CRIMSON MOUNTAIN

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Adrian was much too modern to call any emotion of his love.

  Then she laughed again. “Well, we’ll just settle any plans like that, my lad,” she remarked to the wall of her boardinghouse room. “I shall be too busy all winter to go on parties and expeditions or spend weekends anywhere with you.” She would say it so firmly that he would see it was not of any use to keep at her. She would show that she was definitely out of the picture as far as he was concerned. And then, of course, he would likely drop her and forget her. Well, that didn’t hurt her any.

  Having settled this question definitely, she went on with her study. She was actually getting interested in the study she was pursuing each day to get ready for her class and looking forward with pleasure to being able to impart knowledge she had gained to her pupils.

  And then the thought came to her—suppose she had not met Phil Pilgrim that day on the mountainside. Would she perhaps, even now, have been considering whether she wanted to live a life with Adrian Faber? If she had never seen a man like Pilgrim, would she have been satisfied with Faber?

  And then her heart shrank back at the thought. No, oh no! Never satisfied with that!

  Saturday morning was clear and bright. Laurel had been hoping against hope that it would be raining, and she could therefore have an excuse to beg off from the drive. But the sun shone gorgeously, and old Crimson Mountain, still regal in her display of flame and gold, beamed down upon the little town at her feet as if she were doing them a favor to keep her pretty robes on so long when the time of year had come that she might have put them off.

  Laurel stood by her window and gazed on the rich display of color, thanking God for its beauty. She had not yet done anything about changing her boarding place, partly because of that wonderful view. She could not bear to miss a day of it. There might be other places in town from which you could see Crimson Mountain as well as from that window of hers, but she hadn’t found any yet. And the young men who were purported to be desiring that room for the winter had not yet materialized, so she had let the matter ride. It wasn’t yet a week since she came, not till Saturday night, and the Price woman had said nothing more to her, so she felt fairly safe about it. But anyway, when she came back from that ride with Adrian she would spend Saturday afternoon looking up another possible place, so if her room was demanded she could get out in a hurry.

  And then, just a little before ten o’clock, the mail arrived and brought her a nice thick letter from Pilgrim’s camp. She was glad she had gone downstairs, because otherwise Byrger would have had the first handling of the mail. She had noticed that he was generally on hand when the postman came. But the mail had arrived unusually early this morning, and she had the opportunity to find her own letter before he appeared on the scene. She slipped it quickly into her handbag and then went out to the front porch to await Adrian’s coming.

  He was not long in arriving. Byrger was still immersed in his own letters, sitting in the office in his favorite chair, poring over a closely written letter, not aware that Laurel was on the front porch.

  So it was that he missed entirely seeing Faber’s luxurious car drive up and take in the girl that he had resolved to watch carefully this morning.

  Laurel hadn’t even opened her letter yet, and it was annoying to see Adrian when she had been counting on a few minutes to herself to read it. But she put down the thought, tucked a handkerchief carefully about the letter, and snapped the clasp of her handbag sharply. That letter would be something to come back to when this ride was over. Better get it over as soon as possible.

  So when she caught the flash of the distinguished-looking car driving toward the house, she hurried down the walk and was already at the gateway as it stopped.

  Adrian’s haughtiness relaxed. He was pleased that she had not kept him waiting.

  “Well, you’re ready bright and early,” he said, swinging open the car door and helping her in before Mrs. Price could rush from the kitchen to see what car was stopping before her door and before Carl Byrger was aware that his bird had flown.

  “Didn’t you bring an overnight bag?” questioned Faber. “Have you nothing with you but your coat?”

  “That’s all,” said Laurel, smiling. “I must be back early. I have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  “Yes?” drawled Faber, as if he had inside information that didn’t fit with that. “Well, we’ll see, after you’ve seen what I have to show you. I think you will sing a different tune, little lady. However, I suppose you can easily borrow what you need.”

  “Why, if I need anything, of course,” said Laurel amusedly. “You never think I mean what I say, do you, Adrian? But I assure you I am quite changed now that I’m a working woman. And if you have any such ideas as changing my plans and getting me back too late to carry them out, why you better take me back at once, for I’m telling you I can’t possibly be late coming home.”

  “Oh, all right,” said the young man in an evasive tone, “we won’t talk about that yet,” and he stepped on the gas and fairly flew over the road on a new route that was not at all familiar to Laurel.

  “Why, where is this?” she asked, looking about her. “I don’t recall this road at all,” as he veered directly away from the main highway that went through Carrollton. “It must be a new road. How pretty it is here.”

  “It is a new road,” said Faber. “I thought you would like this. There is a view of the river a little farther on that is most picturesque. I was hoping you hadn’t been here and I might have the first privilege of showing it to you.”

