CHAPTER XVIII
THE CONFESSION
Through the single unglazed window Beth Norvell saw him coming, andclutched at the casing, trembling violently, half inclined to turn andfly. This was the moment she had so greatly dreaded, yet the momentshe could not avoid unless she failed to do her duty to this man. Inanother instant the battle had been fought and won, the die cast. Sheturned hastily toward her unconscious companion, grasping her arm.
"Mr. Winston is coming, Mercedes; I--I must see him this time alone."
The Mexican's great black eyes flashed up wonderingly into the flushedface bending over her, marking the heightened color, the visibleembarrassment. She sprang erect, her quick glance through the windowrevealing the figure of the engineer striding swiftly toward them.
"Oh, si, senorita; dat iss all right. I go see Mike; he more fun asdose vat make lofe."
There was a flutter of skirts and sudden vanishment, even as MissNorvell's ears caught the sound of a low rap on the outer door. Shestood breathing heavily, her hands clasped upon her breast, until theknock had been repeated twice. Her voice utterly failing her, shepressed the latch, stepping backward to permit his entrance. The firstswift, inquiring glance into his face frightened her into an impulsiveexplanation.
"I was afraid I arrived here too late to be of any service. It seems,however, you did not even need me."
He grasped the hand which, half unconsciously, she had extended towardhim; he was startled by its unresponsive coldness, striving vainly toperceive the truth hidden away beneath her lowered lids.
"I fear I do not altogether understand," he returned gravely. "Theymerely said that you were here with a message of warning for me. Iknew that much only a moment ago. I cannot even guess the purport ofyour message, yet I thank you for a very real sacrifice for my sake."
"Oh, no; truly it was nothing," the excitement bewildering her. "Itwas no more than I would have done for any friend; no one could havedone less."
"You, at least, confess friendship?"
"Have I ever denied it?" almost indignantly, and looking directly athim for the first time. "Whatever else I may seem, I can certainlyclaim loyalty to those who trust me. I wear no mask off the stage."
Even as she spoke the hasty words she seemed to realize their fullimport, to read his doubt of their truth revealed within his eyes.
"Then," he said slowly, weighing each word as though life depended onthe proper choice, "there is nothing being concealed from me? Nothingbetween you and this Farnham beyond what I already know?"
She stood clinging to the door, with colorless cheeks, and parted lips,her form quivering. This was when she had intended to speak in allbravery, to pour forth the whole miserable story, trusting to this manfor mercy. But, O God, she could not; the words choked in her throat,the very breath seemed to strangle her.
"That--that is something different," she managed to gasp desperately."It--it belongs to the past; it cannot be helped now."
"Yet you came here to warn me against him?"
"Yes."
"How did you chance to learn that my life was threatened?"
She uplifted her eyes to his for just one instant, her face like marble.
"He told me."
"What? Farnham himself? You have been with him?"
She bowed, a half-stifled sob shaking her body, which at any other timewould have caused him to pause in sympathy. Now it was merely a newspur to his awakened suspicion. He had no thought of sparing her.
"Where? Did he call upon you at the hotel?"
She threw back her shoulders in indignation at his tone of censure.
"I met him, after the performance, in a private box at the Gayety, lastevening," she replied more calmly. "He sent for me, and I was alonewith him for half an hour."
Winston stood motionless, almost breathless, looking directly into thegirl's face. He durst not speak the words of rebuke trembling upon hislips. He felt that the slightest mistake now would never be forgiven.There was a mystery here unsolved; in some way he failed to understandher, to appreciate her motives. In the brief pause Beth Norvell cameback to partial self-control, to a realization of what this man mustthink of her. With a gesture almost pleading she softly touched hissleeve.
"Mr. Winston, I truly wish you to believe me, to believe in me," shebegan, her low voice vibrating with emotion. "God alone knows howdeeply I appreciate your friendship, how greatly I desire to retain itunsullied. Perhaps I have not done right; it is not always easy,perhaps not always possible. I may have been mistaken in my conceptionof duty, yet have tried to do what seemed best. There is that in thepages of my past life which I intended to tell you fully and franklybefore our final parting. I thought when I came here I had sufficientcourage to relate it to you to-day, but I cannot--I cannot."
