The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 16, 1903, Page 4

CHAPTER XXXVIIL EOME PHENOMEXA PECULIAR TO SPRING. E awoke early, refreshed and in- tensely slive. With the work done he became consclous of a feeling of disassoclation from the sur- roundings in which he hi £o long been at home. Many words of the taikative German were running in his mind from the night before. He was g£lad the business was off his mind. He would now go the pieasant journey, and n the way 1ks were ready for the car; and re he went down irs his hand-bag s packed and the preparations for the art completed tried to recall some forgotien detall business that might serve to oc- But the finishing rad been T he new-born world a, and the sight whirling dazed at once, a | hered out of the nebul its measured, orderly m He b L seized with a wish— so stunning in fits all but celed un- seemed to Kim that g have been germinated mind without his knowledge: it ) there, gathering force while he to burst forth and dazzle him All that 1 tensity as un- ss. This was d swimming “taking its system of had watch in his min Jurse ry Shep- King m to reinforce ) use for you—" ened to &0 long ey; and, at the Peter: “I untfl copper went to 51 ree wise old men who g of wom And they tainty. What him ished, The flouted ney was goi of Uncle Peter's - complaints and biting sarcasms came V4 back to him with renewed bitterness: but Uncle Peter w big man at wor! ith no him. But Shepler, who n, and Higbee, who had certain—especially Shepler sense of superiority with a y poor man. That was a There was a thing to And he wanted Avice Mil- not, he decided, go back d be in the old lawless spirit of had spurred on his reck- ed him to carry the girl She didn’t love him. He would rer in spite of that; over- power her; force her to go. It was a re- venge of superb eudact Shepler had not *been e of her untll now. Well, Ehepler might be hurled from that cer- tat by one hour of determined action. The great wild wish narrowed itself into a definite pian. He recalled the story U Peter had told at the Oldakers’ about the woman and her hair. A woman could be coerced if a man knew her weak- ness. He could coerce her. He knew it nstinctively the instinctive belief to its support a looks from her, littie intona voice, lttle turnings of her head when they had been together. In spite of her fons, in spite of her love of m i make her feel her weaknes with the power. ready wine for the morning. He described himself briefly as a lunatic and walked on agaln. thousand little fons of her . He But the crazy notion not be gone. The day before he had been passive. Now he was active, scutely aware of himself and all his wants. He walked a mile trying to 4 miss the idea. He eat down again, and it flooded back upon him with new force. Her people were gone. Bhe had even in mated & wish to talk with him again. It could be done guickly. He knew. He felt the primitive superiority of man's mere brute force over woman. He gloried in his knotted muscles and the crushing power of his desires. Afterward, she would reproach him bit- terly. They would both be unhappy. It was no metter. It was the present, the time when he should be living. He would have her, and Shepler—Shepler might have had the One Girl mine—but this gir}, " Again he tried faithfully to obsession. Azain were his es reason unavailing. His mind was set as it had been when he bought the stocks day after day against the advice of the best judges in the street. He could not turn himself back. There must be success. There could not be a giving up—and there must not be a faflure. Hour after hour he alternately walked end rested, combating and favoring the mad project. It was a foolish little world and people were always walting for an- other time to begin the living of life. The German had quoted Martial: “To-mor- row I will live, the fool says; to-day f{t- self's too late. The wise lived yesterday.” If he 414 not go away alone he knew he would always regret it. If he carried her triumphantly off, doubtless his re- gret for that would eventually be as great. The first regret was certain. The latter was equally plausible; but, if it came, would it not be preferable to the other? To have held her once—to have taken her away, to have triumphed over her own calculations, and, best of all, to have triumphed over the money-king rest- ing fatuously confident behind his wealth, dignifying no man as rival who was not rich. The present, so, was more than any possible future, how dire soever it might be. He was mad to prove to her—and to Shepler—that she was more a woman than either had supposed—a woman in epite of herself, weak, unreasoning: to prove to them both that a determined man has a vital power to coerce which no money may ever equal. Not untfl 5 