Wild Wings

by Margaret Piper Chalmers

  CHAPTER XII

  AND THERE IS A FLAME

  When Alan Massey strayed into the breakfast room, one of the latestarrivals at that very informal meal, he found a telegram awaiting him. Itwas rather an odd message and ran thus, without capitalization orpunctuation. "Town named correct what is up let sleeping dogs lie sick."Alan frowned as he thrust the yellow envelope into his pocket.

  "Does the fool mean he is sick, I wonder," he cogitated. "Lord, I wish Icould let well enough alone. But this sword of Damocles business isbeginning to get on my nerves. I have half a mind to take a run into townthis afternoon and see the old reprobate. I'll bet he doesn't know asmuch as he claims to, but I'd like to be sure before he dies."

  Just then Tony Holiday entered, clad in a rose hued linen and lookinglike a new blown rose herself.

  "You are the latest ever," greeted Carlotta.

  "On the contrary I have been up since the crack of dawn," denied Tony,slipping into a seat beside her friend.

  Carlotta opened her eyes wide. Then she understood.

  "You got up to see Dick off," she announced.

  "I did. Please give me some strawberries, Hal, if you don't mean to eatthe whole pyramid yourself. I not only got up, but I went to thestation; not only went to the station, but I walked the whole mile and ahalf. Can anybody beat that for a morning record?" Tony challenged as shedeluged her berries with cream.

  Alan Massey uttered a kind of a snarling sound such as a lion disturbedfrom a nap might have emitted. He had thought he was through with Carsonwhen the latter had made his farewells the night before, sayinggoodnight to Tony before them all. But Tony had gotten up at someridiculously early hour to escort him to the station, and did not mindeverybody's knowing it. He subsided into a dense mood of gloom. Themorning had begun badly.

  Later he discovered Tony in the rose garden with a big basket on her armand a charming drooping sun hat shading her even more charming face. Shewaved him away as he approached.

  "Go away," she ordered. "I'm busy."

  "You mean you have made up your mind to be disagreeable to me," heretorted, lighting a cigarette and looking as if he meant to fight it outalong that line if it took all summer.

  Tony snipped off a rose with her big shears and dropped it into herbasket. It rather looked as if she were meaning to snip off Alan Masseyfiguratively in much the same ruthless manner.

  "Put it that way, if you like. Only stay away. I mean it."

  "Why?" he persisted.

  Thus pressed she turned and faced him.

  "It is a lovely morning--all blue and gold and clean-washed after lastnight's storm--a good morning. I'm feeling good, too. The clean morninghas got inside of me. And when you come near me I feel a pricking in mythumbs. You don't fit into my present, mood. Please go, Alan. I amperfectly serious. I don't want to talk to you."

  "What have I done? I am no different from what I was yesterday."

  "I know. It isn't anything you have done. It isn't you at all. It is Iwho am different--or want to be." Tony spoke earnestly. She was perfectlysincere. She did want to be different. She had not slept well the nightbefore. She had thought a great deal about Holiday Hill and Uncle Philand her brothers and--well, yes--about Dick Carson. They all armed heragainst Alan Massey.

  Alan threw away his cigarette with an angry gesture.

  "You can't play fast and loose with me, Tony Holiday. You have beenleading me on, playing the devil with me for days. You know you have. Nowyou are scared, and want to get back to shallow water. It is too late.You are in deep seas and you've got to stay there--with me."

  "I haven't _got_ to do anything, Alan. You are claiming more than youhave any right to claim."

  But he came nearer, towered above her, almost menacingly.

  "Because that nameless fool of a reporter with his sanctimonious airs andimpeccable morals, has put you against me you want to sack me. You can'tdo it. Last night you were ready to go any lengths with me. You know it.Do you think I am going to be balked by a miserable circus brat--a merenobody? Not so long as I am Alan Massey. Count on that."

  Tony's dark eyes were ablaze with anger.

  "Stop there, Alan. You are saying things that are not true. And I forbidyou ever to speak of Dick like that again to me."