"At least answer me one question without equivocation--do you love thatman?" He must ask that, know that; all else could wait.
An instant she stood before him motionless, a slight color creepingback into her cheeks under his intense scrutiny. Then she uplifted hereyes frankly to his own, and he looked down into their revealed depth.
"I do not," the low voice hard with decision. "I despise him."
"Have you ever loved him?"
"As God is my witness--no."
There was no possible disbelieving her; the absolute truthfulness ofthat utterance was evidenced by trembling lips, by the upturned face.Winston drew a deep breath of relief, his contracted browsstraightening. For one hesitating moment he remained speechless,struggling for self-control. Merciful Heavens! would he everunderstand this woman? Would he ever fathom her full nature? ever rendthe false from the true? The deepening, baffling mystery served merelyto stimulate ambition, to strengthen his unwavering purpose. Hepossessed the instinct that assured him she cared; it was for his sakethat she had braved the night and Farnham's displeasure. What, then,was it that was holding them apart? What was the nature of thisbarrier beyond all surmounting? The man in him rebelled at having sospectral an adversary; he longed to fight it out in the open, tograpple with flesh and blood. In spite of promise, his heart foundwords of protest.
"Beth, please tell me what all this means," he pleaded simply, hishands outstretched toward her. "Tell me, because I love you; tell me,because I desire to help you. It is true we have not known each otherlong; yet, surely, the time and opportunity have been sufficient foreach to learn much regarding the character of the other. You trust me,you believe in my word; down in the secret depths of your heart you arebeginning to love me. I believe that, little girl; I believe that,even while your lips deny its truth. It is the instinct of love whichteaches me, for I love you. I may not know your name, the story ofyour life, who or what you are, but I love you, Beth Norvell, with thelife-love of a man. What is it, then, between us? What is it? Godhelp me! I could battle against realities, but not against ghosts. Doyou suppose I cannot forgive, cannot excuse, cannot blot out a pastmistake? Do you imagine my love so poor a thing as that? Do not wrongme so. I am a man of the world, and comprehend fully those temptationswhich come to all of us. I can let the dead past bury its dead,satisfied with the present and the future. Only tell me the truth, thenaked truth, and let me combat in the open against whatever it is thatstands between us. Beth, Beth, this is life or death to me!"
She stood staring at him, her face gone haggard, her eyes full ofmisery. Suddenly she sank upon her knees beside a chair, and, with amoan, buried her countenance within her hands.
"Beth," he asked, daring to touch her trembling hair, "have I hurt you?Have I done wrong to speak thus?"
A single sob shook the slender, bowed figure, the face still hidden.
"Yes," she whispered faintly, "you have hurt me; you have done wrong."
"But why?" he insisted. "Is not my love worthy?"
She lifted her head then, resting one hand against the dishevelledhair, her eyes misty from tears.
"Worthy? O God, yes! but so usele
ss; so utterly without power."
Winston strode to the window and back again, his hands clenched, theveins showing across his forehead. Suddenly he dropped upon his kneesbeside her, clasping her one disengaged hand within both his own.
"Beth, I refuse to believe," he exclaimed firmly. "Love is neveruseless, never without power, either in this world or the next. Tellme, then, once for all, here before God, do you love me?"
She swept the clinging tears from her lashes, the soft clasp of herfingers upon his hand unconsciously tightening.
"You may read an answer within my face," she replied, slowly. "It mustbe that my eyes tell the truth, although I cannot speak it with mylips."
"Cannot? In God's name, why?"
She choked, yet the voice did not wholly fail her.
"Because I have no right. I--I am the wife of another."
The head drooped lower, the hair shadowing the face, and Winston, hislips set and white, stared at her, scarcely comprehending. A momentlater he sprang to his feet, one hand pressed across his eyes, slowlygrasping the full measure of her confession.
