CHAPTER XIIITHE DEADLY RIVAL
WHEN Carl reached his office, to take up once more his engineering work he found Grace already awaiting him, ready to take up her secretarial duties.
When Grace had first expressed the desire to return to New York, she confessed to a lack of funds. Carl, grateful for the tender care she had taken of him while he was ill at the hospital, offered to pay her passage to New York. This she consented to, with the stipulation that she be given work at his office where a weekly deduction could be made from her salary until the money he had advanced was repaid. It was with this understanding, then, that she accompanied Carl to New York.
Carl instructed her as to her duties, but did not notice that her eyes seemed to flash with an eager light and an avid gleam, such as the mere technique of the work could never have provoked. She seemed to bask in the favor of his presence and look; to wither and wilt when he withdrew from her gaze,as a flower might do, if withdrawn from the light and the glow of the life-giving sun.
While his business mail had been attended to during his absence, quite a collection of personal mail awaited him. He was too busy for the moment to pay much attention to it and gave the envelopes but a passing glance, as if looking for something of especial interest or note. Not finding what he desired, the entire lot was set aside for more leisurely perusal.
During the homeward journey, he had laid plans for the irrigation of the Sahara, and with his assistant, in his private office, he discussed the making of these plans for a scientific irrigation system, to take the place of the French plan for flooding the Sahara by means of a canal from the ocean.
With this work thus auspiciously commenced, Carl was at liberty to give more careful consideration to his private matters, including that stack of mail. On second thought, however, he waited until the evening when the office force had left before he sat down to the task.
The contents of the letters were practically all alike, only that the meaning in each was differently expressed, some were clever, some witty, some downright dull. But Carl was used to that. Among them were invitations to affairs that were already numbered among the annals of the past and others of afuture time, which he made note of in anticipation of attending them, if circumstances permitted.
He had started his plans for the Sahara irrigating scheme, but with Sana gone there was not the same enthusiasm and initiative as there was prior to that fateful trip into the desert when they had been trapped by Amshied and when he had so utterly failed to play the hero, the rescuer of his beloved one. The spur was gone. Again, there came to him Sana’s promise that she would give anything a woman could give to the man, who of course was Carl, who saved her homestead at the Gurara Oasis. But now she was dead and his desire to work on the Sahara plan was likewise dying.
He cursed the hour when Sana and he, on the pretense of requiring refreshments—while in reality it was Sana’s desire to listen to the music, came to the spot destined to prove so fateful. And after all, it was but the monotonous tones issuing from the flute of a snake charmer.
The minute attention Grace paid Carl in her first week in the office, was not, in her mind, sufficiently reciprocated—so she thought, although she realized that she was but an employee. But had she not done her level best to bring him back to health, when he was lying prostrate in the hospital? That this was her duty as a nurse, did not occur to her. She lovedCarl and was determined to secure his love. In what way she secured it, did not matter to her. Well she knew that Carl in paying her passage home had unconsciously stepped into a trap, from which he would have difficulty in extricating himself once the meshes of the net had enfolded him. The Mann Act deals severely with any offender, whose offense comes within its provisions and Grace knew how easy it would be to lend color to the story of her passage home, even though it were an act of charity on Carl’s part.
She did not care to entertain this thought, yet it occurred to her mind time and time again when Carl busily engaged appeared to be paying no attention to her. His seemed an iceberg attitude, which made her shiver. But she was ready to dig the flame out of the ice.
For some time Grace had become anxious, fearing that Carl knew or might come to know of the cablegram she had withheld from him. Yet, how could he learn of it? Did she not receive it early in the morning, just after she had unlocked the office and when she was entirely alone?
It was her duty to open the mail, telegrams and the like. Thus she reasoned she had done no wrong, insofar as reading the cablegram was concerned. But to withhold it from her employer, even though sheconsidered him more in the light of a friend and even though it came from a woman she felt to be her rival, equally if not more in love with Carl—was this not a wrong of a hideous kind? Was it not even branded with the name of crime?
