by Bret Harte
CHAPTER III.
The swaying, creaking, Boomville coach had at last reached the levelridge, and sank forward upon its springs with a sigh of relief and theslow precipitation of the red dust which had hung in clouds aroundit. The whole coach, inside and out, was covered with this impalpablepowder; it had poured into the windows that gaped widely in theinsufferable heat; it lay thick upon the novel read by the passenger whohad for the third or fourth time during the ascent made a gutter ofthe half-opened book and blown the dust away in a single puff, like thesmoke from a pistol. It lay in folds and creases over the yellow silkduster of the handsome woman on the back seat, and when she endeavoredto shake it off enveloped her in a reddish nimbus. It grimed thehandkerchiefs of others, and left sanguinary streaks on their moppedforeheads. But as the coach had slowly climbed the summit the sunwas also sinking behind the Black Spur Range, and with its ultimatedisappearance a delicious coolness spread itself like a wave across theridge. The passengers drew a long breath, the reader closed his book,the lady lifted the edge of her veil and delicately wiped herforehead, over which a few damp tendrils of hair were clinging. Even adistinguished-looking man who had sat as impenetrable and remote as astatue in one of the front seats moved and turned his abstracted face tothe window. His deeply tanned cheek and clearly cut features harmonizedwith the red dust that lay in the curves of his brown linen dust-cloak,and completed his resemblance to a bronze figure. Yet it was Demorest,changed only in coloring. Now, as five years ago, his abstraction had acertain quality which the most familiar stranger shrank from disturbing.But in the general relaxation of relief the novel-reader addressed him.
"Well, we ain't far from Boomville now, and it's all down-grade the restof the way. I reckon you'll be as glad to get a 'wash up' and a 'shake'as the rest of us."
"I am afraid I won't have so early an opportunity," said Demorest, witha faint, grave smile, "for I get off at the cross-road to Heavy TreeHill."
"Heavy Tree Hill!" repeated the other in surprise. "You ain't goin' toHeavy Tree Hill? Why, you might have gone there direct by railroad,and have been there four hours ago. You know there's a branch from theDivide Railroad goes there straight to the hotel at Hymettus."
"Where?" said Demorest, with a puzzled smile.
"Hymettus. That's the fancy name they've given to the watering-place onthe slope. But I reckon you're a stranger here?"
"For five years," said Demorest. "I fancy I've heard of the railroad,although I prefer to go to Heavy Tree this way. But I never heard of awatering-place there before."
"Why, it's the biggest boom of the year. Folks that are tired of thefogs of 'Frisco and the heat of Sacramento all go there. It's fourthousand feet up, with a hotel like Saratoga, dancing, and a band playsevery night. And it all sprang out of the Divide Railroad and a cranknamed George Barker, who bought up some old Ditch property and ran abranch line along its levels, and made a junction with the Divide. Youcan come all the way from 'Frisco or Sacramento by rail. It's a mightybig thing!"
"Yet," said Demorest, with some animation, "you call the man whooriginated this success a crank. I should say he was a genius."
The other passenger shook his head. "All sheer nigger luck. He boughtthe Ditch plant afore there was a ghost of a chance for the DivideRailroad, just out o' pure d----d foolishness. He expected so littlefrom it that he hadn't even got the agreement done in writin', andhadn't paid for it, when the Divide Railroad passed the legislature, asit never oughter done! For, you see, the blamedest cur'ous thing aboutthe whole affair was that this 'straw' road of a Divide, all purewildcat, was only gotten up to frighten the Pacific Railroad sharps intobuying it up. And the road that nobody ever calculated would ever have arail of it laid was pushed on as soon as folks knew that the Ditch planthad been bought up, for they thought there was a big thing behind it.Even the hotel was, at first, simply a kind of genteel alms-house thatthis yer Barker had built for broken-down miners!"
"Nevertheless," continued Demorest, smiling, "you admit that it is agreat success?"
"Yes," said the other, a little irritated by some complacency inDemorest's smile, "but the success isn't HIS'N. Fools has ideas, andwise men profit by them, for that hotel now has Jim Stacy's bank behindit, and is even a kind of country branch of the Brook House in 'Frisco.Barker's out of it, I reckon. Anyhow, HE couldn't run a hotel, for allthat his wife--she that's one of the big 'Frisco swells now--used tohelp serve in her father's. No, sir, it's just a fool's luck, gettin'the first taste and leavin' the rest to others."
"I'm not sure that it's the worst kind of luck," returned Demorest,with persistent gravity; "and I suppose he's satisfied with it." But soheterodox an opinion only irritated his antagonist the more, especiallyas he noticed that the handsome woman in the back seat appeared to beinterested in the conversation, and even sympathetic with Demorest. Theman was in the main a good-natured fellow and loyal to his friends; butthis did not preclude any virulent criticism of others, and for a momenthe hated this bronze-faced stranger, and even saw blemishes in thehandsome woman's beauty. "That may be YOUR idea of an Eastern man,"he said bluntly, "but I kin tell ye that Californy ain't run on thoselines. No, sir." Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of his illhumor, and as the coach at last pulled up at the cross-road for Demorestto descend he smiled affably at his departing companion.
"You allowed just now that you'd bin five years away. Whar mout ye havebin?"
"In Europe," said Demorest pleasantly.
"I reckoned ez much," returned his interrogator, smiling significantlyat the other passengers. "But in what place?"
"Oh, many," said Demorest, smiling also.
"But what place war ye last livin' at?"
"Well," said Demorest, descending the steps, but lingering for a momentwith his hand on the door of the coach, "oddly enough, now you remind meof it--at Hymettus!"
He closed the door, and the coach rolled on. The passenger reddened,glanced indignantly after the departing figure of Demorest andsuspiciously at the others. The lady was looking from the window with afaint smile on her face.
"He might hev given me a civil answer," muttered the passenger, andresumed his novel.
When the coach drew up before Carter's Hotel the lady got down, and thecuriosity of her susceptible companions was gratified to the extent oflearning from the register that her name was Horncastle.
She was shown to a private sitting-room, which chanced to be the onewhich had belonged to Mrs. Barker in the days of her maidenhood, andwas the sacred, impenetrable bower to which she retired when her dailyduties of waiting upon her father's guests were over. But the breath ofcustom had passed through it since then, and but little remained of itsformer maiden glories, except a few schoolgirl crayon drawings onthe wall and an unrecognizable portrait of herself in oil, done by awandering artist and still preserved as a receipt for his unpaidbill. Of these facts Mrs. Horncastle knew nothing; she was evidentlypreoccupied, and after she had removed her outer duster and entered theroom, she glanced at the clock on the mantel-shelf and threw herselfwith an air of resigned abstraction in an armchair in the corner. Hertraveling-dress, although unostentatious, was tasteful and well-fitting;a slight pallor from her fatiguing journey, and, perhaps, from someabsorbing thought, made her beauty still more striking. She gave even anair of elegance to the faded, worn adornments of the room, which it isto be feared it never possessed in Miss Kitty's occupancy. Again sheglanced at the clock. There was a tap at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened to a Chinese servant bearing a piece of torn paper witha name written on it in lieu of a card.
Mrs. Horncastle took it, glanced at the name, and handed the paper back.
"There must be some mistake," she said, "it do not know Mr. Steptoe."
