The Innocent Adventuress

by Mary Hastings Bradley

  CHAPTER VII

  JOHNNY BECOMES INEVITABLE

  She did not speak. She was afraid she was going to burst into tears. Herknees were trembling and she sat down with the effect of collapse andlooked mutely up at Johnny.

  "Judas," said Johnny bitterly.

  He stared around once more, evading her eyes now, and then he moved overand sat down beside her, drawing out his cigarettes.

  Slowly he took one, tapped its end upon a rock, and lighted it. Then,the case still open, he looked inquiringly at her.

  "Smoke, Ri-Ri?" he questioned. "Ought to--never too late to learn."

  She shook her head, smiling faintly. She knew his own perturbation mustbe immense. She did not want to add to it; she wanted to be brave andconceal her own agony.

  He put the cigarettes away and from an inner pocket drew out a cake ofchocolate.

  "Supper," he announced.

  She broke the cake in two even halves, giving him back one. He took buthalf of that. With the cigarette between his lips he felt better. Slowlyhe relaxed.

  "I'll have to teach you how to smoke," he said, blowing rings. "Whenwe're rested we'll get some wood and build a fire. The others will seethat and signal back and we'll make connections."

  At that she stared, round-eyed. "Wait for a fire?" Incredulously shestraightened. Her voice grew breathless. "Oh, no, we must go--we mustgo," she said with a hint of wildness in her urgency.

  Deliberately Johnny leaned back. "Go? Go where?"

  "Go down. Go to where the others are. We must find them."

  "Nothing doing." Johnny rubbed a stout leg. "Your Uncle Dudley is allin. So are you."

  "But I can go, I am able to go on," she insisted. "And I wouldrather--Oh, if you please, I would so much rather go on at once. Wecannot wait like this."

  "I'll say we can wait like this. Watch me."

  "But we cannot stay----"

  "Well, we cannot go," said Johnny mimicking. "We'd get nowhere if we didtry. We'd just go round and round. Our best bet is to stay on this peakand signal. Believe me, I'm not going to stir for one long while."

  Again the fear of tears choked back the words that rushed upon her. Shetold herself that she must not be weak and frantic and make a scene.. . . Men abhorred scenes. And it would not help. It would only angerhim. He was tired now. He was not thinking of her. He had not realizedthe situation.

  Presently he would realize. . . . And, anyway, he was there with her, hewould take care of her, protect her from the tongues of gossip.

  Slowly Johnny smoked two cigarettes, then he rose and gathered sticksfor a fire. It burned briskly, its swift flame throwing a glowing circleabout them and extinguishing the rest of the world.

  There had been no sunset. A bank of clouds had swallowed the lastvestige of ruddy light. The mountain peaks darkened. It was growingnight.

  "We'll wait for moonlight," said Johnny Byrd.

  But at that Maria Angelina's eyes came away from those mountains whichshe was unremittingly watching for an answering fire and fixedthemselves upon his face in startled horror.

  "Moonlight!" she gasped. "But no--no! We must not wait any more. It istoo late now. We must get down as soon as we can."

  "Why, you little baby!" Johnny Byrd moved nearer to her. "What you'fraid of, Ri-Ri? We can't help how late it is, can we?"

  He put an arm about her and drew her gently close, and because she wasso tired and frightened and upset Maria Angelina could no longer resistthe tears that came blinding her eyes.

  "You little baby!" said Johnny again softly, and suddenly she felt hiskiss upon her cheek.

  "Poor little Ri-Ri! Poor tired little girl!"

  "Oh, you must not. Signor, you must not."

  "Signor," he said reproachfully.

  "J-Johnny," she choked.

  "That's better. . . . All right, I'll be good, Ri-Ri. Just sit still.And I'll be good."

  But firmly he kept his arm about her and soon her tense little figurerelaxed in that strong clasp. She was not frightened, as last night atthe dance, she felt utterly forlorn and comforted by his strength.

  They sat very still, unspeaking in that silent embrace, and about themit grew colder and darker while the sky seemed to grow thinner andgrayer and clear. And at last against the pallor of the sky, mountainafter mountain lifted itself out of the shadowy cloud mass, and peakafter peak defined itself, stretching on and on like an army of giants.

