to do you honour besides."
Stuart broke into a hearty laugh.
"What a funny mixture of the devil and the human you are, after all, Cal! The more I see of you, the less I know you. How any man can make a colossal fortune as you have, and yet do such things as you've done for me, is incredible. In business you are an oppressor of the weak, cruel and unjust, and yet you are a good husband, a loyal friend, and a member of the church. It beats the devil!"
Bivens smiled cynically.
"Nothing mysterious about it. I came into a world where I found robbery and murder the foundation of our commercial system. I grappled with my enemies, learned the rules of the game and beat them at their own sport. I'm simply the product of the age—no better, no worse than the principles of modern society by which I live."
"And you expect to win in the end?"
"I have won!"
The young lawyer shook his head thoughtfully.
"There's a text our old preacher at home used to ring the changes on that's been burning into my life of late:
'SIN WHEN IT IS FULL GROWN BRINGETH FORTH DEATH.'
"Whatever sin may be, theologically, it is certainly the violation of law. Before any man can, in the end, reap good from the seeds of evil, the tides must forget to come in, grass and bud fail to come at the call of spring, and every law of the universe be reversed; because it is the Law—the law of Science, Philosophy, Love, Life, Nature, God."
"I'm afraid you're getting beyond my depth now," Bivens answered, dryly. "I'm not a philosopher or a theologian, only a man of business who takes the world as he finds it and tries to beat it and win out in the scuffle. I suggested your name in this suit, Jim, because I like you and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, if you'd let me."
As the two men drew thus closer and closer together, Stuart's bearing toward Nan became guarded, and at last their relations strained.
She met his new attitude with deep resentment and growing wonder. Her firm conviction was that he had become interested in another woman. She pretended to take no notice of the change in his manner or to observe the fact that they were never alone together. With infinite patience she studied his whims and watched for the rival she was sure had crossed his life. From the first she had suspected Harriet Woodman, and had inevitably linked her coming with Stuart's change of feeling. He had never referred to the Woodmans once since the day of the financier's collapse. This was, of course, natural, and she grew each day more certain that the influence of this quiet demure girl was the secret of the hostile influence that had come between them.
With the liberal use of money she made the acquaintance of a member of the chorus of the grand opera company who agreed to report to her every movement in Harriet's life.
At the beginning of the season the usual quarrelling of the stars gave to the young singer the opportunity of her life, and Nan's friend reported that the little golden-haired understudy was suddenly booked to sing the leading rôle in Faust on account of the illness of the star.
"Of course, the cat's not ill at all," the chorus lady volunteered to inform Nan over the telephone. "She's only pretending, to bring the manager to his knees. He's called her bluff and the little one's going on in her part, and she's in the seventh heaven of delight."
"Will she succeed?" Nan broke in, eagerly.
"What? asMargueritein Faust, that poor little kid? She will—nit! I'm sorry for her. She'll need a friend to take her home to-night. It's a dog mean trick of the manager to make a monkey of her. She's a good little thing; everybody likes her."
"All right, that will do, thank you," Nan interrupted shortly, as she hung up the receiver.
She was not surprised when Stuart accepted her invitation to spend the evening in her box at the opera—the first time he had allowed himself to be alone with her since their return from the cruise.
"Yes, Nan," he answered quickly, "I'll go with pleasure. A little friend of mine is to sing a great rôle to-night. I'm so glad you're going. I want you to hear her and help me applaud."
Now she knew it! For the first time in her life she began to realize what Stuart meant to her; what his refusal to love another woman had meant. For the first time she knew that she had built the foundations of her happiness on the certainty that he could never love another woman and that he would die her devoted, if unsatisfied, slave.
For the first time she felt the tigress instinct to defend what she held to be her own, right or wrong. She could tear this woman into pieces—the little poverty-stricken nobody, an understudy in an opera troupe! And yet if she should succeed to-night—the thought was suffocating—to-morrow her name would be on the lips of thousands and a new star would be shining in the musical world.
Stuart took Harriet to the stage door on his way for Nan. As the cab wheeled up Broadway he was in a fever of excitement over the outcome of the night's work.
"It's horribly unfair, little pal, for them to thrust you into such a position with only a few hours' rehearsal."
"I'm only too thankful for the chance, Jim," she answered serenely.
"Let me see if your hand is trembling."
Ho took her hand in his and held it a moment, looking tenderly into her expressive eyes.
"I never saw anything like it in my life!" he exclaimed. "You're as cool and unconcerned as if you were going to hear me sing instead of making your first appearance in one of the great rôles of an immortal opera. You haven't the slightest fear of failure?"