"No, but you know ME all the same," said a voice from the doorway as aman entered, coolly took the Chinese servant by the elbows and thrusthim into the passage, closing the door upon him. "Steptoe and Horncastleare the same man, only I prefer to call
myself Steptoe HERE. And I seeYOU'RE down on the register as 'Horncastle.' Well, it's plucky of you,and it's not a bad name to keep; you might be thankful that I havealways left it to you. And if I call myself Steptoe here it's a goodblind against any of your swell friends knowing you met your HUSBANDhere."
In the half-scornful, half-resigned look she had given him when heentered there was no doubt that she recognized him as the man she hadcome to see. He had changed little in the five years that had elapsedsince he entered the three partners' cabin at Heavy Tree Hill. His shorthair and beard still clung to his head like curled moss or the crispflocculence of Astrakhan. He was dressed more pretentiously, but stillgave the same idea of vulgar strength. She listened to him withoutemotion, but said, with even a deepening of scorn in her manner:--
"What new shame is this?"
"Nothing NEW," he replied. "Only five years ago I was livin' over on theBar at Heavy Tree Hill under the name of Steptoe, and folks here mightrecognize me. I was here when your particular friend, Jim Stacy,who only knew me as Steptoe, and doesn't know me as Horncastle, yourHUSBAND,--for all he's bound up my property for you,--made his bigstrike with his two partners. I was in his cabin that very night, anddrank his whiskey. Oh, I'm all right there! I left everything all rightbehind me--only it's just as well he doesn't know I'm Horncastle. Andas the boy happened to be there with me"--He stopped, and looked at hersignificantly.
The expression of her face changed. Eagerness, anxiety, and even fearcame into it in turn, but always mingling with some scorn that dominatedher. "The boy!" she said in a voice that had changed too; "well, whatabout him? You promised to tell me all,--all!"
"Where's the money?" he said. "Husband and wife are ONE, I know,"he went on with a coarse laugh, "but I don't trust MYSELF in thesematters."
She took from a traveling-reticule that lay beside her a roll of notesand a chamois leather bag of coin, and laid them on the table beforehim. He examined both carefully.
"All right," he said. "I see you've got the checks made out 'to bearer.'Your head's level, Conny. Pity you and me can't agree."
"I went to the bank across the way as soon as I arrived," she said, withcontemptuous directness. "I told them I was going over to Hymettus andmight want money."
He dropped into a chair before her with his broad heavy hands upon hisknees, and looked at her with an equal, though baser, contempt: for hiswas mingled with a certain pride of mastery and possession.
"And, of course, you'll go to Hymettus and cut a splurge as you alwaysdo. The beautiful Mrs. Horncastle! The helpless victim of a wretched,dissipated, disgraced, gambling husband. So dreadfully sad, you know,and so interesting! Could get a divorce from the brute if she wanted,but won't, on account of her religious scruples. And so while the bruteis gambling, swindling, disgracing himself, and dodging a shot hereand a lynch committee there, two or three hundred miles away, you'resplurging round in first-class hotels and watering-places, doing theinjured and abused, and run after by a lot of men who are ready to takemy place, and, maybe, some of my reputation along with it."
"Stop!" she said suddenly, in a voice that made the glass chandelierring. He had risen too, with a quick, uneasy glance towards the door.But her outbreak passed as suddenly, and sinking back into her chair,she said, with her previous scornful resignation, "Never mind. Go on.You KNOW you're lying!"
He sat down again and looked at her critically. "Yes, as far as you'reconcerned I WAS lying! I know your style. But as you know, too, thatI'd kill you and the first man I suspected, and there ain't a judge ora jury in all Californy that wouldn't let me go free for it, and evenconsider, too, that it had wiped off the whole slate agin me--it's to mycredit!"
"I know what you men call chivalry," she said coldly, "but I did notcome here to buy a knowledge of that. So now about the child?" she endedabruptly, leaning forward again with the same look of eager solicitudein her eyes.
"Well, about the child--our child--though, perhaps, I prefer to say MYchild," he began, with a certain brutal frankness. "I'll tell you. Butfirst, I don't want you to talk about BUYING your information of me.If I haven't told you anything before, it's because I didn't think yououghter know. If I didn't trust the child to YOU, it's because I didn'tthink you could go shashaying about with a child that was three yearsold when I"--he stopped and wiped his mouth with the back of hishand--"made an honest woman of you--I think that's what they call it."
"But," she said eagerly, ignoring the insult, "I could have hidden itwhere no one but myself would have known it. I could have sent it toschool and visited it as a relation."
"Yes," he said curtly, "like all women, and then blurted it out some dayand made it worse."
"But," she said desperately, "even THEN, suppose I had been willing totake the shame of it! I have taken more!"
"But I didn't intend that you should," he said roughly.
"You are very careful of my reputation," she returned scornfully.
"Not by a d----d sight," he burst out; "but I care for HIS! I'm notgoin' to let any man call him a bastard!"
Callous as she had become even under this last cruel blow, she could notbut see something in his coarse eyes she had never seen before; couldnot but hear something in his brutal voice she had never heard before!Was it possible that somewhere in the depths of his sordid nature he hadhis own contemptible sense of honor? A hysterical feeling came over herhitherto passive disgust and scorn, but it disappeared with his nextsentence in a haze of anxiety. "No!" he said hoarsely, "he had enoughwrong done him already."
"What do you mean?" she said imploringly. "Or are you again lying? Yousaid, four years ago, that he had 'got into trouble;' that was yourexcuse for keeping him from me. Or was that a lie, too?"
His manner changed and softened, but not for any pity for his companion,but rather from some change in his own feelings. "Oh, that," he said,with a rough laugh, "that was only a kind o' trouble any sassy kid likehim was likely to get into. You ain't got no call to hear that, for," headded, with a momentary return to his previous manner, "the wrong thatwas done him is MY lookout! You want to know what I did with him, howhe's been looked arter, and where he is? You want the worth of yourmoney. That's square enough. But first I want you to know, though youmayn't believe it, that every red cent you've given me to-night goes toHIM. And don't you forget it."
For all his vulgar frankness she knew he had lied to her many timesbefore,--maliciously, wantonly, complacently, but never evasively; yetthere was again that something in his manner which told her he was nowtelling the truth.
"Well," he began, settling himself back in his chair, "I told you Ibrought him to Heavy Tree Hill. After I left you I wasn't going to trusthim to no school; he knew enough for me; but when I left those partswhere nobody knew you, and got a little nearer 'Frisco, where peoplemight have known us both, I thought it better not to travel round with akid o' that size as his FATHER. So I got a young fellow here to pass himoff as HIS little brother, and look after him and board him; and I paidhim a big price for it, too, you bet! You wouldn't think it was a manwho's now swelling around here, the top o' the pile, that ever tookmoney from a brute like me, and for such schoolmaster work, too; but hedid, and his name was Van Loo, a clerk of the Ditch Company."
"Van Loo!" said the woman, with a movement of disgust; "THAT man!"
"What's the matter with Van Loo?" he said, with a coarse laugh, enjoyinghis wife's discomfiture. "He speaks French and Spanish, and you oughterhear the kid roll off the lingo he's got from him. He's got style, andknows how to dress, and you ought to see the kid bow and scrape, and howhe carries himself. Now, Van Loo wasn't exactly my style, and I reckon Idon't hanker after him much, but he served my purpose."
