CHAPTER X
The Palace
Ben, taking an occasional look around at his passenger, flew directly ontoward a landing-field. Their destination had hardly yet interestedGeraldine. The whole experience, in spite of the noise of the motor,seemed as yet unreal to her. In reaction from the frightful nightmare ofthe last few days, her whole being responded to the flight through thebright spring air, and had Ben seen fit to do a figure eight she wouldhave accepted it as part of the reckless joyousness of the presentdream.
As the plane began to descend and objects below came into view, shewondered for the first time where the great bird was coming to earth.Perhaps Miss Upton's ample and blessed figure would be waiting to greether. Nothing, nothing was too good to be true.
The plane touched earth and flitted along to a standstill. They were ina field, just now deserted, and her escort, pushing back his helmet,smiled upon her radiantly.
"First time you've ever flown?" he asked.
"Yes, except in dreams," she answered. "This seems only one more."
"Were they happy dreams?"
"None so happy as this."
"You weren't afraid, then? You're a good sport."
"I think I shall never be afraid again. I've sounded the depths of fearin the last week."
The two sat looking into one another's eyes and the appeal in thoselong-lashed orbs of Geraldine continued the havoc that they had begun.Her lips were very grave as she recalled the precipice from which shehad been snatched.
"I saw that he frightened you terribly that day he gave me such a warmwelcome."
"He was going to marry me," explained Geraldine simply.
"How could he--the old ogre?"
"I was to consent in order to save my father's name. I'm going to tellyou about it because you're a lawyer, aren't you, and the finest man inthe world? I have it here."
Geraldine loosened her coat and felt inside her white blouse for MissUpton's letter.
Ben laughed and blushed to his ears. "I haven't attained the former yet.The latter, of course, I can't deny."
Geraldine produced the letter, inside of which was folded that from herfather.
"Miss Upton wrote me about you and--"
"You're not going to show it to me," interrupted Ben hastily. "I'mafraid the dear woman spread it on too thick for the victim to view."
"You see, she knew how I hate men," explained Geraldine, "and she knewhow friendless I was and she wanted me to trust you."
"And do you?" asked Ben with ardor.
"Yes, perfectly. I have to, you know." She tucked back the rejectedletter in its hiding-place.
"And you're not going to hate me?"
"I should think not," returned the girl with the same simple gravity;"not when you've done me the greatest kindness of my whole life!"
"I'm so glad I haven't named the plane yet," said Ben impulsively. "Youshall name it."
"There's no name good enough," she replied--"unless--unless we name itfor that carrier pigeon that was such a hero in the War. We might nameit _Cher Ami_."
"Good," declared Ben. "It is surely a homing bird."
"And such a _cher ami_ to me," added Geraldine fervently.
Ben wondered if this marvelous girl never smiled.
"You were going to tell me how the ogre was able to force you to marryhim," he said.
"Yes; I don't like to tell you. It is very sad, and he crushed me withit." The girl's lips trembled for a silent moment, and Cupid alone knowshow Ben longed to kiss them, close to him as they were.
"He said that my father forged two checks, and that he only refrainedfrom prosecuting him because of me. He said my father had promised thathe should have me."
Ben scowled, and the dark eyes fixed upon him brightened with suddeneagerness. "But that was a lie--about father giving me to him. I haveDaddy's letter here." She felt again inside her blouse. "You will haveto know everything--how my poor father was his own worst enemy and cameto rely for money on that impossible man."
She took out the letter and gave it to Ben and he read it in silence.
"Probably it was a lie also about the checks," he said when he hadfinished.
"No, oh, no," she replied earnestly. "He showed me those. He said thatmy father was held in affectionate remembrance at his clubs and amonghis friends, and that he could ruin all that and hold him up to contemptas a criminal, unless--unless I married him." Geraldine's bosom heavedconvulsively. "I have been wild with joy ever since you came," shedeclared. "If I ever go to heaven I can't be happier than I was flyingup from that meadow where there seemed a curse even on the poor littlewild flowers but you can see how it is going to keep coming over me inwaves that perhaps I have done wrong. You see, Daddy tells me not toconsider him; but should I not guard his name in spite of that? That isthe question that will keep coming up to me. Nevertheless"--she made agesture of despair--"if I went through with it--if I married Mr. Carder,I'm sure I should lose all control and kill myself. I'm sure of it."