o'clock had he by turns urged and fought himself to the ferry. By that time he had given up arguing. He was dwelling entirely upon his pian of action. Strive and grope as he would, the thing had driven him on relentiessly. His reason could not take him beyond the reach of its goad. Far as he went he loved her even farther. She belonged to him. He would have her. He seemed to have been storing, the day before a vast quantity of energy that he was now draw- ing lavisbly upon. For the time, he was 1k off the vs at sober THE SUNDAY CALL. pure, raw force, needing, to be only the guidance of a definite Percival walked out to Broadway, re- volving his plan. He saw it was but 6 He could do nothing for at least When he noted this he became his hunger. He had eaten nothing since morning. He turned into a rant on Madison Square and ordered dinner, When he had eaten, he sat with his coffee for a final smoke of delibera- He went over once more the day's arguments for and agalnst the novel em- prise. He had become insensible, how- ever, to all the dissenting ones. As a last rally, he tried to picture the difficulties he might encounter. He faced all he could imagine, “By God, I'll do it!” “Oui, monsieur!” sald the waiter, who had been standing dreamily near, startled into attention by the spoken words. “That's all—give me the check.” He was pent force waiting to be trans- lated into action. He drove first to the Milbrey house, on the chance that she might be at home. Jarvis answered his ring. Milbrev is with Mrs. Van Geist Jarvis spoke regretfully. He had reasons of his own for believing that the severance of the Milbrey relationship with Mr. Bines had been nothing short of ca- lamitous. He rang Mrs. Van Geist's bell, five min- utes later. The ladies haven't come bhack. sir, I don’t know where they might be. Per- haps at the Valners’, in Fifty-second reet, sir.” He rang the Valners’ bell. Mrs. Van Giest and Miss Milbrey? T left here at least half an hour ago, sir.” “Go down the avenue slowly, driver!” At Fortieth street he looked down to the middle of the block. Mrs, Van Gelst, alone, was just alight- ing from her coupe. He signaled the driver. “Go to the other address again, in Thir- ty-seventh street.” Jarvis opened the door. “Yes, sir—thank you, sir—Miss Milbrey is in, sir. I'll see, sir.” He crossed the Rubicon of a door mat and stood in.the unlighted hall. At the far end he saw light coming from a door that he knew opened into the library. Jarvis came Into the light. Behind him eared Miss Milbrey In the doorway. Miss Milbrey says will you enter the Mr, Bines? CHAPTER XL. He walked quickly back. At the ddor- way she gave him her hand, which he took In silence “Why—Mr. Bines!—you wouldn’t have surprised me last night. To-night I plc- tured you on your way West.” Her gown was of dull blue dimity. She still wore her hat, an arch of straw over her face, with ripe red cherries nodding upon it as she moved. He closed the door behind him. “Do come in. I've been having a soli- tary rummage among old things. It is my last night here. We're leaving for the country to-morrow, you know.'” She stood by the table, the light from a shaded lamp making her color glow. Now she noted that he had not spoken. She turned quickly to him as if to ques- tion. He took a swift little step toward her, still without epeaking. She stepped back with a sudden instinct of fright. He took two quick steps forward and grasped one of her wrists. He spoke in cool, even tones, but the words came fast: “I've come to marry you to-night; to take you away with me to that Western country. You may not like the life. You may grieve to death for all I know— but you're going. I wen't plead, I won't beg, but I am going to take you She had begun to pull away in alarm when he seized her wrist. His grasp did not brulse; it did not seem to be tight; but the hand that held it was immovable, “Mr. Bines, you forget yourself. Real- ly, this is—"" “Don't waste time. You can say all that needs to be said—I'll give you time for that before we start—but don't waste the time saying all those useless things. Don't waste time telling me I'm crazy. Perhaps I am. We can settle that later,” purpose o'clock an hour. conscious of Battle of Shiloh—1862,—From “General Grant From West Point to Appomattox.” Copyrighted, 1885, by L. Prang & Co., Boston. " By Harry Leon Wilson. | Concluded in This Ipstaliment. \ | “Mr. Bines—how absurd! Oh! let,me go! You're hurting my wrist! Oh!