She smiled with joyous eagerness as she replied:
"I know that I can sing to-night, I may not make a deep impression or create the slightest excitement, but I can't fail."
"If you should, dearie," he said, with deep tenderness, "promise me not to take it to heart. Such a trial is not fair to you. Even the greatest star could not do her best under such conditions."
"No, they couldn't be induced to sing under such conditions. But I am divinely happy over it. I promise you that not a tear shall stain my face if I fail. I shall only laugh and try again."
Her faith was so serene, Stuart was reassured.
At the stage door he held her hand in parting and whispered:
"My soul and body will be yours to-night, dearie, remember that! I've permission from the manager to meet you behind the scenes after the last curtain. Be sure to wait a moment before you go to your dressing room."
"No, I'll see you in my room. I shall be so proud of it—the star's room for one night at least! The maid will show you the way."
"I will be in the Bivens's box, the second from the stage on the right. Don't forget to glance that way, now and then."
A look of pain clouded the fair face, but he could not see it in the shadows, and with a last warm pressure of her hand he was gone.
Harriet found to her joyous surprise her dressing room transformed into a bower of roses. A great bouquet of three dozen American beauties on her table bore her father's name and all the rest were from Stuart. She had a vague surmise that he paid for her father's, too. Every tint of rose that blooms he had sent, hiring an artist to arrange them so that their colouring made a veritable song of joy as she entered. There was no card to indicate who had sent these wonderful flowers, but she knew. There was only one man on earth who loved her well enough. Her heart gave a throb of daring joy at the thought! Surely such a token meant more than merely the big brotherly tenderness which he assumed so naturally. And then her heart sank with the certainty that he didn't mean it in the deep sense she wished. He called her 'dear,' and 'dearie,' and 'little pal' too glibly. He had always told her that he loved her too easily. What she wished was the speech that stammered and halted and uttered itself in broken, half-articulate syllables because there were no words in the human language to express its meaning.
She buried her golden head in a huge bunch of white roses the artist had placed in the centre of the room, drinking their perfume for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.
"I wonder if he does think of me still as a child?" she mused. "I wonder if he never suspects the storm within? Well——"
She smiled triumphantly.
"I'll tell him something to-night in my song!"
Nan was not in an amiable mood when Stuart led her to the box in the millionaire's playhouse which New York society built to exhibit its gowns, jewellery and beautiful women.
He had insisted on coming early.
Nan had always entered late and no woman in the magic circle of gilded splendour had ever attracted more attention or received it with more queenly indifference. It was acknowledged on every hand that she was the most beautiful woman in New York's exclusive set.
Northern men had exhausted their vocabulary of flattery in paying homage to the perfection of her stately Southern type. Those big Northern business fellows had often shown a preference for Southern women. Many of them had married poor girls of the South and they had become the leaders of their set. Nan's opportunity for intrigue and flirtation had been boundless, but so far not a whisper about her had ever found its way into the gossip of the scandalmongers of high life.
To-night she was bent on creating a mild sensation by entering late and placing Stuart in a position so conspicuous, the presence of her tall distinguished escort would at once command attention, and provoke inquiry. He had quite innocently frustrated this little plan by insisting on the unusual and vulgar procedure of entering the box in time to hear the opera.
"But Jim," Nan protested bitterly, "it's so cheap and amateurish."
"Come Nan," he answered; "you're too beautiful, too rich, too powerful, and too much envied to be afraid of the opinion of small folks. It's the privilege of the great to do as they please. Only the little people must do as others. As a special favour I ask you to be there at the rise of the curtain. I must see my little friend's entrance and hear the first note she sings."
She had yielded gracefully on the outside. Inwardly she was boiling with rage.
They were the first to enter a box. Stuart eagerly scanned his programme. The manager had inserted a slip of paper on which he said:
"Owing to the sudden illness of the prima donna, the audience will have the unexpected privilege this evening of hearing an accomplished American girl, a native of New York City, sing for the first time in Grand Opera. Miss Harriet Woodman will appear in the rôle of Marguerite."
The real audience had gathered unusually early to hear the great European prima donna. Every seat in the orchestra and balconies was packed before the rise of the curtain.
Nan had placed Stuart in front of her on purpose to watch closely his expression.
As the moment for Harriet's appearance drew near, his nervous tension became a positive agony. Yet he distinctly felt from the subtle impression, which the intelligent single mind can always receive from the collective mind of a crowd, that the people were in a friendly mood of expectancy. The fact that she was an American girl and from New York was greatly in her favour.