Here Ben gave rein to the dastardly instinct which occasionally causes apoor mortal to fling all conscience to the winds when he sees anunexpected opportunity to attain a longed-for prize.
"For you to become his wife cannot be right," declared Ben, endeavoringto speak with mature and legal poise; "but as you say, that heartrendingdoubt of your duty may attack you at times. How would it be to put itbeyond your power to yield to his wishes by marrying some one else--me,for instance?"
Geraldine regarded the speaker with grief and reproach. "Can you jokeabout my trouble?" She turned away and he suspected hurt tears.
"Miss Melody--Geraldine." What Ben had fondly hoped was the judicialmanner disappeared in a whirlwind of words. "I'm in earnest! I'vethought of nothing but you since the day I saw you with that cut-throat.It's my highest desire to guard you, to make you happy. Give me theright, and every day of my life will prove it. Of course, I saw thatCarder had some hold over you. I've spent all my time ever since thatday trying to ferret out facts that could give me some hold on him. Ihaven't found them. The fox has always left himself a loophole. Marry meto-day: now: before we go home. I'm well known in the town yonder. I canarrange it. Marry me, and whatever comes you will be safe from him.Geraldine!"
The girl's gaze was fixed on the flushed face and glowing eyes besideher and she leaned as far away from him as possible.
"You really mean it?" she said when he paused.
"As I never meant anything before in my life."
"Have you a mother?"
"The best on earth."
"And yet you would do this to her, just because I have nice eyes."
It was a frigid bucket of water, but Ben stood up under it.
"Yes, I could give her nothing better."
"You don't even know me," said Geraldine. "How strange men are."
"Yes, those you hate; but how about me? You said you liked me."
At this the girl did smile, and the effect was so wonderful that itknocked what little sense Ben Barry had left into oblivion.
"Love at first sight is a fact," he declared. "No one believes it tillhe's hit, but then there's no questioning. You looked that day as if youwould have liked to speak to me--yes"--boldly--"as if to escape Carderyou would have mounted that motor-cycle with me and we should have donethat Tennyson act, you know--'beyond the earth's remotest rim the happyprincess followed him'--or something like that. I don't know it exactlybut I'm going to learn it from start to finish and read law afterward.I've dreamed of you all night and worked for you all day ever since andyet I haven't accomplished anything!"
"Haven't!" exclaimed Geraldine. "You've done the most wonderful thing inthe world."
"Oh, well, _Cher Ami_ did that. Tell me you'll let me take care of youalways, and knock Carder's few remaining teeth down his throat if heever comes in sight. Tell me you do--you like me a little."
Geraldine's entrancing smile was still lighting her pensive eyes.
"Oh, no, I don't like you. How can I? People don't like ut
ter strangers.One feels worship, adoration for a creature that drops from the skies,and lifts a wretched helpless girl out of torturing captivity into thefree sweet air of heaven."
"Well, that'll do," returned Ben, nodding. "Adoration and worship willdo to begin with. Let us go over to the village and be married--_mybeautiful darling_."
Geraldine colored vividly under this escape of her companion'sungovernable steam, but she did not change her expression.
"I certainly shall not do that," she answered quietly.
Ben relaxed his tense, appealing posture.
"Well, then," he said, drawing a long breath, "if you positively declinethe trap--oh, it was a trap all right--if you are determined to postponethe wedding, I'll tell you that I really don't believe your fatherforged those checks."
"Oh, Mr. Barry--" the girl leaned toward him.
"Ben, or I won't go on."
"Ben, then. It is no sort of a name compared to the one I have beengiving you. I've been calling you Sir Galahad."
Ben smiled at her blissfully. "Nice," he said. "I don't believe MissUpton went beyond that."
"Oh, please go on, Mr. Barry--Ben--Sir Galahad."
"Why couldn't our cheerful friend have shown you any checks he drew toyour father's name and claim that they were forged?"
Geraldine's eyes shone. "I never thought of that."
"Of course I cannot be sure of it. I would far rather get somethingdefinite on the old scamp."