—don't —don’t—don’t! Oh!" When he felt the slender wrist trying to writhe from his grasp he had closcd ng his v upon it more tightly, and thrus other arm quickly behind her, had her closely to him. Her cries and plead- ings were being smotherd down on his breast. Her struggies met only the un- bending, pitiless resistance of steel “Don't waste time, 1 tell you—cs understand? Be sensible—talk must—only talk sense “Let me go at once—I demand it—quick —oh!” “Take this hat o He forced the wrist he had been holding down between them, so that she could not free the hand, and, with his own hand thus freed, he drew out the two long hat- pins and flung the hat with its storm- tossed cherries across the room holding her tightly, he put the on her brow and thrust her he: 50 t she was forced to look up at him “Let me see you—I want to see your eyes—they're my ey v. Her head strained against his hand to be down agalin, and @1l her strength was exerted to be away. She found she could not move in any direction “Oh, you're hurting my neck. What shall I do? I can't scream—think what it would mean!—you're hurting my neck!" “You are hurting your own neck—stop t you you it He kissed her face, softly, her cheeks, her eyes, her chin. “I've loved you so—don't—what's the use? Be sensible. My arms have starved for you so—do you think they're going to loosen now? Avice Milbrey—Avice Mil- brey—Avice Milbrey!"” His arms tightened about her said the name over and over. ““That’s poetry—it's all the poetry there as he is in the world. It's a verse I say over in the night. You cen't understand it yet—it's too deep for you. It means I must have you—and the next verse means that you must have me—a poor man—be a poor man’'s wife—and all the other verses—millions of them—mean that I'll never give you up—and there's a lot more verses for you to write, when you understand — meaning that you'll never give me up—and there's one in the beginning means I'm going to carry you out and marry you to-night—now, do you understand ?—right off—this very night!” “Oh! Oh! this is so terrible. Oh, it's so awfull” Her voice broke, and he felt her body quiver with sobs. Her face was pitifully convulsed, and tears welled in her eyes. ‘‘Let me go—let—me—go He released her head, but still held her closely to him. Her sobs had become un- controllal “Here—" he reached for the little lace- edged handkerchief that lay beside her long gloves and her purse on the table. She took it mechanically. “Please—oh, please Jet me go—I beg you.” She managed it with difficulty be- tween the convulsions that were rending her. He put his lips down upon the soft hair. “I won't—do you understand that? talking nonsen He thought there would be no end to the sobs. Stop plenty of ave dear—there's time." Once it out, she seemed to have stopped the tears. He turned her face up to his own again and softly kissed her wet, eves. Her full lips were parted before him, but he did not kiss them. The sobs came ain. There—there!—it will soon he over.” At last she ceased to cry from sheer exhaustion, and when, with his hand un- der her chin, he forced up her head again, she looked at him a full minute and then closed her eyes. He kissed their lids. There came from time to time the in- voluntary quick little indrawings of breath—the aftermath of her weeping. He held her so for a time, while neither spoke. She had become too weak to struggle. “My arms have starved for you so,’ murmured. She gave no sign. “Came over here.”” He led her, unresist- ing, around to the couch at the other side of the table. “Sit here, and we'll talk it over sensibly, before you get ready."” When he released her, she started quickly up toward the door that led into the hall. “Don’t do that—please don’t be foolish.” He locked the door and put the key his pocket. Then he went over to the big folding doors and satisfied himself they were locked from the other side. He went back and stood in front of her. She had watched him with dumb terror in her face. “Now we can talk—but there isn't much to be said. How soon can you be ready?” “You are crazy “Possibly—believe what you like.” “How did you ever dare? Oh, how awful!” “If you haven't passed that stage, I'll hold you again.” “No, no—please don't—please stand up again. Bit over there—l can think bet- ter.” “Think quickly. This is Saturday, and to-morrow is their busy da; They may not sit up late to-night.” She arose with a little shrug of despera- tion that proclaimed her to be in the power of a madman. She looked at her face in the oval mirror, wiping her eyes and making little pass nd pats at her disordered halr. He went over to he “No, no—please go over there again. he 8it down a moment—Ilet me think. I'll talk to, you presently.” There was silence for five minutes, He watched her, while she narrowed her eyes In deep thought. Then he looked at his wateh. “I can give you an hour, if you've any- thing to say before it's done—not longer.” She drew a long breath. “Mr. Bines, are you mad? Can't you be rational?