The audience greeted her appearance with a burst of applause and waited for the first note of her opening song.
Stuart was charmed with the effect of her personality in the character, before she moved. The long, beautiful golden hair, the innocent young face and her simple girlish costume made an instantaneous impression in her favour.
With the first sweet note from her throat every fear vanished. She sang simply, quietly, exquisitely, without effort, as a bird sings because the song bubbles from within.
A ripple of surprised comment swept the audience and burst into vigorous applause at the close of her song.
She looked into Stuart's face and smiled sweetly.
"Isn't she glorious!" he cried, turning his flushed face toward Nan.
"Fine," was the quiet answer, "but please, Jim, don't climb over the rail and try to get on the stage."
Stuart settled back in his seat with a resolution to be more careful. But in a few moments his resolution was forgotten. From start to finish Harriet received a continuous ovation. In the great songs of the last act her voice swelled into a climax of thrilling spiritual power. The audience rose in their seats and greeted her with such a tribute of enthusiasm New York had rarely seen. Wave after wave of applause swept the house. Her fellow-singers were compelled to lead her out a half-dozen times before the tumult ceased.
The manager, in ecstasies, fell on his knees, and kisses the tips of her fingers.
When Stuart had fought his way through the crowd and reached the stage, he found her alone with her father in her room. Her head was resting on his breast and he was stroking the fair young forehead with tender caressing touch. His eyes were dim with tears and his voice could find no words.
He turned away from the scene and left them alone for a few moments.
He found Nan and asked her to wait for him at the stage door in her automobile until he could give Harriet his congratulations.
She consented with a frown, and begged him to hurry.
He heard the muffled throb of the big limousine draw up at the stage door as he made his way to Harriet's room. Her father was still there and a crowd of musicians, singers, and critics were waiting in a group outside to offer their congratulations.
She was holding them back until his arrival.
When Stuart entered she dropped her father's hand, started toward him with her lips parted in a joyous smile and extended both hands.
Instead of taking them he slipped his arm about her slender waist, drew her quickly to his heart and kissed her. The girl's extended white arms by an instinctive impulse found their way around his neck, and her head sank on his breast.
"My glorious little pal!" he whispered, his voice choking with emotion. "I'm the proudest man in the world to-night."
"It's all your work Jim," she said simply. "You suggested and willed it and I've made good under your inspiration. I'd rather see the happiness on your face and hear your words of approval than all the applause of that crowd."
"And you are perfectly happy?" he asked with enthusiasm.
"Certainly not!" she cried, emphatically. "No real woman ever does this for the thing itself. It's done only to please her hero that is, or is to be. I shall never be perfectly happy until I've a little nest of my own and the man I love is always by my side."
"He'll be a lucky man, little girl. And he must be a good one to get my consent. You can't marry without it you know."
"I shall not!" she answered with a laugh.
When Harriet drew herself quietly from Stuart's arms he turned and saw Nan standing in the doorway, with a curious smile on her flushed face.
"May I, too, offer my congratulations, Miss Woodman?" she asked. "I hope you have forgotten the lack of appreciation you met at the hands of my crowd of thoughtless banqueters in the ovation you have had this evening."
Harriet's little figure suddenly stiffened at the sight of Nan, but at the sound of her friendly voice, relaxed, and moved to meet the extended hand.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bivens," she replied cordially. "I couldn't hold a grudge against any one in that audience to-night."
And then Stuart did something that sent a shock through every fibre of Nan's being.
As easily and naturally as a big brother, he slipped one of his long arms around Harriet and looked down with frank admiration into her eyes.
"You see, Nan, she's mine. I raised her from a wee little mite. And this was such a cruel and dangerous experiment—she had no chance. It was impossible—but, God bless her, she did it!"
Nan apologized for hurrying away and Stuart was compelled to follow.
As he settled back among the soft cushions of the car by her side and the big machine glided swiftly up Broadway toward the Bivens palace, his enthusiasm burst out anew:
"Honestly, Nan, don't you think her a wonderful little girl? And just to think she's my kid——"
"Rather a remarkably developed kid, Jim!" was the laughing answer. "She's splendid. The depth and range, power and sweetness of her voice are marvellous. Her fame will fill the world."
"Then you can't wonder that I'm proud of her."
"No," she answered, dreamily. She could afford to be generous. Warned in time and she had made up her mind instantly to act on a plan that had been vaguely forming and tempting her for the past months. It was her trump card; she had hesitated to play it, but she would do it now without delay.