BELOVED CARL. I AM HOME AGAIN. NOTHING SERIOUS HAPPENED. LETTER WILL FOLLOW. YOUR LOVING AND LONGING SANA.
BELOVED CARL. I AM HOME AGAIN. NOTHING SERIOUS HAPPENED. LETTER WILL FOLLOW. YOUR LOVING AND LONGING SANA.
These were the words that flashed across the mind of the guilty girl, whenever her eyes rested upon Carl. They seemed to be graven on her mind in letters of flame. To be near him in the taking of his dictation was one of the uncertain pleasures of her daily life. She knew that Carl had been deeply in love with Sana, but she knew too that he believed Sana was dead. At the same time that she feared, she also was angered by the fact that Carl’s affection even now seemed to be inevitably riveted upon a thing which for him Death had long since claimed. She, Grace, was still young and comely, yet he passed her by in his worship at a shrine wherein the image lay crumbling to the dust. This thought alone caused the girl to pursue the course, which even to herself was no source of joy, but a hideous curse, and insidious menace that seemed to follow her as a shadow even on the brightest day and as a blightingcurse even in moments that should have given a small measure of joy and happiness.
To use the effect of the Mann Act as a stepping stone, to gain her desires often occurred to her, but, although she did not mind the notoriety attached to it she did not know how to go about it other than to openly accuse Carl. At this she balked. She would bide her time. He did not know Sana was alive and if she could help it, he would never know. And who could tell but what with the passing of the days Carl might turn to Grace for friendship.
The change in Grace became so obvious, that even Carl was forced to take notice of it, but he could not account for it.
Grace watched every incoming mail very closely, for the cablegram had stated, a letter would follow. That letter must never reach Carl, as that would mean the failure of all her plans. No amount of watching, no amount of worry, would be too great a price, Grace reasoned, to pay for the opportunity of getting that letter in her possession.
Then, at last, came the long watched-for missive!
There it lay on the desk before her, with its African stamp and postmark. The woman’s hand with which it had been addressed spoke plainly that this letter was from Sana, Carl’s true love.
What should she do with it? Should she play thegame squarely and place the letter on Carl’s desk for him to read? The good in her made a vain effort to fight down the evil. She would keep it. Carl must not have it. No, a thousand times no!
All that day she kept the letter hidden at her bosom. How it seemed to burn her flesh one moment and freeze her very blood the next! It seemed to Grace that it would shriek out its message to the man from whom she was hiding it. But she did not falter in her evil purpose. Although heart sick and weary at the realization of her wrong, she clung to it with grim resolve.
At last the day, the longest she had ever lived, came to an end and she hurried home eager to read that letter, but weighed down with a nameless fear, with strange foreboding.
It was but the work of a moment to unseal the envelope over the steam of a kettle. With feverish haste, she drew out its contents, and read, half aloud, with halting words:
My Beloved Carl:I am home again with my mother, whom I found before the charred cross you had erected over what you thought was my grave. Dear heart, I was overjoyed to hear that you were alive. I had thought that the savage cavemen had done their worst to you. When they carried me away, and later while lying in their cave I prayed to God to receive your soul with mercy. But now I am thanking Him forhaving kept you alive. I can hardly believe it, darling.The cavemen held the slave-girl, Cintani and myself captives for several days, but Cintani, she is a clever one, managed to poison them, so that we escaped.On our way home we came across de Rochelle, who was almost dead with thirst and fever. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I gave him water and helped him to his feet. He came along with us to the site of the burned cabin where mother was praying for me. At the sight of me, she fainted dead away. You can well imagine the shock it would be.De Rochelle has confessed that he set the place on fire, trying to help us, and that he followed the cavemen when they carried me off. This may be true, but I do not believe him. At any rate, he has promised to leave Timbuktoo as soon as he has sufficient strength to do so. So don’t worry about him, dear.“In the desert a fountain is springing,In the wild waste there still is a tree,And a bird in the solitude singingWhich speaks to my spirit of thee.”I shall write you more in a day or two. At present I am worn out and still too much excited in the happiness and knowledge that my Carl is still among the living. With heaps of love and kisses,Your Sana.