"And this man knows"--she said, with a shudder.
"He knows Steptoe and the boy, but he don't know Horncastle nor YOU.Don't you be skeert. He's the last man in the world who would hanker tosee me or the kid again, or would dare to say that he ever had! Lord!I'd like to see his fastidious mug if me and Eddy walke
d in upon him andhis high-toned mother and sister some arternoon." He threw himself backand laughed a derisive, spasmodic, choking laugh, which was so far frombeing genial that it even seemed to indicate a lively appreciation ofpain in others rather than of pleasure in himself. He had often laughedat her in the same way.
"And where is he now?" she said, with a compressed lip.
"At school. Where, I don't tell you. You know why. But he's looked afterby me, and d----d well looked after, too."
She hesitated, composed her face with an effort, parted her lips, andlooked out of the window into the gathering darkness. Then after amoment she said slowly, yet with a certain precision:--
"And his mother? Do you ever talk to him of HER? Does--does he everspeak of ME?"
"What do you think?" he said comfortably, changing his position in thechair, and trying to read her face in the shadow. "Come, now. You don'tknow, eh? Well--no! NO! You understand. No! He's MY friend--MINE! He'sstood by me through thick and thin. Run at my heels when everybody elsefled me. Dodged vigilance committees with me, laid out in the brush withme with his hand in mine when the sheriff's deputies were huntin' me;shut his jaw close when, if he squealed, he'd have been called anothervictim of the brute Horncastle, and been as petted and canoodled asyou."
It would have been difficult for any one but the woman who knew the manbefore her to have separated his brutish delight in paining her fromanother feeling she had never dreamt him capable of,--an intenseand fierce pride in his affection for his child. And it was the morehopeless to her that it was not the mere sentiment of reciprocation,but the material instinct of paternity in its most animal form. And itseemed horrible to her that the only outcome of what had been her ownwild, youthful passion for this brute was this love for the flesh of herflesh, for she was more and more conscious as he spoke that heryearning for the boy was the yearning of an equally dumb and unreasoningmaternity. They had met again as animals--in fear, contempt, and angerof each other; but the animal had triumphed in both.
When she spoke again it was as the woman of the world,--the woman whohad laughed two years ago at the irrepressible Barker. "It's a newthing," she said, languidly turning her rings on her fingers, "to seeyou in the role of a doting father. And may I ask how long you have hadthis amiable weakness, and how long it is to last?"
To her surprise and the keen retaliating delight of her sex, a consciousflush covered his face to the crisp edges of his black and matted beard.For a moment she hoped that he had lied. But, to her greater surprise,he stammered in equal frankness: "It's growed upon me for the last fiveyears--ever since I was alone with him." He stopped, cleared his throat,and then, standing up before her, said in his former voice, but with amore settled and intense deliberation: "You wanter know how long itwill last, do ye? Well, you know your special friend, Jim Stacy--the bigmillionaire--the great Jim of the Stock Exchange--the man that pinchesthe money market of Californy between his finger and thumb and makes itsqueal in New York--the man who shakes the stock market when he sneezes?Well, it will go on until that man is a beggar; until he has to borrowa dime for his breakfast, and slump out of his lunch with a cent'sworth of rat poison or a bullet in his head! It'll go on until his oldpartner--that softy George Barker--comes to the bottom of his d----dfool luck and is a penny-a-liner for the papers and a hanger-round atfree lunches, and his scatter-brained wife runs away with another man!It'll go on until the high-toned Demorest, the last of those threelittle tin gods of Heavy Tree Hill, will have to climb down, and willknow what I feel and what he's made me feel, and will wish himself inhell before he ever made the big strike on Heavy Tree! That's me! Youhear me! I'm shoutin'! It'll last till then! It may be next week, nextmonth, next year. But it'll come. And when it does come you'll see meand Eddy just waltzin' in and takin' the chief seats in the synagogue!And you'll have a free pass to the show!"
Either he was too intoxicated with his vengeful vision, or the shadowsof the room had deepened, but he did not see the quick flush thathad risen to his wife's face with this allusion to Barker, nor theafter-settling of her handsome features into a dogged determinationequal to his own. His blind fury against the three partners did nottouch her curiosity; she was only struck with the evident depth of hisemotion. He had never been a braggart; his hostility had always beenlazy and cynical. Remembering this, she had a faint stirring of respectfor the undoubted courage and consciousness of strength shown inthis wild but single-handed crusade against wealth and power; rather,perhaps, it seemed to her to condone her own weakness in her youthfuland inexplicable passion for him. No wonder she had submitted.
"Then you have nothing more to tell me?" she said after a pause, risingand going towards the mantel.
"You needn't light up for me," he returned, rising also. "I am going.Unless," he added, with his coarse laugh, "you think it wouldn't lookwell for Mrs. Horncastle to have been sitting in the dark with--astranger!" He paused as she contemptuously put down the candlestick andthrew the unlit match into the grate. "No, I've nothing more to tell.He's a fancy-looking pup. You'd take him for twenty-one, though he'sonly sixteen--clean-limbed and perfect--but for one thing"--He stopped.He met her quick look of interrogation, however, with a lowering silencethat, nevertheless, changed again as he surveyed her erect figure bythe faint light of the window with a sardonic smile. "He favors you, Ithink, and in all but one thing, too."
"And that?" she queried coldly, as he seemed to hesitate.
"He ain't ashamed of ME," he returned, with a laugh.
The door closed behind him; she heard his heavy step descend thecreaking stairs; he was gone. She went to the window and threw itopen, as if to get rid of the atmosphere charged with his presence,--apresence still so potent that she now knew that for the last fiveminutes she had been, to her horror, struggling against its magnetism.She even recoiled now at the thought of her child, as if, in these newconfidences over it, it had revived the old intimacy in this linkof their common flesh. She looked down from her window on the squareshoulders, thick throat, and crisp matted hair of her husband as hevanished in the darkness, and drew a breath of freedom,--a freedom notso much from him as from her own weakness that he was bearing away withhim into the exonerating night.