Geraldine shuddered. "He is so cruel. He is so rough to that poor littlefellow Pete. Think what I owe that boy! He managed to get your messageto me even when threatened with his master's whip. Mr. Carder saw youspeaking to him and questioned him."
"Oh, you mean that nut who took my letter?"
"The hero who took your letter. He had to lie outside my door everynight to keep me from escaping, and he slipped your message under it.Where should I be now but for him? Poor child, he is as friendless as Iam"--Geraldine interrupted herself with a grateful look at hercompanion--"as I was, I mean. He had to follow me and guard me whereverI went, always keeping at a distance, because he mustn't speak to me andthe ogre was always watching. How I thank Heaven," added Geraldinefervently, "that Mr. Carder himself had called Pete off duty for thefirst time before the--the archangel swooped down from the sky."
"I'm getting on," said Ben. "If you keep on promoting me, I'll arrivefirst thing you know."
"I should honestly be wretched if I had to think Mr. Carder was blamingPete for my escape. The boy did tell me his life depended on my safety."
"Well, I don't understand," said Ben with a puzzled frown. "Who lies infront of Pete's door? Why does he stay there? Why doesn't he light outsome time between two days?"
"Oh, Mr. Carder has told him no one would employ him, that Pete wouldstarve but for him. Did you notice how ragged and neglected he looked?"
"He looked like a nut. I was afraid he was so stupid that you wouldnever receive the message." Ben looked thoughtful. "How long has helived at the farm?"
"For years. Mrs. Carder took him from the orphan asylum when he was achild. She thought he would be more useful than a girl. They keep him asa slave. You saw how very bow-legged he is. He can't get about normally,but he drives the car and helps in the kitchen and does every sort ofmenial task. There was such a look in his eyes always when he saw me.Little as I could do for him, or even speak to him, I'm afraid he ismissing me terribly." Geraldine's look suddenly grew misty. "See howfaithful he was about Daddy's letter. Poor little Pete. Mr. Carder willbe out of his mind at my flight. I hope he doesn't visit it on that poorboy."
"Well," said Ben, heroically refraining from putting his arms aroundher, "why don't we take him?"
"We? Take Pete? How wonderful!" she returned, her handkerchief pausingin mid-air.
"Sure thing, if you want him. Send him to the barber and have his hairmowed. Have some trousers cut out for him with a circular saw and fixhim up to the queen's taste."
"Oh, Mr. Barry--Ben! You don't know what you're saying. It would give memore relief than I can express, for the boy's lot is so miserable andstarved."
"Well, then, that is settled, my princess."
"But you can't get him. I can't help feeling that anyone who has livedthere so long, and been so unconsidered and unnoticed, must know morethan Mr. Carder wishes to have go to the outside world. His motherhinted some things." Geraldine gasped with reminiscent horror of thatlow-ceiled kitchen.
Her companion suddenly looked very alert. "Highly probable," hereturned. "Why didn't you say that before? We certainly will take Petein. What are his habits? You say he drives the car."
"Yes, he did until he was set to dog my movements. I often heard itreferred to. Do you mean--you could never get him in this blessedchariot. He will probably never see the meadow again unless they sendhim to get the cows."
Ben shook his head. "No; I think he will have to be bagged some otherway. What's the matter with my going back to the farm on my motor-cycleand engaging him, overbidding the ogre?"
Geraldine actually clasped her hands on the leathern arm beside her."Promise me," she said fervently, looking into her companion'seyes--"promise me that you will never go back to that farm alone."
"You want to go with me?"
"Don't joke. Promise me solemnly."
Ben's lips took a grave line and he put one hand over the beseechingones.
"Then what will you promise me?" he returned.
The blood mantled high over the girl's face. "You're taking me to MissUpton, aren't you?" she returned irrelevantly.
"Yes, if you positively refuse still to go to the parson."
The expression of her anxious eyes grew inscrutable.
"I want your mother to love me," she said naively.
Ben lifted her hands and held them to his lips.
"You haven't promised," she said softly. "I know he suspects you now. Ithink he is a madman when he is angry."
"Very well, I promise." Ben released her hands and smiled down withadoring eyes. "Now, we will go home," he said.
Again the great bird rose and winged its way between heaven and earth.