  "Indeed! And how are you going to prevent my saying what I please aboutyour precious protege?" sneered Alan.

  "I shall tell Carlotta I won't stay under the same roof with anybody whoinsults my friends. You won't have to restrain yourself long in any case.I am leaving Saturday--perhaps sooner."

  "Tony!" The sneer died away from Alan's face, which had suddenly grownwhite. "You mustn't go. I can't live without you, my darling. If you knewhow I worshiped you, how I cannot sleep of nights for wanting you, youwouldn't talk of going away from me. I was brutal just now. I admit it.It is because I love you so. The thought of your turning from me,deserting me, maddened me. I am not responsible for what I said. You mustforgive me. But, oh my belovedest, you are mine! Don't try to deny it. Wehave belonged to each other for always. You know it. You feel it. I haveseen the knowledge in your eyes, felt it flutter in your heart. Will youmarry me, Tony Holiday? You shall be loved as no woman was ever loved.You shall be my queen. I will be true to you forever and ever, yourslave, your mate. Tony, Tony, say yes. You must!"

  But Tony drew back from him, frightened, repulsed, shocked, by thestorm of his passion which shook him as mighty trees are shaken bytempests. She shrank from the hungry fires in his eyes, from theabandon and fierceness of his wooing. It was an alien, disturbing,dreadful thing to her.

  "Don't," she implored. "You mustn't love me like that, Alan. Youmust not."

  "How can I help it, sweetheart? I am no iceberg. I am a man and you arethe one woman in the world for me. I love you--love you. I want you. I'mgoing to have you--make you mine--marry you, bell and book, what youwill, so long as you are mine--mine--mine."

  Tony set down her basket, clasped her hands behind her and stood lookingstraight up into his face.

  "Listen, Alan. I cannot marry you. I couldn't, even if I loved you, andI don't think I do love you, though you fascinate me and, when we aredancing, I forget all the other things in you that I hate. I have beenvery foolish and maybe unkind to let it go on so far. I didn't quite knowwhat I was doing. Girls don't know. That is why they play with men asthey do. They don't mean to be cruel. They just don't know."

  "But you know now, my Tony?" His dark, stormy face was very close tohers. Tony felt her heart leap but she did not flinch nor pull awaythis time.

  "Yes, Alan, I know, in a way, at least. We mustn't go on like this. It isbad for us both. I'll tell Carlotta I am going home to-morrow."

  "You want--to go away from me?" The haunting music of his voice, moremoving in its hurt than in its mastery of mood, stirred Tony Holidayprofoundly, but she steadied herself by a strong effort of will. She mustnot let him sweep her away from her moorings. She must not. She mustremember Holiday Hill very hard.

  "I have to, Alan," she said. "I am very sorry if I have hurt you, amhurting you. But I can't marry you. That is final. The sooner we endthings the better."

  "By God! It isn't final. It never will be so long as you and I are bothalive. You will come to me of your own accord. You will love me. You dolove me now. But you are letting the world come in between where it hasno right to come. I tell you you are mine--mine!"

  "No, no!" denied Tony.

  "And I say yes, my love. You are my love. I have set my seal upon you.You can go away, back to your Hill, but you will not be happy without me.You will never forget me for a waking moment. You cannot. You are a partof me, forever."

  There was something solemn, inexorable in Alan's tones. A strange fearclutched at Tony's heart. Was he right? Could she never forget him?Would he always be a part of her--forever? No, that was nonsense! Howcould it be true? How could he have set his seal upon her when he hadnever even kissed her? She would not let him hypnotize her intobelieving his prophecy.

  She st
ooped mechanically to pick up her roses and remembered the storyof Persephone gathering lilies in the vale of Enna and suddenly borneoff by the coal black horses of Dis to the dark kingdom of the lowerworld. Was she Persephone? Had she eaten of the pomegranate seeds whileshe danced night after night in Alan Massey's arms? No, she would notbelieve it. She was free. She would exile Alan Massey from her heart andlife. She must.