She shut the window and sank down in her chair again, but in theencompassing and compassionate obscurity of the room. And this was theman she had loved and for whom she had wrecked her young life! Or WASit love? and, if NOT, how was she better than he? Worse; for he wasmore loyal to that passion that had brought them together and itsresponsibilities than she was. She had suffered the perils and pangs ofmaternity, and yet had only the mere animal yearning for her offspring,while he had taken over the toil and duty, and even the devotion, ofparentage himself. But then she remembered also how he had fascinatedher--a simple schoolgirl--by his sheer domineering strength, and how theobjections of her parents to this coarse and common man had forced herinto a clandestine intimacy that ended in her complete subjection tohim. She remembered the birth of an infant whose concealment from herparents and friends was compassed by his low cunning; she remembered thelate atonement of marriage preferred by the man she had already begunto loathe and fear, and who she now believed was eager only for herinheritance. She remembered her abject compliance through the greaterfear of the world, the stormy scenes that followed their ill-omenedunion, her final abandonment of her husband, and the efforts of herfriends and family who had rescued the last of her property from him.She was glad she remembered it; she dwelt upon it, upon his cruelty, hiscoarseness and vulgarity, until she saw, as she honestly believed, thehidden springs of his affection for their child. It was HIS child innature, however it might have favored her in looks; it was HIS ownbrutal SELF he was worshiping in his brutal progeny. How else could ithave ignored HER--its own mother? She never doubted the truth of whathe had told her--she had seen it in his own triumphant eyes. And yet shewould have made a kind mother; she remembered with a smile and a slightrising of color the affection of Barker's baby for her; she rememberedwi
th a deepening of that color the thrill of satisfaction she had feltin her husband's fulmination against Mrs. Barker, and, more than all,she felt in his blind and foolish hatred of Barker himself a deliciouscondonation of the strange feeling that had sprung up in her heart forBarker's simple, straightforward nature. How could HE understand,how could THEY understand (by the plural she meant Mrs. Barker andHorncastle), a character so innately noble. In her strange attractiontowards him she had felt a charming sense of what she believed was asuperior and even matronly protection; in the utter isolation of herlife now--and with her husband's foolish abuse of him ringing in herears--it seemed a sacred duty. She had lost a son. Providence had senther an ideal friend to replace him. And this was quite consistent, too,with a faint smile that began to play about her mouth as she recalledsome instances of Barker's delightful and irresistible youthfulness.
There was a clatter of hoofs and the sound of many voices from thestreet. Mrs. Horncastle knew it was the down coach changing horses; itwould be off again in a few moments, and, no doubt, bearing her husbandaway with it. A new feeling of relief came over her as she at last heardthe warning "All aboard!" and the great vehicle clattered and rolledinto the darkness, trailing its burning lights across her walls andceiling. But now she heard steps on the staircase, a pause before herroom, a whisper of voices, the opening of the door, the rustle of askirt, and a little feminine cry of protest as a man apparently tried tofollow the figure into the room. "No, no! I tell you NO!" remonstratedthe woman's voice in a hurried whisper. "It won't do. Everybody knowsme here. You must not come in now. You must wait to be announced by theservant. Hush! Go!"
There was a slight struggle, the sound of a kiss, and the womansucceeded in finally shutting the door. Then she walked slowly, but witha certain familiarity towards the mantel, struck a match and lit thecandle. The light shone upon the bright eyes and slightly flushed faceof Mrs. Barker. But the motionless woman in the chair had recognized hervoice and the voice of her companion at once. And then their eyes met.
Mrs. Barker drew back, but did not utter a cry. Mrs. Horncastle, witheyes even brighter than her companion's, smiled. The red deepened inMrs. Barker's cheek.
"This is my room!" she said indignantly, with a sweeping gesture aroundthe walls.
"I should judge so," said Mrs. Horncastle, following the gesture; "but,"she added quietly, "they put ME into it. It appears, however, they didnot expect you."
Mrs. Barker saw her mistake. "No, no," she said apologetically, "ofcourse not." Then she added, with nervous volubility, sitting down andtugging at her gloves, "You see, I just ran down from Marysville to takea look at my father's old house on my way to Hymettus. I hope I haven'tdisturbed you. Perhaps," she said, with sudden eagerness, "you wereasleep when I came in!"
"No," said Mrs. Horncastle, "I was not sleeping nor dreaming. I heardyou come in."
"Some of these men are such idiots," said Mrs. Barker, with ahalf-hysterical laugh. "They seem to think if a woman accepts the leastcourtesy from them they've a right to be familiar. But I fancy thatfellow was a little astonished when I shut the door in his face."
"I fancy he WAS," returned Mrs. Horncastle dryly. "But I shouldn't callMr. Van Loo an idiot. He has the reputation of being a cautious businessman."
Mrs. Barker bit her lip. Her companion had been recognized. She rosewith a slight flirt of her skirt. "I suppose I must go and get a room;there was nobody in the office when I came. Everything is badly managedhere since my father took away the best servants to Hymettus." Shemoved with affected carelessness towards the door, when Mrs. Horncastle,without rising from her seat, said:--
"Why not stay here?"
Mrs. Barker brightened for a moment. "Oh," she said, with politedeprecation, "I couldn't think of turning you out."
"I don't intend you shall," said Mrs. Horncastle. "We will stay heretogether until you go with me to Hymettus, or until Mr. Van Loo leavesthe hotel. He will hardly attempt to come in here again if I remain."
Mrs. Barker, with a half-laugh, sat down irresolutely. Mrs. Horncastlegazed at her curiously; she was evidently a novice in this sort ofthing. But, strange to say,--and I leave the ethics of this for the sexto settle,--the fact did not soften Mrs. Horncastle's heart, nor in theleast qualify her attitude towards the younger woman. After anawkward pause Mrs. Barker rose again. "Well, it's very good of you,and--and---I'll just run out and wash my hands and get the dust off me,and come back."
"No, Mrs. Barker," said Mrs. Horncastle, rising and approaching her,"you will first wash your hands of this Mr. Van Loo, and get some of thedust of the rendezvous off you before you do anything else. You CAN doit by simply telling him, SHOULD YOU MEET HIM IN THE HALL, that I wassitting here when he came in, and heard EVERYTHING! Depend upon it, hewon't trouble you again."
But Mrs. Barker, though inexperienced in love, was a good fighter.The best of the sex are. She dropped into the rocking-chair, and beganrocking backwards and forwards while still tugging at her gloves, andsaid, in a gradually warming voice, "I certainly shall not magnify Mr.Van Loo's silliness to that importance. And I have yet to learn what youmean by talking about a rendezvous! And I want to know," she continued,suddenly stopping her rocking and tilting the rockers impertinentlybehind her, as, with her elbows squared on the chair arms, she tiltedher own face defiantly up into Mrs. Horncastle's, "how a woman in yourposition--who doesn't live with her husband--dares to talk to ME!"
There was a lull before the storm. Mrs. Horncastle approached nearer,and, laying her hand on the back of the chair, leaned over her, and,with a white face and a metallic ring in her voice, said: "It is justbecause I am a woman IN MY POSITION that I do! It is because I don'tlive with my husband that I can tell you what it will be when you nolonger live with yours--which will be the inevitable result of what youare now doing. It is because I WAS in this position that the very manwho is pursuing you, because he thinks you are discontented with YOURhusband, once thought he could pursue me because I had left MINE. Youare here with him alone, without the knowledge of your husband; call itfolly, caprice, vanity, or what you like, it can have but one end--toput you in my place at last, to be considered the fair game afterwardsfor any man who may succeed him. You can test him and the truth of whatI say by telling him now that I heard all."
"Suppose he doesn't care what you have heard," said Mrs. Barker sharply."Suppose he says nobody would believe you, if 'telling' is your game.Suppose he is a friend of my husband and he thinks him a much betterguardian of my reputation than a woman like you. Suppose he should bethe first one to tell my husband of the foul slander invented by you!"