Now it was not as before when Geraldine's whole being had seemedabsorbed in flight and freedom. The earth was before her and a new life.She had a lover. Wonderful, sweet, incredible fact. A good man, MissUpton said. Could it be that never again desolation and fear shouldsicken her heart; that like the princess of the tales her great thirdday had come and brought her love as well as liberty? Happiness delugedher, flushed her cheeks, and shone in her eyes. She longed and dreadedto alight again upon that earth which had never shown her kindness.Could it be possible that she should reign queen in a good man's heart?For so many years she had been habitually in the background, kept thereeither by her stepmother's will or her own desire to hide hershabbiness, and when need had at last forced her to initiative, she hadreceived such humiliating stabs from the greed of men--could it be thatshe was to walk surrounded by protection, and love, and _respect_?
She closed her eyes. Spring, sunlight, joy coursed through every vein.When at last they began again to dip toward earth, the question surgedthrough her: "Shall I ever be so happy again?"
And now Miss Upton's figure loomed large and gracious in the foregroundof her thoughts. She longed for the refuge of her kindly arms until shecould gather herself together in the new era of safety and peace.
The plane touched the earth, ran a little way toward an arched building,and stopped.
Ben jumped out, and Geraldine exclaimed over the beauty of a rose-tintedcloud of blossoms.
"Yes. Pretty orchard, isn't it?" he said. He unstrapped her safety beltand lifted her out of the cockpit. Her eager eyes noted that they wereat the back of a large brick dwelling.
"Is Miss Upton here?" she asked while her escort took off her leathercoat and her helmet. The latter had been pushed on and off once toooften. The wonder of her golden hair fell over the poor little whitecotton gown and Ben repressed his gasp of admiration.
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br /> "Oh, this is dreadful," she said, putting her hands up helplessly.
"Don't touch it," exclaimed her companion quickly. "You can't doanything with it anyway. There isn't a hairpin in the hangar. Miss Uptonwill love to see it. She will take care of it."
"Oh, I can't. How can I!" exclaimed Geraldine.
"Certainly, that's all right," said Ben hastily. "Miss Upton is righthere. She will take you into the house and make you comfy. Let me putthis around you."
He took the crepe shawl and put it about her shoulders, lifting out theshining gold that fell over the fringes.
"I know it is very old-fashioned and queer," said Geraldine, pulling thewrap over the grass stains and looking up into his eyes with a childlikeappeal that made him set his teeth. "It was my mother's and you said'white.' It was all I had."
Miss Upton had come to Mrs. Barry's to receive her protegee provided Bencould bring her. The two ladies were sitting out under the treeswaiting. Miss Mehitable had obeyed Ben, and some days since had givenMrs. Barry the young girl's story, and that lady had received itcourteously and with the tempered sympathy which one bestows on theabsolutely unknown.
Miss Upton's excitement when she heard the humming of the aeroplane andsaw it approaching in the distance baffles description. She had beenforcing herself to talk on other subjects, perceiving clearly that herhostess was what our English friends would term fed up on the subject ofthe girl with the fanciful name; but now she clasped her plump hands andcaught her breath.
"Well, she ain't killed, anyway," she said. She longed to rush back tothe landing-place, but instinctively felt that such action on the partof a guest would be indecorous. She hoped Mrs. Barry would suggest it,but such a move was evidently far from that lady's thought. She sat inher white silken gown, with sewing in her lap, the picture of unruffledcalm.
Miss Upton swallowed and kept her eyes on the approaching plane. "Sheain't killed, anyway," she repeated.
"Nor Ben either," remarked Mrs. Barry, drawing the fine needle in andout of her work. "He is of some importance, isn't he?"
"Oh, do you suppose he got her, Mrs. Barry?" gasped Miss Mehitable.
"Ben would be likely to," returned that lady, who had been somewhattried by her son's preoccupation in the last few days and considered theadventure a rather annoying interlude in their ordered life.
"Why don't she say let's go and see! How can she just set there as coolas a cucumber!" thought Miss Mehitable, squeezing the blood out of herhands.
The plane descended, the humming ceased. Miss Upton sat on the edge ofher chair looking excitedly at the figure in white who embroideredserenely. Moments passed with the tableau undisturbed; then:
"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Miss Mehitable, still holding a rein over herself,mindful that she was not the hostess.