My Beloved Carl:
I am home again with my mother, whom I found before the charred cross you had erected over what you thought was my grave. Dear heart, I was overjoyed to hear that you were alive. I had thought that the savage cavemen had done their worst to you. When they carried me away, and later while lying in their cave I prayed to God to receive your soul with mercy. But now I am thanking Him forhaving kept you alive. I can hardly believe it, darling.
The cavemen held the slave-girl, Cintani and myself captives for several days, but Cintani, she is a clever one, managed to poison them, so that we escaped.
On our way home we came across de Rochelle, who was almost dead with thirst and fever. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I gave him water and helped him to his feet. He came along with us to the site of the burned cabin where mother was praying for me. At the sight of me, she fainted dead away. You can well imagine the shock it would be.
De Rochelle has confessed that he set the place on fire, trying to help us, and that he followed the cavemen when they carried me off. This may be true, but I do not believe him. At any rate, he has promised to leave Timbuktoo as soon as he has sufficient strength to do so. So don’t worry about him, dear.
“In the desert a fountain is springing,In the wild waste there still is a tree,And a bird in the solitude singingWhich speaks to my spirit of thee.”
“In the desert a fountain is springing,In the wild waste there still is a tree,And a bird in the solitude singingWhich speaks to my spirit of thee.”
“In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wild waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.”
I shall write you more in a day or two. At present I am worn out and still too much excited in the happiness and knowledge that my Carl is still among the living. With heaps of love and kisses,
Your Sana.
To this letter was pinned a short note to the effect that, because of incorrect address on the first envelope, the letter had been returned to her after someseven weeks had passed, and that she had promptly readdressed it correctly and with the second sending had also dispatched a cablegram.
Grace said to herself, “Poor thing, writing a wrong address on a letter to her lover. However, it finally found its destination. Here it is! And the cablegram!”
As Grace read this loving message, her face grew livid and her eyes expanded and contracted in her rage. She rose up suddenly, exclaiming through quivering lips, “Why couldn’t she have died, or that caveman taken her. Then I should not have to suffer now. Then she would have been out of my way.”
For an hour she sat in the chair, where she had thrown herself in a fit of rage, torturing herself with cruel thoughts. But finally the madness died down, and the look of hatred was replaced by one of utmost depression and despair.
“What is the use? Sooner or later he will learn that his desert flame is still burning.”
At this juncture, Grace rose and replaced the message within the envelope, sealing it carefully once more. Yes, it would be for the best if she turned it over to its rightful owner. With that thought in mind she sought the comfort of her pillows.
The next morning, however, the good resolutionof the night before had paled. Grace seized upon the letter and striking a match soon reduced Sana’s message to a little heap of black fragments, saying with a bitter laugh “Here goes Carl’s flame like the will-of-the-whisp, flitting over the ground in its misleading way, lasting but a little while.”
But Grace could not alter the ways of Fate or Destiny! She might stave them off for the while, but all her plans and wiles could not prevent them from eventually rushing past her and on to the predestined goal.
The days rolled by and still Grace bore her grudge against Carl. In what strange actions love chooses to express itself! And yet—did not the great Alexander burn Persepolis, the Gem of the East, in order to satisfy the whim of Thaïs, the courtesan? Did not Antony lose the world to follow in the footsteps of her who fled in vain back to her lost empire—Cleopatra? Yes, these are the ways of love and strange ways they are.
Grace assumed an outward attitude that did not correspond with her feelings within. Whenever Carl addressed her she replied in a kindly, gracious tone, without hint of the madness that was eating away her soul. Carl appeared to be more business like and calculating than before. Often there were times when she longed to tell him her innermost feelings,but she could not bring herself to the point of doing so.
And then Fate took a hand.
What had brought Carl to the office so early that morning? Why should he have been there in the outer office when the postman delivered a second letter from Sana? Grace asked herself these questions as reluctantly she passed the letter over to Carl. He took it mechanically and not recognizing Sana’s writing, laid the missive aside for a few moments while he took up duties of greater importance to him than any personal letter possibly could be.