  “Why, I’m delighted to see it,” said Laurel politely, wishing secretly that she might have had a chance to read just a few words of her letter before they had started. She did so want to know if Pilgrim was to be sent far away soon. But she talked on about the lovely road, as they went mile after mile into a region of magnificent estates that she had never dreamed were in this vicinity. Lovely new houses built with curious architecture, beautiful grounds ablaze with autumn flowers, curving drives brought out by trees and shrubbery that were calculated to be a setting for seclusion and beauty. Now and then a clubhouse and golf grounds spoke of wealth and aristocracy. And as the way wound on, she wondered where she was being taken, until at last the car suddenly turned into a great stone driveway and swept up to a building entirely hidden from the road and most attractive in its appearance. Big stone arches curved about walls that seemed to belong to some castle of old.

  “Oh,” exclaimed Laurel, “how very lovely! Can this be a clubhouse—or does some friend of yours live here?”

  “No, no one lives here at present,” said Adrian as they drove up to the door and the car stopped. “It is a new house, recently completed. I have had my eye on it for a long time. I have brought you here to see it. I want to know if you would like to live here.”

  Laurel looked at the young man in amazement. Was he joking? “Would I —like to live here? What in the world do you mean, Adrian? What an absurd question to ask me. Is it some kind of a joke?”

  The young man gave her an annoyed look. “No, I am not joking,” he said haughtily. “I never was more in earnest in my life. I have an option on this house, and I want to know if you like it. Do you?”

  “Like it?” said Laurel, still more puzzled. “Why, of course. It is a beautiful house. Anybody would like it, wouldn’t they? It’s a charming place. It’s a mansion, a palace! But why should you need my word for it? Or were you only having it in mind to show me something very wonderful?” Laurel’s tone was not mocking, her laughter happy and not at all self-conscious. Adrian looked at her with an annoyed frown again. “Can’t you be serious?” he said. “Do you or do you not like this house? Would you like to live here?”

  Laurel’s face sobered. “Why, yes, I can imagine that life under some circumstances could be very pleasant in such a house as that. But of course, for practical purposes it would scarcely be fitting for my station in life.”

  Adrian looked at her merry, dancing eyes, and his indigna
tion rose. “You certainly are very trying, Laurel,” he said severely. “I am endeavoring to discover whether you want me to buy that house or not? Can’t you understand?”

  “Whether I want you to buy that house or not? Why, Adrian, I should suppose you were the one to be suited in a house you are thinking of buying, not me. I, of course, would have nothing to do with a matter like that. If you like it, and since you have money to pay for it and to run it after you have paid for it, I should think it might be a very lovely idea for you to buy it.”

  Adrian gave her a withering glance. “You’re being quite obtuse, aren’t you?” he said indignantly. Then he swung open the door of the car. “Get out,” he ordered. “We’re going inside.”

  “Oh, really?” said Laurel. “How nice! I’d love to see inside a house like that. But we mustn’t stay there very long.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late and time to start back. We’ve come a long way, you know, Adrian!”

  He did not answer her. Just stalked up the steps and flung the door open wide, his eyes furious.

  Laurel paused on the threshold and exclaimed at the beauty. “Why, it’s all furnished!” she exclaimed. “How marvelous. What a darling color scheme, and it all fits together so harmoniously! Oh, I’m so glad to have seen this lovely place!”

  Adrian’s tenseness relaxed. “I was quite sure this would appeal to you,” he said, almost as if offended.

  “Well, it was nice of you to take the time and the trouble to bring me here!” said Laurel uneasily, realizing that there might be something more to come.

  He led her into the great living room, which was so wide and high and deep it was almost big enough to be a ballroom, and he seated her in a luxurious chair.

  “Now,” said Adrian, “I want to talk to you. You have been very difficult, and I did not expect to have to present this matter in such a state of mind, but since you have chosen to be this way, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it but speak very plainly. I have bought this house and furnished it to the best of my ability in an endeavor to please you and to prepare a place where we could come after we are married and live a pleasant, normal life. I have arranged that any article of furniture that you do no like can be returned and you can choose other articles in its place. I have brought you here today to show you what kind of a home and what kind of a life I expect to give you, and I have arranged everything so that we can be married at once and begin living here. I dislike delays very much, and I felt that if everything was ready, you could not put off the wedding for long. Fortunately, any purchases you wish for your own wardrobe can be made in a few hours, and I don’t see why we could not be married at once. That is, in a few days.”

  “Married!” said Laurel, staring at him in amazement. “Married? Why, Adrian, I have no idea of marrying you! I could not marry you!”

  “Indeed!” said Adrian. “And why not? Am I so objectionable that you cannot entertain that thought?”

  “Why no, Adrian, you are not objectionable. You have always been most kind and nice to me. But I could not marry you.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because I don’t love you, Adrian.” She said it solemnly and sweetly, and he stared at her with a look of one who didn’t quite understand but could not but admire.

  Then he turned with a haughty fling up of his chin and a sneer on his lips. “Oh heavens! Laurel, that’s old stuff. Don’t you know that love was outmoded long ago?”

  “Sorry!” said Laurel with a lift of her own firm, little chin. “It may be outmoded with some but not with me.” She said it definitely. “I could never marry anyone unless I loved him.”