"The wife of another!" he burst forth, his voice shaking. "Great God!You? What other? Farnham?"
The bowed head sank yet lower, as though in mute answer, and his earscaught the echo of a single muffled sob. Suddenly she glanced up athim, and then rose unsteadily to her feet clinging to the back of thechair for support.
"Mr. Winston," her voice strengthening with each word spoken, "it hurtsme to realize that you feel so deeply. I--I wish I might bear theburden of this mistake all alone. But I cannot stand your contempt, orhave you believe me wholly heartless, altogether unworthy. We--we mustpart, now and forever; there is no other honorable way. I tried sohard to compel you to leave me before; I accepted that engagement atthe Gayety, trusting such an act would disgust you with me. I am notto blame for this; truly, I am not--no woman could have fought againstFate more faithfully; only--only I couldn't find sufficient courage toconfess to you the whole truth. Perhaps I might have done so at first;but it was too late before I learned the necessity, and then my heartfailed me. There was another reason I need not mention now, why Ihesitated, why such a course became doubly hard. But I am going totell you it all now, for--for I wish you to go away at least respectingmy womanhood."
He made no reply, no comment, and the girl dropped her questioning eyesto the floor.
"You asked me if I had ever loved him," she continued, speaking moreslowly, "and I told you no. That was the truth as I realize it now,although there was a time when the man fascinated, bewildered me, as Iimagine the snake fascinates a bird. I have learned since something ofwhat love truly is, and can comprehend that my earlier feeling towardhim was counterfeit, a mere bit of dross. Be patient, please, while Itell you how it all happened. It--it is a hard task, yet, perhaps, youmay think better of me from a knowledge of the whole truth. I am aChicago girl. There are reasons why I shall not mention my familyname, and it is unnecessary; but my parents are wealthy and of goodposition. All my earlier education was acquired through privatetutors; so that beyond my little, narrow circle of a world--fashionableand restricted--all of real life remained unknown, unexplored, untilthe necessity for a wider development caused my being sent to awell-known boarding-school for girls in the East. I think now thechoice made was unfortunate. The school being situated close to alarge city, and the discipline extremely lax, temptation which I wasnot in any way fitted to resist surrounded me from the day of entrance.In a fashionable drawing-room, in the home of my mother's friends, Ifirst became acquainted with Mr. Farnham."
She paused with the mention of his name, as though its utterance painedher, yet almost immediately resumed her story, not even glancing up ather listener.
"I was at an age to be easily flattered by the admiration of a man ofmature years. He was considerably older than I, always well dressed,versed in social forms, liberal with money, exhibiting a certaindashing recklessness which proved most attractive to all the girls Iknew. Indeed, I think it was largely because of their envy that I wasfirst led to accept his attentions. However, I was very young, utterlyinexperienced, while he was thoroughly versed in every trick by whichto interest one of my nature. He claimed to be a successful dramatistand author, thus adding materially to my conception of his characterand capability. Little by little the man succeeded in weaving about methe web of his fascination, until I was ready for any sacrifice hemight propose. Naturally ardent, easily impressed by outwardappearances, assured as to my own and his social position, ignorant ofthe wiles of the world, I was an easy victim. Somewhere he had formedthe acquaintance of my brother, which fact merely increased myconfidence in him. I need not dwell in detail upon what followed--theadvice of romantic girls, the false counsel of a favorite teacher, thespecious lies and explanations accounting for the necessity forsecrecy, the fervent pleadings, the protestations, the continualurging, that finally conquered my earlier resolves. I yielded beforethe strain, the awakened imagination of a girl of sixteen seeingnothing in the rose-tinted future except happiness. We were married inChrist Church, Boston, two of my classmates witnessing the ceremony.Three months later I awoke fully from dreaming, and faced the darkness."
She leaned against the wall, her face, half hidden, pressed against herarm. Speaking no word of interruption, Winston clasped her hand andwaited, his gray eyes moist.