Mrs. Barry looked up. She was a New Englander of the New Englanders,conservative to her finger tips. Ben was her only son, the light of hereyes. If what she saw was startling, it can hardly be wondered at.
There came through the pink cloud of the apple blossoms her aviator sonlooking handsomer than she had ever beheld him, leading a girl inwhite-fringed crepe that clung in soft folds to her slenderness. Allabout her shoulders fell a veil of golden hair, and her appealing eyesglowed in a face at once radiant and timid.
Mrs. Barry started up from her chair.
"Mother!" cried Ben as they approached, "I told you I should bring herfrom the stars."
The hostess advanced a step mechanically, Miss Mehitable followed close.Geraldine gazed fascinated at the tall, regal woman, whose habituallyformal manner took on an additional stiffness.
"This is Miss Melody, I believe." Mrs. Barry held out her smooth, fairhand. "I hear you have passed through a very trying experience," shesaid with cold courtesy. "I am glad you are safe."
The light went out of the girl's eager eyes. The color fled from herface. She had endured too many extremes of emotion in one day. MissMehitable extended her arms to her with a yearning smile. Geraldineglided to her and quietly fainted away on that kindly breast.
"Poor lamb, poor lamb," murmured Miss Mehitable, and Ben, frowning,exclaimed: "Here, let me take her!"
He gathered her up in his arms and carried her into the house and laidher on a divan, Miss Upton panting after his long strides and his motherdeliberately bringing up the rear. Mrs. Barry knew just what to do andshe did it, while Miss Upton wrung her hands above the recumbent whitefigure. When the long eyelashes flickered on the pallid cheek, Ben spokecommandingly: "I'll take her upstairs. She must be put to bed."
Miss Mehitable came to herself with a rush. "Not here," she saiddecidedly. "If you'll let me have the car, Mrs. Barry, we'll be out ofyour way in five minutes."
Ben looked at his mother, who was still cool and unexcited; and theexpression on his face was a new one for her to meet.
"She isn't fit to be moved, Mother, and Miss Upton hasn't room. MissMelody is exhausted. She has had a frightful experience," he saidsternly.
If he had appealed she might have been touched, but it is doubtful. Thegrass stains, the quaint shawl, the hair that was rippling down to therug, were none of them part of her visions of a daughter-in-law, and, atany rate, Ben shouldn't look at her like that--at her! for the sake of afriendless waif whose existence he had not suspected one week ago.
Miss Upton, understanding the situation perfectly, saved the hostess thetrouble of replying.
"It won't hurt her a bit to drive as far as my house after she's beencaperin' all over the sky!" she exclaimed, seizing Geraldine's hands.
The girl heard the declaration and essayed to rise while her eyes fixedon the round face bending over her.
"I want to go with you," she said.
"And you're going, my lamb," returned Miss Mehitable.
"Certainly, you shall have the car," said Mrs. Barry suavely.
She wished to send word to the chauffeur, she wished to give Geraldinetea, she was entirely polite and sufficiently solicitous, but her heirlooked terrible things, and, bringing around the car, himself drove theguests to Miss Upton's Fancy Goods and Notions.
Geraldine declined his help to walk to the door of the shop. Miss Uptonhad her arm around her, and though the girl was pale she gave herrescuer a look full of gratitude; and when he pressed her hand sheanswered the pressure and restored a portion of his equanimity.
"I never, never shall forget this happiest day of my life," she said.
"And don't forget we are going to get Pete," he responded eagerly,holding her hand close, "and everything is going to come out right."
"Yes"--she looked doubtful and frightened; "but if you get Pete don'tlet your mother see him. She is--she couldn't bear it."
"Don't judge her, Geraldine," he begged. "She is glorious. Ask MissUpton. Just a little--a little shy at first, you know. Miss Upton, youexplain, won't you?"
"Don't fret, Ben," said Miss Mehitable. "You're the best boy on earth,and I want to hear all about it, for I'm sure you did somethingwonderful to get her."
"Yes, wonderful, Miss Upton!" echoed Geraldine, with anotherheart-warming smile at her deliverer whose own smile lessened and diedas he walked back to his car. By the time he entered it he was frowning,thinking of his "shy" mother.
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