  Then the ridges grew blacker again, and back of one edge a sharp flareof light flamed, and a blood red disc of a moon came pushing furiouslyup into the sky, flinging down a transforming radiance.

  In the valley the silvery birches gleamed like wood nymphs against theebony firs.

  Beauty had touched the world again. A long breath came fluttering fromthe girl's lips; she felt strangely solaced and comforted. After all, itwas Johnny with her . . . the fairy prince. Her dreams were coming true. . . even under the shadow of this tragedy.

  Again she felt his lips upon her cheek and now he was trying to turn herhead towards him. Mutely she resisted, drawing away, but his forceincreased. She closed her eyes; she felt his kiss upon her hair, hercheek, the corner of her unstirring mouth.

  And she thought that it was his right--if she turned from him she wouldseem strangely refusing. An American, she knew, kissed his fianceefreely.

  But it was a tremendous freedom. . . .

  It would have been--knightlier, she thought quiveringly, if he had notdone that, if he had revealed a more respectful homage.

  But these were American ways . . . and he was a man and he loved her andhe wanted to feel that she belonged to him utterly. It was comfort forher troubled spirit.

  But when she felt his hand trying to turn up her chin, so that her younglips might meet his, she slipped decidedly away.

  "No? All right." Johnny gave a short, uncertain laugh. "All right,little girl, I'll be good."

  She had risen to her feet and he rose now and his voice changed to aheartier note.

  "Ready for the going? We'll have to make a start, I suppose. I don't seeany rescue expeditions starting this way. . . . Lordy, I'm a starvedman! I could eat the side of a house."

  "I could eat the other side," said Maria Angelina smiling shakily.

  Johnny put out the fire, ground out its embers beneath his heels, andstarted down upon the trail that they had come. Closely after him camethe girl. The moonlight flooded the mountain side with vague, uncertainlight and the descent was a difficult and dangerous matter.

  They tripped over rocks; they stumbled through underbrush. The moon wastheir only clue to direction and the moon seemed to be slipping past thepeaks at a confusing speed.

  "We're going down anyway," said Johnny Byrd grimly.

  Sharply they were stopped. The ledge on which they found themselvesended abruptly, like a bluff, and peering over its edge they looked downinto the dark tops of tall fir trees.

  No more descent there.

  In disgusted rage Johnny strode up and down the length of that ledgebut it was a clear shelf, with no way out from it except the way thatthey had come. There was no approach from below.

  "And some fools go in for mountaineering!" said Johnny Byrd bitterly.

  It was the last gust of humor in him. He was furious--and he grew morefurious unrestrainedly. He exploded in muttered oaths and exclamations.

  In her troubled little heart Maria Angelina felt for him. She knew thathe was tired and hungry, and men, when they were hungry, were veryunhappy. But she was tired and hungry, too--and her reputation, thereputation that was her very existence, was in jeopardy.

  Up they scrambled, from the ledge again, and once back upon the mountainside, they circled farther back around the mountain before starting downagain.

  Blindly Maria Angelina followed Johnny's lead. She tripped over roots;she caught upon brambles. With her last shreds of vanity she wasgrateful that he could not see her streaming hair and scratched anddirty face.

  It had grown darker and darker and the moon
had vanished utterly behindthe clouds. The air was damp and cold. A wind was rising.

  Suddenly their feet struck into the faint line of a path. Eagerly theyfollowed. It wound on back across the mountain side and rounded a woodedspur.

  "It will lead somewhere, anyway," declared Johnny, hope returning goodnature to his tone.

  "But it is not the right way," Maria Angelina combated in distress."See, we are not going down any more. Oh, let us keep on going downuntil we find that river below, and then we can return to the Lodge----"

  "You come on," said Johnny firmly, striding on ahead, and unhappily shefollowed, her anxiety warring with her weariness.

  What time could it be? She felt as if it were the middle of the night.The picnickers must all be home by now, looking for her, organizingsearching parties perhaps. . . . What must they think? What must theynot think?

  She saw her Cousin Jane's distress. . . . Ruth's disgust. Would theyimagine that she had eloped?