* . THINK IT OVER. : Of course you're sure you could spend a cool million a year, but— could you really? Just read the most talked of book of the day, ; | | “I haven't been irrational, I give you my word, not once since I came here.” He looked at her steadily. All at once he saw her face grow crimson. She turned her eves from his with an effort. “I'm going back to Montana in the morning. | want you to marry me to- night—! won’'t even wait one more day— one more hour. I know it's a thing you never dreamt of—marrying a poor man. You'll look at it as the most disgraceful of folly you conld possibly commit, i so will every one else here—but you'll do it -morrow at this time you'll be half way to Chicago with me.” “Mr. Bines—I'm perfectly reasonable and serious—I mean it—are you quite sure vou didn't lose your wits when you bir money?” may be a witless thing td marry a who would marry for money—but mind that—I'm used to taking lost She glanced at him, curiou “You know I'm to marry Mr. Shepler the tenth of next month.” “Yqur grammar is faulty—tense fis wrong—You should say ‘was to have mar- ried Mr. Shepler. I'm fastidious about e little things, I confess.” How can you jest?” I can’t. Don’t think this is any joke. find out.” ho will find out—what, pr: “He will. He's already said he was afraid there might have been some non- S between you and me, because we ed that evening at the Oldakers’. He told my grandfather he wasn't at all sure of you until that day I lost my money.” “Oh, T see—and of course you'd like your revenge—carrying me off from him just to hurt him.” “If you say that I'll hold you in my arms again.”” He started toward her. “I've loved you so, I tell you—ail the time —all the time."” Cr perhaps it's @ brutal revenge on me, -»fter thinking I'd only marry for morey."” “I've loved you always, I tell you.” He He cam. up to her, more gently now, and took up her hand to ¥iss it. He saw the ring. Take his ring off!” She looked up at him with ah amused little smile, but did not move, He reached for the hand, and she put it behind her. “Take it off,” he sald, harshly. He forced her hand out, took off the ring with its gleaming stone, none too gently, and laid it on the table behind him. Then he covered the hand with kisses. “Now it's my hand. Perhaps there was a little of both those feelings you accuse me of-perhaps I did want to triumph over both you and Shepler—and the other people who sald you'd never marry for anything but money—but do you think I'd have had either one of those desires if I hadn't loved you? Do you think I'd have cared how many Sheplers you married if I hadn't loved you so, night-and day— s turning to you in spite of every- under every- thing—always, I tell you. “Under what—what ‘everything’ 7" “When I was sure you had no heart— that you couldn’t care for any man ex- cept & rich man—that you would marry only for money. ) “You thought that?”’ “Of course I thought it.” 1 “What has changed you?”’ “Nothing. I'm going to change it now by proving differently. I shall take you against your will—-but I shall make you love me—in the end. I know you—you're a woman, in spite of yourself!" “You were entirely right about me. I ‘would even have married you because of the money—" “Tell me what it Is you're holding back —dan't wait." “Let me think—don't talk, please!” Bhe sat a long time silent, motionless, her eyes fixed ahead. At length she stirred herself to speak. “You were right about me, partly—and partly wrong. I don’t think I can make you understand. I've always wanted so much from life—so much more than it seemed possible to have. The only thing for a girl In my position and circum- stances was to make what is called a good marriage. T wanted what that would bring, too. I was torn between the desires —or rather the natural instincts and the trained desires. I had Ideals about loving and being loved, and I had the material ideals of my experience in this world out here. “I was untrue to each by turns. Here ~1 want to show you something.” She took up a book with closely written pages. “I came here to-night—I won’'t conceal from you that I thought of you when I came. It was my last time here, and you had gone, I supposed. Among other things 1 had out this old diary to burn, and I found this, written on my eighteenth birthday, when 1 came out—the fond, mantic, secret ideal of a foolish girl— listen: *“The Soul of Love wed the Soul of Truth and their daughter, Joy, was born: who was immortal and in whom they lived forever!' fou see—that was the sort of moon- shine 1 started in to Hve. Two or three times I was a grievous disappointment to my people, and once or twice, perhaps, 1 was disappointed myself. 