For an instant Mrs. Horncastle was taken aback by the audacity of thewoman before her. She knew the simple confidence and boyish trust ofBarker in his wife in spite of their sometimes strained relations, andshe knew how difficult it would be to shake it. And she had no idea ofbetraying Mrs. Barker's secret to him, though she had made this scenein his interest. She had wished to save Mrs. Barker from a compromisingsituation, even if there was a certain vindictiveness in her exposingher to herself. Yet she knew it was quite possible now, if Mrs. Barkerhad immediate access to her husband, that she would convince him of herperfect innocence. Nevertheless, she had still great confidence in VanLoo's fear of scandal and his utter unmanliness. She knew he was notin love with Mrs. Barker, and this puzzled her when she considered theevident risk he was running now. Her face, however, betrayed nothing.She drew back from Mrs. Barker, and, with an indifferent and gracefulgesture towards the door, said, as she leaned against the mantel, "Go,then, and see this much-abused gentleman, and then go together with himand make peace with your husband--even on those terms. If I have savedyou from the consequences of your folly I shall be willing to bear evenHIS blame."
"Whatever I do," said Mrs. Barker, rising hotly, "I shall not stay hereany longer to be insulted." She flounced out of the room and swept downthe staircase into the office. Here she found an overworked clerk, andwith crimson cheeks and flashing eyes wanted to know why in he
r ownfather's hotel she had found her own sitting-room engaged, and had beenobliged to wait half an hour before she could be shown into a decentapartment to remove her hat and cloak in; and how it was that eventhe gentleman who had kindly escorted her had evidently been unableto procure her any assistance. She said this in a somewhat high voice,which might have reached the ears of that gentleman had he been in thevicinity. But he was not, and she was forced to meet the somewhat dazedapologies of the clerk alone, and to accompany the chambermaid to a roomonly a few paces distant from the one she had quitted. Here she hastilyremoved her outer duster and hat, washed her hands, and consulted herexcited face in the mirror, with the door ajar and an ear sensitivelyattuned to any step in the corridor. But all this was effected sorapidly that she was at last obliged to sit down in a chair near thehalf-opened door, and wait. She waited five minutes--ten--but still nofootstep. Then she went out into the corridor and listened, and then,smoothing her face, she slipped downstairs, past the door of thathateful room, and reappeared before the clerk with a smiling butsomewhat pale and languid face. She had found the room very comfortable,but it was doubtful whether she would stay over night or go on toHymettus. Had anybody been inquiring for her? She expected to meetfriends. No! And her escort--the gentleman who came with her--waspossibly in the billiard-room or the bar?
"Oh no! He was gone," said the clerk.
"Gone!" echoed Mrs. Barker. "Impossible! He was--he was here only amoment ago."
The clerk rang a bell sharply. The stableman appeared.
"That tall, smooth-faced man, in a high hat, who came with the lady,"said the clerk severely and concisely,--"didn't you tell me he wasgone?"
"Yes, sir," said the stableman.
"Are you sure?" interrupted Mrs. Barker, with a dazzling smile that,however, masked a sudden tightening round her heart.
"Quite sure, miss," said the stableman, "for he was in the yard whenSteptoe came, after missing the coach. He wanted a buggy to take himover to the Divide. We hadn't one, so he went over to the other stables,and he didn't come back, so I reckon he's gone. I remember it, becauseSteptoe came by a minute after he'd gone, in another buggy, and as hewas going to the Divide, too, I wondered why the gentleman hadn't gonewith him."
"And he left no message for me? He said nothing?" asked Mrs. Barker,quite breathless, but still smiling.
"He said nothin' to me but 'Isn't that Steptoe over there?' when Steptoecame in. And I remember he said it kinder suddent--as if he was remindedo' suthin' he'd forgot; and then he asked for a buggy. Ye see,miss," added the man, with a certain rough consideration for herdisappointment, "that's mebbe why he clean forgot to leave a message."
Mrs. Barker turned away, and ascended the stairs. Selfishness is quickto recognize selfishness, and she saw in a flash the reason of Van Loo'sabandonment of her. Some fear of discovery had alarmed him; perhapsSteptoe knew her husband; perhaps he had heard of Mrs. Horncastle'spossession of the sitting-room; perhaps--for she had not seen him sincetheir playful struggle at the door--he had recognized the woman who wasthere, and the selfish coward had run away. Yes; Mrs. Horncastle wasright: she had been only a miserable dupe.
Her cheeks blazed as she entered the room she had just quitted,and threw herself in a chair by the window. She bit her lip as sheremembered how for the last three months she had been slowly yieldingto Van Loo's cautious but insinuating solicitation, from a flirtation inthe San Francisco hotel to a clandestine meeting in the street; from aride in the suburbs to a supper in a fast restaurant after the theatre.Other women did it who were fashionable and rich, as Van Loo had pointedout to her. Other fashionable women also gambled in stocks, and hadtheir private broker in a "Charley" or a "Jack." Why should not Mrs.Barker have business with a "Paul" Van Loo, particularly as this fastcraze permitted secret meetings?--for business of this kind could not beconducted in public, and permitted the fair gambler to call at privateoffices without fear and without reproach. Mrs. Barker's vanity, Mrs.Barker's love of ceremony and form, Mrs. Barker's snobbishness, wereflattered by the attentions of this polished gentleman with a foreignname, which even had the flavor of nobility, who never picked up her fanand handed it to her without bowing, and always rose when she enteredthe room. Mrs. Barker's scant schoolgirl knowledge was touched by thisgentleman, who spoke French fluently, and delicately explained to herthe libretto of a risky opera bouffe. And now she had finally yieldedto a meeting out of San Francisco--and an ostensible visit--still as aspeculator--to one or two mining districts--with HER BROKER. Thiswas the boldest of her steps--an original idea of the fashionable VanLoo--which, no doubt, in time would become a craze, too. But it was along step--and there was a streak of rustic decorum in Mrs. Barker'snature--the instinct that made Kitty Carter keep a perfectly secludedand distinct sitting-room in the days when she served her father'sguests--that now had impelled her to make it a proviso that the firststep of her journey should be from her old home in her father's hotel.It was this instinct of the proprieties that had revived in her suddenlyat the door of the old sitting-room.
Then a new phase of the situation flashed upon her. It was hard for hervanity to accept Van Loo's desertion as voluntary and final. What ifthat hateful woman had lured him away by some trick or artfully designedmessage? She was capable of such meanness to insure the fulfillment ofher prophecy. Or, more dreadful thought, what if she had some hold onhis affections--she had said that he had pursued her; or, more infamousstill, there were some secret understanding between them, and thatshe--Mrs. Barker--was the dupe of them both! What was she doing in thehotel at such a moment? What was her story of going to Hymettus but alie as transparent as her own? The tortures of jealousy, which is asoften the incentive as it is the result of passion, began to rack her.She had probably yet known no real passion for this man; but with thethought of his abandoning her, and the conception of his faithlessness,came the wish to hold and keep him that was dangerously near it. Whatif he were even then in that room, the room where she had said she wouldnot stay to be insulted, and they, thus secured against her intrusion,were laughing at her now? She half rose at the thought, but a sound ofa horse's hoofs in the stable-yard arrested her. She ran to the windowwhich gave upon it, and, crouching down beside it, listened eagerly. Theclatter of hoofs ceased; the stableman was talking to some one;suddenly she heard the stableman say, "Mrs. Barker is here." Her heartleaped,--Van Loo had returned.
But here the voice of the other man which she had not yet heard arosefor the first time clear and distinct. "Are you quite sure? I didn'tknow she left San Francisco."
The room reeled around her. The voice was George Barker's, her husband!"Very well," he continued. "You needn't put up my horse for the night. Imay take her back a little later in the buggy."