  She knew but little of American conventions and that little told herthat the ceremonies were easy of accomplishment. Young people werealways eloping. . . . The consent of guardians was not necessary. . . .How terrible, if they imagined her gone on a romantic elopement, to haveher return, mud plastered, after a night with a young man upon themountain!

  A night upon the mountain with a young man . . . a young man in lovewith her.

  Scandal. . . . Unbelievable shame.

  She felt as if they were in the grip of a nightmare.

  They must hurry, hurry. Somehow they must gain upon that night, theymust return to the Lodge before it was too late.

  A cold sprinkle of rain fell, plastering her middy shiveringly to her,but the rain soon stopped and the path grew clearer and more and moredefined as they stumbled along it to its end.

  It was not a house they found. It was not really a cabin. It was justthree walls of logs built against the rocky face of the mountain.

  But it was a hut, a shelter, with a door that swung open on leatherhinges at Johnny's tug.

  He called, then peered within. Finally he struck a match and staredabout and Maria Angelina came to look, too. The place was so tiny that abed of boughs and blankets on the floor covered most of the space, savefor a few boxes. Outside the doors were the ashes of old fires.

  "Well, it's _something_," said Johnny in glum resignation. "Hasn't thefool that built it any food?"

  Vigorously he poked about the tiny place, then emerged to report indisgust, "Not a darn thing. . . . Oh, well, it's a shelter, anyway."

  The incredible idea pierced Maria Angelina that he was going to pausethere for rest.

  "Oh, we must go on," she insisted.

  "Go on?" He turned to stare in indignation at the girl who had gaspedthat at him. "Go on? In this dark? When it's going to rain? Why, you'renearly all in, now."

  "Indeed--indeed, I am not all in," she protested. "It is not necessaryfor me to rest--not necessary at all. I am quite strong. I want only togo on--to go to the Lodge----"

  "We'll never make the Lodge to-night. We'll have to camp here the bestway we can."

  It seemed to her that she could hardly have heard him. It was soincredible a thought--so overwhelming----

  A queer gulping sound came from her throat. Her words fell without hervolition, like spent breaths.

  "But that is wrong. We cannot stay. We cannot stay like that----"

  "Why can't we stay?"

  "It--it is impossible! The scandal----"

  Angrily he wheeled about. "Scandal?" he said sharply. "What the hellscandal is there?"

  His indignation at the words could not dispel her terror. But it wassomething to have him so hot her champion.

  "You know, they will all talk----"

  "Let 'em talk," he said curtly. "We can't help it."

  She put a hand to her throat as if to still that throbbing pulse therethat impeded speech.

  "I know we cannot help it. But we cannot--not give them so much to talkof. We can be trying to return----"

  "Don't be a goose, Ri-Ri!" he broke in sharply.

  He was a man. He did not understand the full agony. . . . DesperatelyMaria Angelina wondered as to her reception. She had no parallel inItalian society. The thing could not happen in Italian society. A girl,a well born girl, rambling the woods all night with her fiance!

  She wondered if the announcement of their engagement instantly upontheir return would appease the world. Of course, there would always bethe story. As long as she lived there would be the story. But asJohnny's wife, triumphant, assured, she could afford to ignore it.

  At her stillness Johnny had looked about, and something infinitelydrooping and forlorn in the vague outlines of her small figure made itssoftening appeal.

  His voice changed. "Don't you worry, little girl," he told hersoothingly, "I'll take care of you."

  Her heart leaped.

  "Ah, yes," she said faintly, "but what can we do? Had it better be atonce----?"

  "At once----?"

  "The marriage," she choked out.

  "Marriage?" Even in the dimness she saw that he raised his head, hischin stiffening, his whole outline hardening.

  "What are you talking about?" he said very roughly.

  "About--about our marriage," she repeated trembling, and then, atsomething in his hardness and his grimness, "Why, what did you mean----?Must it not be soon?"

  A dreadful, deliberate silence engulfed her words.

  Coldly Johnny's slow voice broke it.

  "Who said anything about marriage?" defiantly he demanded. "I neverasked you to marry me."