His evident non-recognition of the missive struck Grace rather forcibly as she watched him closely from her desk. No opportunity presented itself whereby she could secure this letter, and much to her chagrin she was obliged to watch Carl at last pick it up for reading.
He studied the stamp and the postmark, and as he did so became very restless, excitably so and with more than eager fingers he tore open the envelope. A small slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Eagerly he stooped to pick it up. Unfolding it his surprised eyes were confronted with—
HERE LIES MY BELOVEDSANA VON SECKTREST IN PEACECARL
It was the note he had pinned to the charred cross on Sana’s grave. His face grew pale, and scarcely able to control his emotions he seized the letter itself and unfolded it. As he did so he stared with eyes that could not believe what they saw. He turned at once to the signature and the pallor of his face changed and gradually brightened while the fearsome look in his eyes was changed to one of wonder and joy. He read, scarcely breathing the while:
My beloved Carl:As I promised you, I am writing you more at length now that I am at ease. I trust that my cablegram and first letter found you in good health and spirits, dearest darling boy.I soon recovered from the experience I had in the captivity of those strange cavemen, and my quick recovery I ascribe to the joy of knowing that you, my sweetheart, were not murdered in cold blood. I went to church and thanked God for the wonderful escape you had. The terrible agony I endured until I met my mother kneeling before the cross, praying for my soul, I can hardly describe. All that I care about now is that you are safe.I shudder when I think of how that caveman struck you down with his club. You really had no chance. And with that same club, while I was prisoner, he tried to make love to me. It is hard for me to realize today that such a brutal man should have let me off so easily, but then I suppose I should thank Cintani for this. She poisoned the entire tribe, at least, so I think, as mentioned in my first letter. When we escaped that night I took a lastlook at those cruel people and they were all lying silently on the ground—a veritable court of the dead.After all, I believe cavemen to a certain extent are chivalrous to women. If it were not so, I would not be alive today. I would have taken the poison myself. You should have seen the way in which those women loved their mates—yet their affection is secured and held by the club. I wonder how it would be if you were king of the cavemen? But I suppose now that you are again in the company of the New York girls you no longer care for your “desert flower.” Was it after all, but a Fata Morgana that we held in our arms while sitting on the beach? Write me, dear, as I have been so lonesome since you left. I feel as if I were standing alone on a huge sand wave in the great desert, not certain of my foundation.But I do trust in you and I often thank our Lord that He sent you to me to save my life. How can I ever repay you? All I can give you is my devotion and love. Love is life. So come to my arms.Cintani, the little slave-girl, is staying at my home. I am so grateful to her. If it had not been for her pluck the chances are I should not now be writing this letter.De Rochelle, as I wrote you, will shortly leave for France. My mother tells me he has recovered his strength although I have not seen him since my return.He promised to stay away from me and so far he has kept good that promise. To think that he should have set Amshied’s place on fire while you and I were there. He claims he did it to save me from Amshied, but this is probably on the same par with his desire to have me jump from the bridge.I am enclosing herewith my tombstone inscription “Here Sana, rest in peace....” As you nowknow you certainly did exaggerate. It is seldom that one has the opportunity of reading the inscription on one’s own gravemarker. But when I saw the grave you had made, I could not keep from crying. I want to tell you how I appreciate your kind manly spirit. You are just wonderful and I wish we were together now. But alas, I shall have to have patience.With love and many kisses and regards from mother, yours as ever,Sana.
My beloved Carl:
As I promised you, I am writing you more at length now that I am at ease. I trust that my cablegram and first letter found you in good health and spirits, dearest darling boy.
I soon recovered from the experience I had in the captivity of those strange cavemen, and my quick recovery I ascribe to the joy of knowing that you, my sweetheart, were not murdered in cold blood. I went to church and thanked God for the wonderful escape you had. The terrible agony I endured until I met my mother kneeling before the cross, praying for my soul, I can hardly describe. All that I care about now is that you are safe.