In another moment she had swept down the passage, and burst into theother room. Mrs. Horncastle was sitting by the table with a book in herhand. She started as the half-maddened woman closed the door, locked itbehind her, and cast herself on her knees at her feet.
"My husband is here," she gasped. "What shall I do? In heaven's namehelp me!"
"Is Van Loo still here?" said Mrs. Horncastle quickly.
"No; gone. He went when I came."
Mrs. Horncastle caught her hand and looked intently into her frightenedface. "Then what have you to fear from your husband?" she said abruptly.
"You don't understand. He didn't know I was here. He thought me in SanFrancisco."
"Does he know it now?"
"Yes. I heard the stableman tell him. Couldn't you say I came here withyou; that we were here together; that it was just a little freak ofours? Oh, do!"
Mrs. Horncastle thought a moment. "Yes," she said, "we'll see him heretogether."
"Oh no! no!" said Mrs. Barker suddenly, clinging to her dress andlooking fearfully towards the door. "I couldn't, COULDN'T see him now.Say I'm sick, tired out, gone to my room."
"But you'll have to see him later," said Mrs. Horncastle wonderingly.
"Yes, but he may go first. I heard h
im tell them not to put up hishorse."
"Good!" said Mrs. Horncastle suddenly. "Go to your room and lock thedoor, and I'll come to you later. Stop! Would Mr. Barker be likely todisturb you if I told him you would like to be alone?"
"No, he never does. I often tell him that."
Mrs. Horncastle smiled faintly. "Come, quick, then," she said, "for hemay come HERE first."
Opening the door she passed into the half-dark and empty hall. "Nowrun!" She heard the quick rustle of Mrs. Barker's skirt die away in thedistance, the opening and shutting of a door--silence--and then turnedback into her own room.
She was none too soon. Presently she heard Barker's voice saying, "Thankyou, I can find the way," his still buoyant step on the staircase, andthen saw his brown curls rising above the railing. The light streamingthrough the open door of the sitting room into the half-lit hall hadpartially dazzled him, and, already bewildered, he was still moredazzled at the unexpected apparition of the smiling face and bright eyesof Mrs. Horncastle standing in the doorway.
"You have fairly caught us," she said, with charming composure; "but Ihad half a mind to let you wander round the hotel a little longer. Comein." Barker followed her in mechanically, and she closed the door. "Now,sit down," she said gayly, "and tell me how you knew we were here, andwhat you mean by surprising us at this hour."
Barker's ready color always rose on meeting Mrs. Horncastle, for whomhe entertained a respectful admiration, not without some fear of herworldly superiority. He flushed, bowed, and stared somewhat blanklyaround the room, at the familiar walls, at the chair from which Mrs.Horncastle had just risen, and finally at his wife's glove, which Mrs.Horncastle had a moment before ostentatiously thrown on the table.Seeing which she pounced upon it with assumed archness, and pretended toconceal it.
"I had no idea my wife was here," he said at last, "and I was quitesurprised when the man told me, for she had not written to me about it."As his face was brightening, she for the first time noticed that hisfrank gray eyes had an abstracted look, and there was a faint line ofcontraction on his youthful forehead. "Still less," he added, "did Ilook for the pleasure of meeting you. For I only came here to inquireabout my old partner, Demorest, who arrived from Europe a few days ago,and who should have reached Hymettus early this afternoon. But now Ihear he came all the way by coach instead of by rail, and got off at thecross-road, and we must have passed each other on the different trails.So my journey would have gone for nothing, only that I now shall havethe pleasure of going back with you and Kitty. It will be a lovely driveby moonlight."
Relieved by this revelation, it was easy work for Mrs. Horncastle tolaunch out into a playful, tantalizing, witty--but, I grieve to say,entirely imaginative--account of her escapade with Mrs. Barker. How,left alone at the San Francisco hotel while their gentlemen friendswere enjoying themselves at Hymettus, they resolved upon a little trip,partly for the purpose of looking into some small investments of theirown, and partly for the fun of the thing. What funny experiences theyhad! How, in particular, one horrid inquisitive, vulgar wretch had beenboring a European fellow passenger who was going to Hymettus, finallyasking him where he had come from last, and when he answered "Hymettus,"thought the man was insulting him--
"But," interrupted the laughing Barker, "that passenger may have beenDemorest, who has just come from Greece, and surely Kitty would haverecognized him."
Mrs. Horncastle instantly saw her blunder, and not only retrieved it,but turned it to account. Ah, yes! but by that time poor Kitty, unusedto long journeys and the heat, was utterly fagged out, was asleep, andperfectly unrecognizable in veils and dusters on the back seat of thecoach. And this brought her to the point--which was, that she was sorryto say, on arriving, the poor child was nearly wild with a headache fromfatigue and had gone to bed, and she had promised not to disturb her.
The undisguised amusement, mingled with relief, that had overspreadBarker's face during this lively recital might have pricked theconscience of Mrs. Horncastle, but for some reason I fear it did not.But it emboldened her to go on. "I said I promised her that I would seeshe wasn't disturbed; but, of course, now that YOU, her HUSBAND, havecome, if"--
"Not for worlds," interrupted Barker earnestly. "I know poor Kitty'sheadaches, and I never disturb her, poor child, except when I'mthoughtless." And here one of the most thoughtful men in the world inhis sensitive consideration of others beamed at her with such frankand wonderful eyes that the arch hypocrite before him with difficultysuppressed a hysterical desire to laugh, and felt the conscious bloodflush her to the root of her hair. "You know," he went on, with a sigh,half of relief and half of reminiscence, "that I often think I'm a greatbother to a clear-headed, sensible girl like Kitty. She knows people somuch better than I do. She's wonderfully equipped for the world, and,you see, I'm only 'lucky,' as everybody says, and I dare say part ofmy luck was to have got her. I'm very glad she's a friend of yours, youknow, for somehow I fancied always that you were not interested in her,or that you didn't understand each other until now. It's odd that nicewomen don't always like nice women, isn't it? I'm glad she was with you;I was quite startled to learn she was here, and couldn't make it out. Ithought at first she might have got anxious about our little Sta, whois with me and the nurse at Hymettus. But I'm glad it was only a lark. Ishouldn't wonder," he added, with a laugh, "although she always declaresshe isn't one of those 'doting, idiotic mothers,' that she found it alittle dull without the boy, for all she thought it was better for ME totake him somewhere for a change of air."
The situation was becoming more difficult for Mrs. Horncastle than shehad conceived. There had been a certain excitement in its first directappeal to her tact and courage, and even, she believed, an unselfishdesire to save the relations between husband and wife if she could. Butshe had not calculated upon his unconscious revelations, nor upon theireffect upon herself. She had concluded to believe that Kitty had, in amoment of folly, lent herself to this hare-brained escapade, but it nowmight be possible that it had been deliberately planned. Kitty had senther husband and child away three weeks before. Had she told the wholetruth? How long had this been going on? And if the soulless Van Loohad deserted her now, was it not, perhaps, the miserable ending of anintrigue rather than its beginning? Had she been as great a dupe of thiswoman as the husband before her? A new and double consciousness cameover her that for a moment prevented her from meeting his honest eyes.She felt the shame of being an accomplice mingled with a fierce joy atthe idea of a climax that might separate him from his wife forever.