  This resolve was in her eyes as she lifted them to Alan's. The fire haddied out of his now, and his face was gray and drawn in the sunshine. Hismood had changed as his moods so often did swiftly.

  "Forgive me, Tony," he said humbly. "I have troubled you, frightened you.I am sorry. You needn't go away. I will go. I don't want to spoil onemoment of happiness for you. I never shall, except when the devil is inme. Please try to remember that. Say always, 'Alan loves me. No matterwhat he does or says, he loves me. His love is real, if nothing elseabout him is.' You do believe that, don't you, dearest?" he pleaded.

  "I do, Alan. I have always believed it, I think, ever since that firstnight, though I have tried not to. I am very sorry though. Love--yourkind of love is a fearful thing. I am afraid of it."

  "It is fearful, but beautiful too--very beautiful--like fire. Did youever think what a strange dual element fire is? It consumes--is a forceof destruction. But it also purifies, burns out dross. Love is likethat, my Tony. Mine for you may damn me forever, or it may take me to thevery gate of Heaven. I don't know myself which it will be."

  As he spoke there was a strange kind of illumination on his face, a lookalmost of spiritual exaltation. It awed Tony, bereft her of words. Thiswas a new Alan Massey--an Alan Massey she had never seen before, and shefound herself looking up instead of down at him.

  He stooped and kissed her hand reverently, as a devotee might pay homageat the shrine of a saint.

  "I shall not see you again until to-night, Tony. I am going into town.But I shall be back--for one more dance with you, heart's dearest. Andthen I promise I will go away and leave you tomorrow. You will dance withme, Tony--once? We shall have that one perfect thing to remember?"

  Tony bowed assent. And in a moment she was alone with her roses.

  That afternoon she shut herself in her room to write letters to the homepeople whom she had neglected badly of late. Every moment had been sofull since she had come to Carlotta's. There had been so little time towrite and when she had written it had given little of what she was reallyliving and feeling--just the mere externals and not all of them, as shewas very well aware. They would never understand her relation with Alan.They would disapprove, just as Dick had disapproved. Perhaps she did notunderstand, herself, why she had let herself get so deeply entangled insomething which could not go on, something, which was the profoundestfolly, if nothing worse.

  The morning had crystallized her fear of the growing complication of thesituation. She was glad Alan was going away, glad she had had thestrength of will to deny him his will, glad that she could now--afterto-night--come back into undisputed possession of the kingdom of herself.But in her heart she was gladder that there was to-night and that onelast dance with Alan Massey before life became simple and sane and tameagain, and Alan and his wild love passed out of it forever.

  She finished her letters, which were not very satisfactory after all.How could one write real letters when one's pen was writing one thingand one's thoughts were darting hither and thither about very differentbusiness? She threw herself in the chaise longue, not yet ready todress and go down to join the others. There was nobody there she caredto talk to, somehow. Alan was not there. Nobody else mattered. It hadcome to that.

  Idly she picked up a volume of verse that lay beside her on the table andfluttered its pages, seeking something to meet her restless mood.Presently in her vagrant seeking she chanced upon a little poem--a poemshe read and reread, twice, three times.

  "For there is a flame that has blown too near,And there is a name that has grown too dear, And there is a fear.And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I make moan.The heart in my bosom is not my own!Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing!Love is a terrible thing!"

  Tony laid the book face down upon the table, still open at the littleverse. The shadows were growing long out there in the dusk. The lateafternoon sun was pale honey color. A soft little breeze stirred thebranches of a weeping willow tree and set them to swaying languorously.Unseen birds twittered happily among the shrubbery. A golden butterflypoised for a moment above the white holly hocks and then drifted off overthe flaming scarlet poppies and was lost to sight.

  It was all so beautiful, so serene. She felt that it should have comelike a benediction, cooling the fever of her tired mind, but it did not.It could not even drive the words of the poem out of her head.

  Oh, would I were free as the wind on wing!Love is a terrible thing!