Initials Only

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXXVIII. NIGHT

  Three days had passed, and Orlando Brotherson sat in his room atthe hotel before a table laden with telegrams, letters and markednewspapers. The news of his achievement had gone abroad, and Derby was,for the moment, the centre of interest for two continents.

  His success was an established fact. The second trial which he had madewith his car, this time with the whole town gathered together inthe streets as witnesses, had proved not only the reliability of itsmechanism, but the great advantages which it possessed for a directflight to any given point. Already he saw Fortune beckoning to him inthe shape of an unconditional offer of money from a first-class source;and better still,--for he was a man of untiring energy and boundlessresource--that opportunity for new and enlarged effort which comes withthe recognition of one's exceptional powers.

  All this was his and more. A sweeter hope, a more enduring joy hadfollowed hard upon gratified ambition. Doris had smiled on him;--Doris!She had caught the contagion of the universal enthusiasm and had givenhim her first ungrudging token of approval. It had altered his wholeoutlook on life in an instant, for there was an eagerness in thisdemonstration which proclaimed the relieved heart. She no longer trustedeither appearances or her dream. He had succeeded in conquering herdoubts by the very force of his personality, and the shadow which hadhitherto darkened their intercourse had melted quite away. She was readyto take his word now and Oswald's, after which the rest must follow.Love does not lag far behind an ardent admiration.

  Fame! Fortune! Love! What more could a man desire? What more could thisman, with his strenuous past and an unlimited capacity for an enlargedfuture, ask from fate than this. Yet, as he bends over his letters,fingering some, but reading none beyond a line or two, he betrays but apassing elation, and hardly lifts his head when a burst of loud acclaimcomes ringing up to his window from some ardent passer-by: "Hurrah forBrotherson! He has put our town on the map!"

  Why this despondency? Have those two demons seized him again? It wouldseem so and with new and overmastering fury. After the hour of triumphcomes the hour of reckoning. Orlando Brotherson in his hour of proudattainment stands naked before his own soul's tribunal and the pleaderis dumb and the judge inexorable. There is but one Witness to suchstruggles; but one eye to note the waste and desolation of thedevastated soul, when the storm is over past.

  Orlando Brotherson has succumbed; the attack was too keen, his forcestoo shaken. But as the heavy minutes pass, he slowly re-gathers hisstrength and rises, in the end, a conqueror. Nevertheless, he knows,even in that moment of regained command, that the peace he had thusbought with strain and stress is but momentary; that the battle ison for life: that the days which to other eyes would carry a sense ofbrilliancy--days teeming with work and outward satisfaction--wouldhold within their hidden depths a brooding uncertainty which would robapplause of its music and even overshadow the angel face of Love.

  He quailed at the prospect, materialist though he was. The days--theinterminable days! In his unbroken strength and the glare of the noondaysun, he forgot to take account of the nights looming in black andendless procession before him. It was from the day phantom he shrank,and not from the ghoul which works in the darkness and makes a grave ofthe heart while happier mortals sleep.

  And the former terror seemed formidable enough to him in this his hourof startling realisation, even if he had freed himself for the noncefrom its controlling power. To escape all further contemplation of ithe would work. These letters deserved attention. He would carry them toOswald, and in their consideration find distraction for the rest of theday, at least. Oswald was a good fellow. If pleasure were to be gottenfrom these tokens of good-will, he should have his share of it. A gleamof Oswald's old spirit in Oswald's once bright eye, would go far towardsthrottling one of those demons whose talons he had just released fromhis throat; and if Doris responded too, he would deserve his fate, if hedid not succeed in gaining that mastery of himself which would make suchhours as these but episodes in a life big with interest and potent withgreat emotions.

  Rising with a resolute air, he made a bundle of his papers and, withthem in hand, passed out of his room and down the hotel stairs.

  A man stood directly in his way, as he made for the front door. It wasMr. Challoner.