Luckily he did not notice it, but with a continued sense of relief threwhimself back in his chair, and glancing familiarly round the walls brokeinto his youthful laugh. "Lord! how I remember this room in the olddays. It was Kitty's own private sitting-room, you know, and I used tothink it looked just as fresh and pretty as she. I used to think hercrayon drawing wonderful, and still more wonderful that she should havethat unnecessary talent when it was quite enough for her to be just'Kitty.' You know, don't you, how you feel at those times when you'requite happy in being inferior"--He stopped a moment with a suddenrecollection that Mrs. Horncastle's marriage had been notoriouslyunhappy. "I mean," he went on with a shy little laugh and an innocentattempt at gallantry which the very directness of his simple nature madeatrociously obvious,--"I mean what you've made lots of young fellowsfeel. There used to be a picture of Colonel Brigg on the mantelpiece, infull uniform, and signed by himself 'for Kitty;' and Lord! how jealous Iwas of it, for Kitty never took presents from gentlemen, and nobody evenwas allowed in here, though she helped her father all over thehotel. She was awfully strict in those days," he interpolated, witha thoughtful look and a half-sigh; "but then she wasn't married. Iproposed to her in this very room! Lord! I remember how frightened Iwas." He stopped for an instant, and then said with a certain timidity,"Do you mind my telling you something about it?"
Mrs. Horncastle was hardly prepared to hear these ingenuous domesticdetails, but she smiled vaguely, although she could not s
uppress asomewhat impatient movement with her hands. Even Barker noticed it, butto her surprise moved a little nearer to her, and in a half-entreatingway said, "I hope I don't bore you, but it's something confidential. Doyou know that she first REFUSED me?"
Mrs. Horncastle smiled, but could not resist a slight toss of her head."I believe they all do when they are sure of a man."
"No!" said Barker eagerly, "you don't understand. I proposed to herbecause I thought I was rich. In a foolish moment I thought I haddiscovered that some old stocks I had had acquired a fabulous value. Shebelieved it, too, but because she thought I was now a rich man and sheonly a poor girl--a mere servant to her father's guests--she refused me.Refused me because she thought I might regret it in the future, becauseshe would not have it said that she had taken advantage of my proposalonly when I was rich enough to make it."
"Well?" said Mrs. Horncastle incredulously, gazing straight before her;"and then?"
"In about an hour I discovered my error, that my stocks were worthless,that I was still a poor man. I thought it only honest to return to herand tell her, even though I had no hope. And then she pitied me, andcried, and accepted me. I tell it to you as her friend." He drew alittle nearer and quite fraternally laid his hand upon her own. "I knowyou won't betray me, though you may think it wrong for me to have toldit; but I wanted you to know how good she was and true."
For a moment Mrs. Horncastle was amazed and discomfited, although shesaw, with the inscrutable instinct of her sex, no inconsistency betweenthe Kitty of those days and the Kitty now shamefully hiding from herhusband in the same hotel. No doubt Kitty had some good reason for herchivalrous act. But she could see the unmistakable effect of that actupon the more logically reasoning husband, and that it might lead him tobe more merciful to the later wrong. And there was a keener irony thathis first movement of unconscious kindliness towards her was the outcomeof his affection for his undeserving wife.
"You said just now she was more practical than you," she said dryly."Apart from this evidence of it, what other reasons have you forthinking so? Do you refer to her independence or her dealings in thestock market?" she added, with a laugh.
"No," said Barker seriously, "for I do not think her quite practicalthere; indeed, I'm afraid she is about as bad as I am. But I'm glad youhave spoken, for I can now talk confidentially with you, and as youand she are both in the same ventures, perhaps she will feel lesscompunction in hearing from you--as your own opinion--what I haveto tell you than if I spoke to her myself. I am afraid she trustsimplicitly to Van Loo's judgment as her broker. I believe he is strictlyhonorable, but the general opinion of his business insight is not high.They--perhaps I ought to say HE--have been at least so unlucky thatthey might have learned prudence. The loss of twenty thousand dollars inthree months"--
"Twenty thousand!" echoed Mrs. Horncastle.
"Yes. Why, you knew that; it was in the mine you and she visited; or,perhaps," he added hastily, as he flushed at his indiscretion, "shedidn't tell you that."
But Mrs. Horncastle as hastily said, "Yes--yes--of course, only I hadforgotten the amount;" and he continued:--
"That loss would have frightened any man; but you women are more daring.Only Van Loo ought to have withdrawn. Don't you think so? Of course Icouldn't say anything to him without seeming to condemn my own wife; Icouldn't say anything to HER because it's her own money."
"I didn't know that Mrs. Barker had any money of her own," said Mrs.Horncastle.
"Well, I gave it to her," said Barker, with sublime simplicity, "andthat would make it all the worse for me to speak about it."
Mrs. Horncastle was silent. A new theory flashed upon her which seemedto reconcile all the previous inconsistencies of the situation. VanLoo, under the guise of a lover, was really possessing himself of Mrs.Barker's money. This accounted for the risks he was running in thisescapade, which were so incongruous to the rascal's nature. He wascalculating that the scandal of an intrigue would relieve him ofthe perils of criminal defalcation. It was compatible with Kitty'sinnocence, though it did not relieve her vanity of the part it played inthis despicable comedy of passion. All that Mrs. Horncastle thought ofnow was the effect of its eventful revelation upon the man beforeher. Of course, he would overlook his wife's trustfulness and businessignorance--it would seem so like his own unselfish faith! That was thefault of all unselfish goodness; it even took the color of adjacentevil, without altering the nature of either. Mrs. Horncastle set herteeth tightly together, but her beautiful mouth smiled upon Barker,though her eyes were bent upon the tablecloth before her.
"I shall do all I can to impress your views upon her," she said at last,"though I fear they will have little weight if given as my own. And youoverrate my general influence with her."
Her handsome head drooped in such a thoughtful humility that Barkerinstinctively drew nearer to her. Besides, she had not lifted her darklashes for some moments, and he had the still youthful habit of lookingfrankly into the eyes of those he addressed.
"No," he said eagerly; "how could I? She could not help but love youand do as you would wish. I can't tell you how glad and relieved I amto find that you and she have become such friends. You know I alwaysthought you beautiful, I always thought you so clever--I was even alittle frightened of you; but I never until now knew you were so GOOD.No, stop! Yes, I DID know it. Do you remember once in San Francisco,when I found you with Sta in your lap in the drawing-room? I knew itthen. You tried to make me think it was a whim--the fancy of a boredand worried woman. But I knew better. And I knew what you were thinkingthen. Shall I tell you?"
As her eyes were still cast down, although her mouth was still smiling,in his endeavors to look into them his face was quite near hers. Hefancied that it bore the look she had worn once before.
"You were thinking," he said in a voice which had grown suddenly quitehesitating and tremulous,--he did not know why,--"that the poor littlebaby was quite friendless and alone. You were pitying it--you know youwere--because there was no one to give it the loving care that was itsdue, and because it was intrusted to that hired nurse in that greathotel. You were thinking how you would love it if it were yours, and howcruel it was that Love was sent without an object to waste itself upon.You were: I saw it in your face."