"He was a professional gambler, a brute, a cruel, cold-blooded coward,"the words dropping from her lips as though they burned in utterance."Only at the very first did he make any effort to disguise his nature,or conceal the object of his marriage. He endeavored to wring moneyfrom my people, and--and struck me when I refused him aid. He failedbecause I blocked him; tried blackmail and failed again, although Isaved him from exposure. If he had ever cared for me, by this time hislove had changed to dislike or indifference. He left me for weeks at atime, often alone and in poverty. My father sought in vain to get meaway from him, but--but I was too proud to confess the truth. I shouldhave been welcome at home, without him; but I refused to go. I hadmade my own choice, had committed the mistake, had done the wrong; Icould not bring myself to flee from the result. I burrowed in theslums where he took me, hiding from all who sought me out. Yet I livedin an earthly hell, my dream of love dispelled, the despair of lifeconstantly deepening. I no longer cared for the man--I despised him,shrank from his presence; yet something more potent than pride kept meloyal. I believed then, I believe now, in the sacredness of marriage;it was the teaching of my church, of my home; it had become part of myvery soul. To me that formal church wedding typified the solemnity ofreligion; I durst not prove untrue to vows thus taken; divorce was athought impossible."
"And now?" he interrupted gently.
She lifted her head, with one swift glance upward.
"You will think me wrong, quixotic, unnatural," she acknowledgedsoberly. "Yet I am not absolved, not free--this man remains myhusband, wedded to me by the authority of the church. I--I must bearthe burden of my vows; not even love would long compensate forunfaithfulness in the sight of God."
In the intense silence they could hear each other's strained breathingand the soft notes of a bird singing gleefully without. Winston, hislips compressed, his eyes stern with repressed feeling, neither movednor spoke. Beth Norvell's head sank slowly back upon her arm.
"He took me with him from city to city," she went on wearily, as thoughunconsciously speaking to herself, "staying, I think, in each as longas the police would permit. He was seldom with me, seldom gave memoney. We did not quarrel, for I refused to be drawn into any exchangeof words. He never struck me excepting twice, but there are other waysof hurting a woman, and he knew them all. I was hungry at times andill clad. I was driven to provide for myself, and worked in factoriesand stores. Whenever he knew I had money he took it. Money was alwaysthe cause of controversy between us. It was his god, not to hoard up,but to spend upon himself. My steady refusal to permit his bleeding myfather
enraged him; it was at such times he lost all control, and--andstruck me. God! I could have killed him! There were times when Icould, when I wonder I did not. Yet in calm deliberation I durst notbreak my vows. Three years ago he left me in Denver without a word,without a suggestion that the desertion was final. We had just reachedthere, and I had nothing. Friends of my family lived there, but Icould not seek them for help. I actually suffered, until finally Ifound employment in a large department store. I expected he wouldreturn, and kept my rooms where he left me. I wrote home twice,cheerful letters, saying nothing to lower him in the estimation of mypeople, yet concealing my address for fear they might seek me out.Then there unexpectedly came to me an opportunity to go out withAlbrecht, and I accepted it most thankfully. It gave me a chance tothink of other things, to work hard, to forget myself in a growingambition. I had already thrown off the old, and was laying ever firmerhands upon the new, when you came into my life, and then he came backalso. It is such a small world, such a little world, all shadowed andfull of heartaches!"
In the silence she glanced aside at him, her eyes clear, her hair heldback by one hand.
"Please do not look at me like that," she pleaded. "Surely, you cannotblame me; you must forgive."
"There is nothing to blame, or forgive, Beth; apparently there isnothing for me to say, nothing for me to do."
She swayed slowly toward him, resting one hand upon his shoulder.
"But am I right? Won't you tell me if I am right?"
He stood hesitating for a moment, looking down upon that upturned,questioning face, his gray eyes filled with a loyalty that caused herheart to throb wildly.
"I do not know, Beth," he said at last, "I do not know; I cannot beyour conscience. I must go out where I can be alone and think; butnever will I come between you and your God."
Beth Norvell: A Romance of the West Page 18