  Courtesy demanded some show of recognition between them, and Brothersonwas passing with his usual cold bow, when a sudden impulse led him topause and meet the other's eye, with the sarcastic remark:

  "You have expressed, or so I have been told, some surprise at my choiceof mechanician. A man of varied accomplishments, Mr. Challoner, but onefor whom I have no further use. If, therefore, you wish to call offyour watch-dog, you are at liberty to do so. I hardly think he can beserviceable to either of us much longer."

  The older gentleman hesitated, seeking possibly for composure, and whenhe answered it was not only without irony but with a certain forcedrespect:

  "Mr. Sweetwater has just left for New York, Mr. Brotherson. He willcarry with him, no doubt, the full particulars of your great success."

  Orlando bowed, this time with distinguished grace. Not a flicker ofrelief had disturbed the calm serenity of his aspect, yet when a momentlater, he stepped among his shouting admirers in the street, his air andglance betrayed a bounding joy for which another source must be foundthan that of gratified pride. A chain had slipped from his spirit,and though the people shrank a little, even while they cheered, it wasrather from awe of his bearing and the recognition of that sense ofapartness which underlay his smile than from any perception of the man'sreal nature or of the awesome purpose which at that moment exaltedit. But had they known--could they have seen into this tumultuousheart--what a silence would have settled upon these noisy streets; andin what terror and soul-confusion would each man have slunk away fromhis fellows into the quiet and solitude of his own home.

  Brotherson himself was not without a sense of the incongruity underlyingthis ovation; for, as he slowly worked himself along, the brightness ofhis look became dimmed with a tinge of sarcasm which in its turn gaveway to an expression of extreme melancholy--both quite unbefitting thehero of the hour in the first flush of his new-born glory. Had he seenDoris' youthful figure emerge for a moment from the vine-hung porch hewas approaching, bringing with it some doubt of the reception awaitinghim? Possibly, for he made a stand before he reached the house, and senthis followers back; after which he advanced with an unhurrying step,so that several minutes elapsed before he finally drew up before Mr.Scott's door and entered through the now empty porch into his brother'ssitting-room.

  He had meant to see Doris first, but his mind had changed. If all passedoff well between himself and Oswald, if he found his brother responsiveand wide-awake to the interests and necessities of the hour, he mightforego his interview with her till he felt better prepared to meetit. For call it cowardice or simply a reasonable precaution, any delayseemed preferable to him in his present mood of discouragement, to thatfinal casting of the die upon which hung so many and such tremendousissues. It was the first moment of real halt in his whole tumultuouslife! Never, as daring experimentalist or agitator, had he shrunk fromdanger seen or unseen or from threat uttered or unuttered, as he shrankfrom this young girl's no; and something of the dread he had felt lesthe should encounter her unaware in the hall and so be led on to speakwhen his own judgment bade him be silent, darkened his features as heentered his brother's presence.

  But Oswald was sunk in a bitter revery of his own, and took no heedof these signs of depression. In the re-action following these days ofgreat excitement, the past had re-asserted itself, and all was gloom inhis once generous soul. This, Orlando had time to perceive, quick as thechange came when his brother really realised who his visitor was. Theglad "Orlando!" and the forced smile did not deceive him, and his voicequavered a trifle as he held out his packet with the words:

  "I have come to show you what the world says of my invention. We willsoon be great men," he emphasised, as Oswald opened the letters. "Mon
eyhas been offered me and--Read! read!" he urged, with an unconsciousdictatorialness, as Oswald paused in his task. "See what the fates haveprepared for us; for you shall share all my honours, as you will fromthis day share my work and enter into all my experiments. Cannotyou enthuse a little bit over it? Doesn't the prospect contain anyallurement for you? Would you rather stay locked up in this pettytown--"

  "Yes; or--die. Don't look like that, Orlando. It was a cowardly speechand I ask your pardon. I'm hardly fit to talk to-day. Edith--"

  Orlando frowned.