She suddenly lifted her eyes and looked full into his with a look thatheld and possessed him. For a moment his whole soul seemed to trembleon the verge of their lustrous depths, and he drew back dizzy andfrightened. What he saw there he never clearly knew; but, whatever itwas, it seemed to suddenly change his relations to her, to the room, tohis wife, to the world without. It was a glimpse of a world of whichhe knew nothing. He had looked frankly and admiringly into the eyes ofother pretty women; he had even gazed into her own before, but neverwith this feeling. A sudden sense that what he had seen there he hadhimself evoked, that it was an answer to some question he had scarcelyyet formulated, and that they were both now linked by an understandingand consciousness that was irretrievable, came over him. He roseawkwardly and went to the window. She rose also, but more leisurely andeasily, moved one of the books on the table, smoothed out her skirts,and changed her seat to a little sofa. It is the woman who always comesout of these crucial moments unruffled.
"I suppose you will be glad to see your friend Mr. Demorest when yougo back," she said pleasantly; "for of course he will be at Hymettusawaiting you."
He turned eagerly, as he always did at the name. But even then he feltthat Demorest was no longer of such importance to him. He felt, too,that he was not yet quite sure of his voice or even what to say. As hehesitated she went on half playfully: "It seems hard that you had tocome all the way here on such a bootless errand. You haven't even seenyour wife yet."
The mention of his wife recalled him to himself, oddly enough, whenDemorest's name had failed. But very differently. Out of his whirlingconsciousness came the instinctive feeling that he could not see hernow. He turned, crossed the room, sat down on the sofa beside Mrs.Horncastle, and without, however,
looking at her, said, with his eyes onthe floor, "No; and I've been thinking that it's hardly worth while todisturb her so early to-morrow as I should have to go. So I think it'sa good deal better to let her have a good night's rest, remain herequietly with you to-morrow until the stage leaves, and that both of youcome over together. My horse is still saddled, and I will be back atHymettus before Demorest has gone to bed."
He was obliged to look up at her as he rose. Mrs. Horncastle was sittingerect, beautiful and dazzling as even he had never seen her before.For his resolution had suddenly lifted a great weight from hershoulders,--the dangerous meeting of husband and wife the next morning,and its results, whatever they might be, had been quietly averted. Shefelt, too, a half-frightened joy even in the constrained manner in whichhe had imparted his determination. That frankness which even she hadsometimes found so crushing was gone.
"I really think you are quite right," she said, rising also, "and,besides, you see, it will give me a chance to talk to her as youwished."
"To talk to her as I wished?" echoed Barker abstractedly.
"Yes, about Van Loo, you know," said Mrs. Horncastle, smiling.
"Oh, certainly--about Van Loo, of course," he returned hurriedly.
"And then," said Mrs. Horncastle brightly, "I'll tell her. Stay!" sheinterrupted herself hurriedly. "Why need I say anything about yourhaving been here AT ALL? It might only annoy her, as you yourselfsuggest." She stopped breathlessly with parted lips.
"Why, indeed?" said Barker vaguely. Yet all this was so unlike his usualtruthfulness that he slightly hesitated.
"Besides," continued Mrs. Horncastle, noticing it, "you know you canalways tell her later, if necessary." And she added with a charmingmischievousness, "As she didn't tell you she was coming, I really don'tsee why you are bound to tell her that you were here."
The sophistry pleased Barker, even though it put him into a certainretaliating attitude towards his wife which he was not aware of feeling.But, as Mrs. Horncastle put it, it was only a playful attitude.
"Certainly," he said. "Don't say anything about it."
He moved to the door with his soft, broad-brimmed hat swinging betweenhis fingers. She noticed for the first time that he looked taller in hislong black serape and riding-boots, and, oddly enough, much more likethe hero of an amorous tryst than Van Loo. "I know," she said brightly,"you are eager to get back to your old friend, and it would be selfishfor me to try to keep you longer. You have had a stupid evening, but youhave made it pleasant to me by telling me what you thought of me. Andbefore you go I want you to believe that I shall try to keep that goodopinion." She spoke frankly in contrast to the slight worldly constraintof Barker's manner; it seemed as if they had changed characters. Andthen she extended her hand.
With a low bow, and without looking up, he took it. Again theirpulses seemed to leap together with one accord and the same mysteriousunderstanding. He could not tell if he had unconsciously pressed herhand or if she had returned the pressure. But when their hands unclaspedit seemed as if it were the division of one flesh and spirit.
She remained standing by the open door until his footsteps passed downthe staircase. Then she suddenly closed and locked the door with aninstinct that Mrs. Barker might at once return now that he was gone, andshe wished to be a moment alone to recover herself. But she presentlyopened it again and listened. There was a noise in the courtyard, but itsounded like the rattle of wheels more than the clatter of a horseman.Then she was overcome--a sudden sense of pity for the unfortunatewoman still hiding from her husband--and felt a momentary chivalrousexaltation of spirit. Certainly she had done "good" to that wretched"Kitty;" perhaps she had earned the epithet that Barker had applied toher. Perhaps that was the meaning of all this happiness to her, and theresult was to be only the happiness and reconciliation of the wife andhusband. This was to be her reward. I grieve to say that the tears hadcome into her beautiful eyes at this satisfactory conclusion, but shedashed them away and ran out into the hall. It was quite dark, but therewas a faint glimmer on the opposite wall as if the door of Mrs. Barker'sbedroom were ajar to an eager listener. She flew towards the glimmer,and pushed the door open: the room was empty. Empty of Mrs. Barker,empty of her dressing-box, her reticule and shawl. She was gone.
Still, Mrs. Horncastle lingered; the woman might have got frightened andretreated to some further room at the opening of the door and the comingout of her husband. She walked along the passage, calling her namesoftly. She even penetrated the dreary, half-lit public parlor,expecting to find her crouching there. Then a sudden wild idea tookpossession of her: the miserable wife had repented of her act and ofher concealment, and had crept downstairs to await her husband in theoffice. She had told him some new lie, had begged him to take her withhim, and Barker, of course, had assented. Yes, she now knew why shehad heard the rattling wheels instead of the clattering hoofs she hadlistened for. They had gone together, as he first proposed, in thebuggy.
She ran swiftly down the stairs and entered the office. The overworkedclerk was busy and querulously curt. These women were always asking suchidiotic questions. Yes, Mr. Barker had just gone.
"With Mrs. Barker in the buggy?" asked Mrs. Horncastle.
"No, as he came--on horseback. Mrs. Barker left HALF AN HOUR AGO."
"Alone?"
This was apparently too much for the long-suffering clerk. He liftedhis eyes to the ceiling, and then, with painful precision, and accentingevery word with his pencil on the desk before him, said deliberately,"Mrs. George Barker--left--here--with her--escort--the--manshe--was--always--asking--for--in--the--buggy--at exactly--9.35." And heplunged into his work again.
Mrs. Horncastle turned, ran up the staircase, re-entered thesitting-room, and slamming the door behind her, halted in the centre ofthe room, panting, erect, beautiful, and menacing. And she was alone inthis empty room--this deserted hotel. From this very room her husbandhad left her with a brutality on his lips. From this room the fooland liar she had tried to warn had gone to her ruin with a swindlinghypocrite. And from this room the only man in the world she ever caredfor had gone forth bewildered, wronged, and abused, and she knew now shecould have kept and comforted him.