I shudder when I think of how that caveman struck you down with his club. You really had no chance. And with that same club, while I was prisoner, he tried to make love to me. It is hard for me to realize today that such a brutal man should have let me off so easily, but then I suppose I should thank Cintani for this. She poisoned the entire tribe, at least, so I think, as mentioned in my first letter. When we escaped that night I took a lastlook at those cruel people and they were all lying silently on the ground—a veritable court of the dead.
After all, I believe cavemen to a certain extent are chivalrous to women. If it were not so, I would not be alive today. I would have taken the poison myself. You should have seen the way in which those women loved their mates—yet their affection is secured and held by the club. I wonder how it would be if you were king of the cavemen? But I suppose now that you are again in the company of the New York girls you no longer care for your “desert flower.” Was it after all, but a Fata Morgana that we held in our arms while sitting on the beach? Write me, dear, as I have been so lonesome since you left. I feel as if I were standing alone on a huge sand wave in the great desert, not certain of my foundation.
But I do trust in you and I often thank our Lord that He sent you to me to save my life. How can I ever repay you? All I can give you is my devotion and love. Love is life. So come to my arms.
Cintani, the little slave-girl, is staying at my home. I am so grateful to her. If it had not been for her pluck the chances are I should not now be writing this letter.
De Rochelle, as I wrote you, will shortly leave for France. My mother tells me he has recovered his strength although I have not seen him since my return.
He promised to stay away from me and so far he has kept good that promise. To think that he should have set Amshied’s place on fire while you and I were there. He claims he did it to save me from Amshied, but this is probably on the same par with his desire to have me jump from the bridge.
I am enclosing herewith my tombstone inscription “Here Sana, rest in peace....” As you nowknow you certainly did exaggerate. It is seldom that one has the opportunity of reading the inscription on one’s own gravemarker. But when I saw the grave you had made, I could not keep from crying. I want to tell you how I appreciate your kind manly spirit. You are just wonderful and I wish we were together now. But alas, I shall have to have patience.
With love and many kisses and regards from mother, yours as ever,
Sana.
Carl read the letter a second time. Then resting back in his arm chair he smiled. And yet the close observer might have perceived that his eyes were veiled with a slight mist—tears of joy that welled up from the soul.
Grace, who had been watching Carl closely, grew furious, so much so, that she ground her teeth and bit her lips until the blood appeared.
After Carl had again glanced over Sana’s message, he placed it in his pocket and summoned Grace into his private office to take dictation. Grace rose unsteadily from her chair, believing that Carl would dictate a message to Sana. That she determined, she would not stand for. Then the thought flashed through her mind that Carl surely would not expect her to attend to his love affairs.
Carl commenced to dictate a business letter, but his mind was far from the subject. Repeatedly hecorrected himself and requested his secretary to read and re-read the notes which she had taken down. This mental disturbance in the usually fine poise of her employer could not go by Grace unnoticed. It served to anger her all the more to realize that his love for Sana had the power to drive all else from his mind and make him even oblivious to the duties of his office.
Grace had read the letter back to him for the fourth time when Carl, even in his confused mental state realized that there was neither sense nor reason in what he had dictated. So he decided to commence again. A new beginning was made but that was about all. At last with a thin and rather wan smile he gave it up for the time being, dismissing his secretary with the words “Never mind, just now. I will get the letter out before five. Don’t fail to remind me of it.”
A strange look had settled over Grace’s countenance as she returned to her desk. A serious expression it was, born of the thought of the withheld cablegram and the purloined letter. She had suffered far more in proportion to her doings than the satisfaction she had derived from them.
Presently Carl entered her office and in a strangely calm voice asked, “Miss Huntington, do you know if there is another party in this building by the nameof Lohman? There was a cablegram and a letter that I should have received probably some ten days ago.”
“I do not know,” was her rather quickly spoken reply, and a flush that spread over her face, but without any apparent hesitation she went on with her work. Fortunately, Carl did not notice her embarrassment.