  "Not that name!" he harshly interrupted. "You must not hamper your lifewith useless memories. That dream of yours may be sacred, but it belongsto the past, and a great reality confronts you. When you have fullyrecovered your health, your own manhood will rebel at a weaknessunworthy one of our name. Rouse yourself, Oswald. Take account of ourprospects. Give me your hand and say, 'Life holds something for me yet.I have a brother who needs me if I do not need him. Together, we canprove ourselves invincible and wrench fame and fortune from the world.'"

  But the hand he reached for did not rise at his command, though Oswaldstarted erect and faced him with manly earnestness.

  "I should have to think long and deeply," he said, "before I took uponmyself responsibilities like these. I am broken in mind and heart,Orlando, and must remain so till God mercifully delivers me. I should bea poor assistant to you--a drag, rather than a help. Deeply as I deploreit, hard as it may be for one of your temperament to understand socomplete an overthrow, I yet must acknowledge my condition and pray younot to count upon me in any plans you may form. I know how this looks--Iknow that as your brother and truest admirer, I should respond, andrespond strongly, to such overtures as these, but the motive forachievement is gone. She was my all; and while I might work, it would bemechanically. The lift, the elevating thought is gone."

  Orlando stood a moment studying his brother's face; then he turnedshortly about and walked the length of the room. When he came back, hetook up his stand again directly before Oswald, and asked, with a newnote in his voice:

  "Did you love Edith Challoner so much as that?"

  A glance from Oswald's eye, sadder than any tear.

  "So that you cannot be reconciled?"

  A gesture. Oswald's words were always few.

  Orlando's frown deepened.

  "Such grief I partly understand," said he. "But time will cure it. Someday another lovely face--"

  "We'll not talk of that, Orlando."

  "No, we'll not talk of that," acquiesced the inventor, walking awayagain, this time to the window. "For you there's but one woman;--andshe's a memory."

  "Killed!" broke from his brother's lips. "Slain by her own hand underan impulse of wildness and terror! Can I ever forget that? Do not expectit, Orlando."

  "Then you do blame me?" Orlando turned and was looking full at Oswald.

  "I blame your unreasonableness and your overweening pride."

  Orlando stood a moment, then moved towards the door. The heaviness ofhis step smote upon Oswald's ear and caused him to exclaim:

  "Forgive me, Orlando." But the other cut him short with an imperative:

  "Thanks for your candour! If her spirit is destined to stand like animmovable shadow between you and me, you do right to warn me. But thisinterview must end all allusion to the subject. I will seek and findanother man to share my fortunes; (as he said this he approachedsuddenly, and took his papers from the other's hand) or--" Here hehastily retraced his steps to the door which he softly opened. "Or"he repeated--But though Oswald listened for the rest, it did not come.While he waited, the other had given him one deeply concentrated lookand passed out.

  No heartfelt understanding was possible between these two men.

  Crossing the hall, Orlando knocked at the door of Doris' littlesitting-room.

  No answer, yet she was there. He knew it in every throbbing fibre ofhis body. She was there and quite aware of his presence; of this he feltsure; yet she did not bid him enter. Should he knock again? Never! buthe would not quit the threshold, not if she kept him waiting there forhours. Perhaps she realised this. Perhaps she had meant to open the doorto him from the very first, who can tell? What avails is that she didultimately open it, and he, meeting her soft eye, wished from his veryheart that his impulse had led him another way, even if that way hadbeen to the edge of the precipice--and over.

  For the face he looked upon was serene, and there was no serenity inhim; rather a confusion of unloosed passions fearful of barrier andyearning tumultuously for freedom. But, whatever his revolt, the secretrevolt which makes no show in look or movement, he kept his groundand forced a smile of greeting. If her face was quiet, it was alsolovely;--too lovely, he felt, for a man to leave it, whatever might comeof his lingering.