1 was never quite sure what I wanted. But if you think I was consistently mercenary, you are mistaken. “I shall tell you something more— something no one knows. There was man I met while that ideal w strong and beautiful to me—but tome to see that here. in this I not easily to be kept. He was 1, experienced with women—a women, I came to understand in time. I was a novelty to him, a fr he enjoyed all those romant! loved me, mine. I thought then he worshiped him. He w married, constantly said he was about to leave his wife so she would divorce him. I prom- ised to come to him when it was done. He marriel for money and he wou have been poor again. I didn’t mind in the least. 1 tell you this to show you that 1 could have loved a poor man, not only well enough to marry him, but to break with the traditions and brave the sca dal of going to him in that common way. ‘With all I felt for him I should have been more than satisfled. But I came in time to see that he was not as earnest as I had been. He wasn't capable of feeling what I felt. He was more coward I—or rather, I was more reckless tI - I suspected it a long time; I became con- vinced of it a year ago and a little over He became hateful to me. I had wa my love. Then he became funny. But you see—I amgnot altogether what you believed me. ait a bit longer, please. “Then I gave up, almost—and later, T gave up entirely. And when my brother was about to marry that woman, and Mr. Shepler asked me to marry him. I consented. It seemed an easy way to end it all. I'd quit fondling ideals. And you had told me I must do anything I o to keep Fred from marrying that wom: My people came to say the same thing— and so—" “If he had married her—if they were married now—then you would feel free to marry me?" “You would still be the absurdest man in New York—but we can’'t discuss that. He isn't going to marry her.” “But he has married her—" “What do you mean?" “I supposed you knew—Oldaker told me as I left the hotel. He and your father were witnesses. The marriage took place this afternoon at the Arlingham.” “You're not deceiving me?” “Come, come!—girl!"” “Oh, pardon me, please! Of course, I didn’t mean it—but you stunned me. And papa said nothing to me about it before he left. The money must have been too great a temptation to him and to Fred. She has just made some enormous amount in copper stock or something.” “1 krow, she had better advice than I had. I'd like to reward the man who gave it to her.” “And I was sure you were going to mar- ry that other woman.” “How could you think so?" “Of course, I'm not the least bit jealous —it isn't my disposition—but I did think Fiorence Akemit wasn't the woman to make you happy. Of course, I liked her immensely—and there were reports going about—everybody seemed go sure—and you were with her so much. Oh, how I did hate her!” “I tell you she is a joke and always 's funny—that's exactly what I told Aunt Cornella about that—that man."” “Let's stop joking, then “How absurd you are—with my plans all made and the day set—"" There was a knock at the door. He went over and unlocked it. Jarvis was there. “Mr. Shepler, Miss Avice.” They looked at each other. “Jarvis, shut that door and walt out. side.” Yes, Mr. Bines.” “You can't see him.” “But I must—we're engaged, don't you understand 7—of course, I must! “I tell you I won't let you. Can't you understard that I'm not talking idly She tried to evade him and reach the door, but she was caught again in his arms—held close to him. “If you like he shall come in now. But be's not going to take you away from mt he did in that jeweler’s the other nig! nd you can't s him at all ex- cept 8s you are now.” - She struggled to be free. “‘Oh, you're so brutall”™ “1 baven't begun yet—"" . He drew her toward the door. “Oh, not that—don't open it—I'll tell him—yes, T will “I'm taking no more chances, and the time is short.” Still holding her closely with one arm he opened the door. The man stared Im- passively above their heads—a graven image of unconsciousness. “Jarvis. “Yes, sir.” ‘“Miss Milbrey wishes you to say to Mr. Shepler that she is engaged—"" “That I'm {I,” she interrupted, still making little struggles to twist from his grasp, her head st!ll bent down. “That she is engaged with Mr. Bines, Jarvis, and can't see him. Say it that way—‘Miss Milbrey is engaged with Mr. Bines and can’t see you."" ‘“Yes, sir!"” He rematned standing motionless, az he had been, his eyes still fixed above him. But the eyes of Jarvis, from long train- ing. did not require to be bent upon those things they needed to observe. They saw something now that was at least two feet below their range. The girl made a little move with her right arm, which was imprisoned fast between them, and which some Intuition led her captor not to restrain. The firm little hand worked its way slowly up, went creepingly over his shoulder and bent tightly about his neck. “Yes, sir,” repeated Jarvis, without the quiver of an eyelid, and went. He closed the door with his free hand, » o