“It is very strange. I ought to be able to find out the particulars of delivery at the cable office. Would you be kind enough to drop in there on your way to lunch and inquire if they have any record for the last two weeks, or longer, of receiving and delivering a cablegram for me from Timbuktoo, Africa? You know, when they deliver a cablegram the receiver must sign for it.”
“Yes, surely, with pleasure,” came with difficulty from Grace’s pale lips and then momentarily summoning courage, she added, “Were you expecting a cablegram?”
“No, but I received a letter in which it was stated that a cablegram had been sent.”
“Was it an important message?”
“Yes—and no.”
“Probably the sender confirmed the cable wording in the letter you received this morning.”
Carl turned without an answer, as though he hadnot heard this final remark and stepped into his own office.
Her heart beat high, and fearfully she racked her mind for some way out of the difficulty in which she now perceived she had gotten herself. It would never do to let Carl make any personal inquiries at the cable office since then most assuredly she would be detected in the game she had tried to play. Many plans and schemes came to her mind but upon consideration none appeared to answer her purpose. As she murmured to herself, “I may as well take the chance and pretend to have stopped there. He would never know the difference and I can easily report that no such cablegram had been received.”
Her lunch hour having arrived she prepared to go out, and as she was putting on her hat, Carl happened to pass and gave a parting caution, “Now don’t forget about that cable.”
Her reply, “No I won’t,” was given in a rather strange tone and she was thankful that Carl did not appear to notice it. Hurriedly she left the office, her entire body atremble. She did not go near the cable office nor did she partake of her customary ice-cream soda lunch. The fear that rose up within her had robbed her of all desire to eat. Instead she walked the streets, thinking, thinking.
Returning to the office a little later than usual shesummoned her courage and at once went to Carl’s private office.
In response to his eager and questioning look she said, “There has been no such message received for the past three months.”
This she figured, certainly covered the period since Carl himself had left Timbuktoo, and continued, “I had them look over all the books and through all their files, and having done so, they were positive that no cable of any sort had been received for you from Timbuktoo or any other place in Africa. In fact, you did not receive any foreign messages since you returned from abroad.”
Carl turned away in silence, not knowing what to make of it, but realizing all too well that the cable might have gone astray.
Grace stood silently, noting carefully Carl’s every gesture and expression, as she awaited a reply. He dismissed her with apparently kindly spoken words, “All right, never mind it then.”
As she left his office, she breathed much easier and a great burden seemed to have been lifted from her guilty soul. He suspected nothing!
A few minutes later however, Carl asked her for a cablegram blank and instead of dictating the message to her he wrote it out himself, and personally rang for a messenger.
When the messenger arrived, Grace, going to the door of Carl’s office, said, “The boy is here Mr. Lohman, will you give me the cablegram?”
“Send the boy in here.”
As the boy entered the office, Grace closed the door behind him, remaining close outside in an effort to hear what was said. But all she heard was “Charge it.”
She went quickly to her desk and sat down as the boy came out and departed through the outer door. It occurred to her too late that she might have gone out into the hall and demanded the message from the boy and after having perused it, handed it back to him with no one the wiser as to her deception.
In her high-strung and nervous state, her mind was not working as clearly as usual, or she surely would have realized that she could have gone to the cable office, at the end of the day, and for some plausible reason, such as having failed to retain a copy for the office file, procured a copy of the message.
Picking up her pencil and notebook she muttered sadly, “Out of luck this time,” and entered Carl’s office with the words “Mr. Lohman, you wished me to remind you of that letter you desired to dictate before the close of the day. Shall I take it now?”
“Ah yes, sit down and I will dictate at once.”
And, greatly to the surprise and chagrin, of Grace, he, in the calmest manner imaginable, sat back in his chair and dictated the long business letter without a single halt or change. He was at ease, mentally and physically, in great contrast with his bewildered words of the morning.
It was the message he had sent to Sana that had relieved his spirit and restored him to his normal bearing.
It was Grace, who, if she had known the contents of that cablegram, would have trembled and been unfit to take the letter he was now dictating.