  Nothing in all his life had ever affected him like it. For him there wasno other woman in the past, the present or the future, and, realisingthis--taking in to the full what her affection and her trust might be tohim in those fearsome days to come, he so dreaded a rebuff--he, who hadbeen the courted of women and the admired of men ever since he couldremember,--that he failed to respond to her welcome and the simplecongratulations she felt forced to repeat. He could neither speak thecommonplace, nor listen to it. This was his crucial hour. He must findsupport here, or yield hopelessly to the maelstrom in whose whirl he wascaught.

  She saw his excitement and faltered back a step--a move which sheregretted the next minute, for he took advantage of it to enter andclose behind him the door which she would never have shut of her ownaccord. Then he spoke, abruptly, passionately, but in those golden toneswhich no emotion could render other than alluring:

  "I am an unhappy man, Miss Scott. I see that my presence here is notwelcome, yet am sure that it would be so if it were not for a prejudicewhich your generous nature should be the first to cast aside, in face ofthe outspoken confidence of my brother: Oswald. Doris, little Doris, Ilove you. I have loved you from the moment of our first meeting. Not tomany men is it given to find his heart so late, and when he does, it isfor his whole life; no second passion can follow it. I know that I ampremature in saying this; that you are not prepared to hear such wordsfrom me and that it might be wiser for me to withhold them, but I mustleave Derby soon, and I cannot go until I know whether there is theleast hope that you will yet lend a light to my career or whether thatcareer must burn itself to ashes at your feet. Oswald--nay, hear meout--Oswald lives in his memories; but I must have an active hope--atangible expectation--if I am to be the man I was meant to be. Will you,then, coldly dismiss me, or will you let my whole future life prove toyou the innocence of my past? I will not hasten anything; all I ask issome indulgence. Time will do the rest."

  "Impossible," she murmured.

  But that was a word for which he had no ear. He saw that she was moved,unexpectedly so; that while her eyes wandered restlessly at timestowards the door, they ever came back in girlish wonder, if notfascination, to his face, emboldening him so that he ventured at last,to add:

  "Doris, little Doris, I will teach you a marvellous lesson, if you willonly turn your dainty ear my way. Love such as mine carries infinitetreasure with it. Will you have that treasure heaped, piled beforeyour feet? Your lips say no, but your eyes--the truest eyes I eversaw--whisper a different language. The day will come when you will findyour joy in the breast of him you are now afraid to trust." And notwaiting for disclaimer or even a glance of reproach from the eyes he hadso wilfully misread, he withdrew with a movement as abrupt as that withwhich he had entered.

  Why, then, with the memory of this exultant hour to fend off allshadows, did the midnight find him in his solitary hangar in the moonlitwoods, a deeply desponding figure again. Beside him, swung the hugemachine which represented a life of power and luxury; but he no longersaw it. It called to him with many a creak and quiet snap,--sounds tostart his blood and fire his eye a week--nay, a day ago. But he was deafto this music now; the call went unheeded; the future had no furthermeaning, for him,
nor did he know or think whether he sat in light or indarkness; whether the woods were silent about him, or panting with lifeand sound. His demon had gripped him again and the final battle was on.There would never be another. Mighty as he felt himself to be, therewere limits even to his capacity for endurance. He could sustain nofurther conflict. How then would it end? He never had a doubt himself!Yet he sat there.

  Around him in the forest, the night owls screeched and innumerable smallthings without a name, skurried from lair to lair.

  He heard them not.

  Above, the moon rode, flecking the deepest shadows with the silver fromher half-turned urn, but none of the soft and healing drops fell uponhim. Nature was no longer a goddess, but an avenger; light a revealer,not a solace. Darkness the only boon.

  Nor had time a meaning. From early eve to early morn he sat there andknew not if it were one hour or twelve. Earth was his no longer. Heroused, when the sun made everything light about him, but he did notthink about it. He rose, but was not conscious that he rose. He unlockedthe door and stepped out into the forest; but he could never rememberdoing this. He only knew later that he had been in the woods and nowwas in his room at the hotel; all the rest was phantasmagoria, agony anddefeat.

  He had crossed the Rubicon of this world's hopes and fears, but he hadbeen unconscious of the passage.