  “Oh, that’s nonsense, Laurel! Love comes after marriage, didn’t you know that?”

  “No,” said Laurel. “I think that is one great reason of many divorces. So many people marry when they are not sure that they love each other. I think it would be unbearable to be married to one you didn’t love with all your heart. Don’t you?”

  Adrian shrugged his shoulders with a calm smile.

  “There is always divorce,” he said. “One doesn’t need to feel that the matter is too final.”

  “Adrian! Do you mean that?” she asked.

  “Why, certainly I do,” said the young man, regarding her amusedly. “Don’t you? You have to if you want to keep up with the times.”

  “But I don’t, Adrian. There is sin in the times. More than there has been for generations. And that matter of divorce is a part of it. Even if I loved you, Adrian, I would never marry a man who believed that ‘there is always divorce.’ In fact, Adrian, even if I loved you, I couldn’t marry you, because you and I do not think alike on hardly any subject. We could never live together and be happy.”

  “Oh, now that’s absurd, Laurel. Don’t you know that it is generally accepted by everybody that when people live together they get to thinking alike? Before a year of married life was over for us, you would begin to think as I do. Those things adjust themselves, you know.”

  “And you think, Adrian, that before a year, you would have begun to think just as I do?” Laurel laughed. “You wouldn’t believe in drinking nor gambling? You wouldn’t delight in nightclubs and Sunday house parties and all those matters on which we have never agreed? You think that you would come to think as I do? Is that what you are trying to say?”

  “Heavens, no! I didn’t say that. I said that you would come to think as I do. You know when there is a difference of opinion between husbands and wives the final word is always the prerogative of the husband, for man is the head of the house and has the deciding right.”

  “Yes,” said Laurel. “That would be the way that it would be! That is what I am sure it would be. That would mean that a marriage like that would take away my right to think for myself. And that is why I could never marry you! No, Adrian, it wouldn’t be possible, even if we loved one another. And I know that we do not!”

  “What makes you think that?” asked the man. “Do you know what love is?”

  “Yes, I think I do, Adrian. And I think that in the relationship of a man and a woman it is the only thing worthwhile.”

  “Oh!” he said with a sneer. “Do you think that that could make up for poverty and hard labor and pain and a lack of all the good things that go to make life in this world worthwhile?”

  “Yes,” said Laurel, looking at him steadily, “I do. I know people who have been through all that and have been happy in spite of it because they have loved. It seems to me that without deep love, marriage would be a travesty. And I do not love you!”

  He looked at her steadily, emotions flitting over his handsome face like angry clouds trembling over the pleasant blue of a summer sky. There was disgust, fury, scorn, intolerance, determination, and then lofty amusement.

  Suddenly Faber arose. “Forget it,” he said in his drawling, amused tone. “Let’s go look at the house. I certainly am not coming all the way out here without a chance to show you the whole place.”

  It was a part of his regular tactics, this sudden change of attack. It always took his victim off guard, and for the time won him a count.

  Laurel gave him a frightened, puzzled glance and then rose from the comfortable chair. Instantly he was by her side, assisting her to rise, leading her through the lofty rooms, throwing open doors that revealed lovely vistas, giving a glimpse of fragile glass and priceless china, breathtaking in its beauty. And there still remained in the girl’s consciousness a memory of values that made her know how costly all this display was that he was showing her.

  Faber seemed to know by instinct just what would most appeal to this girl he had brought here to tempt her from standards that seemed so firmly fixed in her soul. He was watching her now each step as they progressed. Through the library with its costly volumes in rank after rank of tooled leather bindings, gold lettered. The exquisite bits of statuary here and there in nooks just made for them, the few magnificent paintings that seemed like glimpses of the real world. Up the stairs so broad and low w
ith luring views from arched windows over mountains lovely in their autumn garb. He could read her enjoyment of it all in her beautiful young face, and it was as he had planned. She reflected beauty as if she were a mirror.

  But there was something missing. Some quality of utter surrender to the things of the senses that he had not counted on. What was it? What had happened to her since he had last seen her? It was as if she had become immune to the things of his world. She could see its beauty, but it no longer had power to move her as it used to. What could it be that had changed her? It did not seem possible that in so short a time, a few days, something should have so influenced her that the things he had counted on could no longer draw, had lost their power. It must mean that something greater than he knew had gained an influence over her.

  And then he set his worldly mind to work to discover what it could be. Some other man, of course, he decided. Who was it? Some hick she used to know in her school days. It must be that, for surely nothing else could lure her back to that dead-and-alive little village in the edge of the mountains. No power less than an old lover could make her willing to pass up a fortune and take up with being a schoolteacher. And now what was he to do?

  She must see everything in the house, of course, while she was here, and he made sure of that, until Laurel was fairly tired out. He devoted himself to her in a charming way until he almost made her believe she had misjudged his harshness and worldliness.

  And yet she could not but remember the gentleness and care of another young man who had walked beside her a few days ago. If she wanted to, she could not admire this man with that other in her mind.