CHAPTER 23. ALINE TURNS A CORNER
Aline might have been completely prostrated by the news of herhusband's sudden end, coming as it did as the culmination of a week ofstrain and horror. That she did not succumb was due, perhaps, toRidgway's care for her. When Harley's massive gray head had droppedforward to the table, his enemy's first thought had been of her. Assoon as he knew that death was sure, he hurried to the hotel.
He sent his card up, and followed it so immediately that he found herscarcely risen from the divan on which she had been lying in thereceiving-room of her apartments. The sleep was not yet shaken from herlids, nor was the wrinkled flush smoothed from the soft cheek that hadbeen next the cushion. Even in his trouble for her he found time to beglad that Virginia was not at the moment with her. It gave him thesense of another bond between them that this tragic hour should belongto him and her alone--this hour of destiny when their lives swung rounda corner beyond which lay wonderful vistas of kindly sunbeat and dewystarlight stretching to the horizon's edge of the long adventure.
She checked the rush of glad joy in her heart the sight of him alwaysbrought, and came forward slowly. One glance at his face showed that hehad brought grave news.
"What is it? Why are you here?" she cried tensely.
"To bring you trouble, Aline."
"Trouble!" Her hand went to her heart quickly.
"It is about--Mr. Harley."
She questioned him with wide, startled eyes, words hesitating on hertrembling lips and flying unvoiced.
"Child--little partner--the orders are to be brave." He came forwardand took her hands in his, looking down at her with eyes she thoughtfull of infinitely kind pity.
"Is it--have they--do you mean the verdict?"
"Yes, the verdict; but not the verdict of which you are thinking."
She turned a quivering face to his. "Tell me. I shall be brave."
He told her the brutal fact as gently as he could, while he watched theblood ebb from her face. As she swayed he caught her in his arms andcarried her to the divan. When, presently, her eyes fluttered open, itwas to look into his pitiful ones. He was kneeling beside her, and herhead was pillowed on his arm.
"Say it isn't true," she murmured.
"It is true, dear."
She moved her head restlessly, and he took away his arm, rising to drawa chair close to the lounge. She slipped her two hands under her head,letting them lie palm to palm on the sofapillow. The violet eyes lookedpast him into space. Her tangled thoughts were in a chaos of disorder.Even though she had known but a few months and loved not at all thegrim, gray-haired man she had called husband, the sense of wretchedbereavement, the nearness of death, was strong on her. He had been kindto her in his way, and the inevitable closeness of their relationship,repugnant as it had been to her, made its claims felt. An hour ago hehad been standing here, the strong and virile ruler over thousands. Nowhe lay stiff and cold, all his power shorn from him without a second'swarning. He had kissed her good-by, solicitous for her welfare, and ithad been he that had been in need of care rather than she. Two bigtears hung on her lids and splashed to her cheeks. She began to sob,and half-turned on the divan, burying her face in her hands.
Ridgway let her weep without interruption for a time, knowing that itwould be a relief to her surcharged heart and overwrought nerves. Butwhen her sobs began to abate she became aware of his hand resting onher shoulder. She sat up, wiping her eyes, and turned to him a facesodden with grief.
"You are good to me," she said simply.
"If my goodness were only less futile! Heaven knows what I would giveto ward off trouble from you. But I can't, nor can I bear it for you."
"But it is a help to know you would if you could. He--I think he wantedto ward off grief from me, but he could not, either. I was often lonelyand sad, even though he was kind to me. And now he has gone. I wish Ihad told him how much I appreciated his goodness to me."
"Yes, we all feel that when we have lost some one we love. It isnatural to wish we had been better to them and showed them how much wecared. Let me tell you about my mother. I was thirteen when she died.It was in summer. She had not been well for a long time. The boys weregoing fishing that day and she asked me to stay at home. I had set myheart on going, and I thought it was only a fancy of hers. She did notinsist on my staying, so I went, but felt uncomfortable all day. When Icame back in the evening they told me she was dead. I felt as if somegreat icy hand were tightening, on my heart. Somehow I couldn't breakdown and cry it out. I went around with a white, set face and gave nosign. Even at the funeral it was the same. The neighbors called mehard-hearted and pointed me out to their sons as a terrible warning.And all the time I was torn with agony."
"You poor boy."
"And one night she came to me in a dream. She did not look as she hadjust before she died, but strong and beautiful, with the color in herface she used to have. She smiled at me and kissed me and rumpled myhair as she used to do. I knew, then, it was all right. She understood,and I didn't care whether others did or not. I woke up crying, andafter I had had my grief out I was myself again."
"It was so sweet of her to think to come to you. She must have beenloving you up in heaven and saw you were troubled, and came down justto comfort you and tell you it was all right," the girl cried with softsympathy.
"That's how I understood it. Of course, I was only a boy, but somehow Iknew it was more than a dream. I'm not a spiritualist. I don't believesuch things happen, but I know it happened to me," he finishedillogically, with a smile.
She sighed. "He was always so thoughtful of me, too. I do wish Ihad--could have been--more--"
She broke off without finishing, but he understood.
"You must not blame yourself for that. He would be the first to tellyou so. He took you for what you could give him, and these last dayswere the best he had known for many years."
"He was so good to me. Oh, you don't know how good."
"It was a great pleasure to him to be good to you, the greatestpleasure he knew."
She looked up as he spoke, and saw shining deep in his eyes the spiritthat had taught him to read so well the impulse of another lover, and,seeing it, she dropped her eyes quickly in order not to see what wasthere. With him it had been only an instant's uncontrollable surge ofecstasy. He meant to wait. Every instinct of the decent thing told himnot to take advantage of her weakness, her need of love to rest upon inher trouble, her transparent care for him and confidence in him sochildlike in its entirety. For convention he did not care a turn of hishand, but he would do nothing that might shock her self-respect whenshe came to think of it later. Sternly he brought himself back torealities.
"Shall I see Mr. Mott for you and send him here? It would be betterthat he should make the arrangements than I."
"If you please. I shall not see you again before I go, then?" Her lipstrembled as she asked the question.
"I shall come down to the hotel again and see you before you go. Andnow good-by. Be brave, and don't reproach yourself. Remember that hewould not wish it."
The door opened, and Virginia came in, flushed with rapid walking. Shehad heard the news on the street and had hurried back to the hotel.
Her eyes asked of Ridgway: "Does she know?" and he answered in theaffirmative. Straight to Aline she went and wrapped her in her arms,the latent mothering instinct that is in every woman aroused anddormant.
"Oh, my dear, my dear," she cried softly.
Ridgway slipped quietly from the room and left them together.
Ridgway of Montana (Story of To-Day, in Which the Hero Is Also the Villain) Page 23