The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 12, 1905, Page 4

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. comprehend his experience of the chilled. looking so ¥ they shook d better "have t two redwoods, “I have been asked you to give me thes: weeks. * * * That it ght me death to either of ze unul that day g He threw back you explain to Surely sine would re- in t¢ Mary Gor- prehend that after n ' her over for I had known at—simple, reason’ and an does. And the man is any man is s not the woman for he would find another live on an isolated ranch California £ several Those wo- . They are If the right wouldn’t know it.” ins that you think y her. There is ne. If there were have no right jto breath. For the vy appreciated the which had capti- ts. But she be considered at about being made it is my own fault, how; that seems cant matter. -Now , forty years? You know bout equal possibilities of in me. If I married you I d become gs wholly good as any y can. I never realized what pos- ies there are in any of us as 1 did * few days before you went he principal reason that I is because I always feel that you to climb to i lift me up to you. 1l become a bad wo- It must be very in- e nothing more in If I lived with ef; you h but alone I want to live in down and t and uns I am too much of a but at all events, I excuse for You ha money—too n. You can you choose. The ing place; you don't of it.” B C e cruel.” “More so than you t doubting that you love me. you suppose I would argue I'm not in @ tender or sym- 100d There is too much to nust talk it out now; we nary par of fools.” She ient and Jooked straight have a more imperative es than to traditions. rew world now, almost in ilization. Smash such out- They are nothing, noth- happiness.” ions as honor and faith for the weaker are in the bone lood of the older civilization, If we tore them out there is not much we've got, that's worth anything, that wouldn't follow.” “I would not.care—not a straw. I should love you whether you were sat- isfied with yourself or not, and I could you forget. ; you could not.” “Oh, you are away above me,” she d bitter] “I don’t mean to say that I beven't known plenty of honor- able men, but they would find a way out of it—for me. You seem to be welded together so compactly that every characteristic is bound up with every other. Nothing is acquired, sep- erate. Probably I'd never reach you efter ell. Perhaps it is as well we don’t marry—"" “I wish you would not talk as if I were an infernal prig. Can't you im- agine whet en ass a man feels when a ‘woman rots to him like that? I am the most ordinary person you will probably ever know. If 1 were not we wounldn't be where we are to-day. Now that I have made such & mess of things I can only eee one way out of it, and I don't feel & hero, I assure you.” “Have you thought of yourself ut all @Quring the last three days?” “Of course I've thought of myself. What & question! And thinking of my- self meant thinking of you™ “But you have thought more of Mary Gordon—I mean you have considered her mo: “Yes; I have.” She got up and went over and sat down on the edge of the bluff. He filled his pipe. She smiled a5 the smoke drifted to her. Bhe thought that she had never seen the creek look so beau- tiful. The stones under the clear wa- ter shone like opague jewels. Great bunches of feathery maidenhair clung to every boulder, The long, delicate strands of the ice grass trailed far over the water. Tiny trees sprouted from rocks in mid-stream, where moss had gathered. Red lilies and ferns grew close to the brink. The ugly brown roots of a pine clung, squirming, down the bluff. On the mountain above the plateau a deer leaped once, crashing through the brush, tossing his white horns in terror at sight of man. A squirrel chattered high up in a redwood, where he was packing acorns for the winter. A #chool of salmon swam serenely down the creek and dfeappeared in the dark perspective. Helena sat there for a haif-hour. Then she went back to Clive, but did not git Gown. He rose also. “I understand you = 1ittle better, I think,” she spid. “You won't like what 1 am going to say, but I shall say it, yhow. You have so much good in I never thought, I should love a man, but I believe that is realiy yo good the reason I love you so much. The raw mud.;eflal in me responds to the highly developed in you. You are ca- pable of so much that is way beyond me. 1 have fine impuises, but they gre Ehh.illlowh l;!::. fluh.‘.:uz in a little while me. you are cpn- sistent. %va ‘when you @o what you knowt@h'fl?-mmm your ideals and faith. I am new nd crude and It is the aj between the Old and the New.” COVIETY AGAOT TH VOOK.. “You have the richest possibilities of any woman 1 have ever Known— “Tell me something. Is it not be- cause Mary Gordon is the more help- less and appeals more to your chival- ry?—although you leve me more; al- though I have more beauty and bral and passion, and could make you far happier?” “That is one reason.” “Then will the manliest and best of men continue to be captured by the best and simplest of women? It will produce a better race, I suppose. If I had been your mother you would not be half what you are. It is enough for the man to have the brain, I suppose, We are a forced growth and abnormal —but what is to beccme of us{ 4 l His reserve left him thengind he caught her in his arms. She tlung to him desperately, and for .-a whig for- got that the victory was still{to, oe won. Then she cried and coax® and pieaded, and lavished endearment, and was far more difficult for the man to combat than when he had stood his ground with a brain alone. “Come,” he said fimally; “can’t you understand? You might help me'a lit- tle. Can’t Yyou see that I want to let everything go and stay with you? Don’t you think I know what I shouid find with you? You do know that? Well, then, you should also know that 1 have made up my mind to do the only decent thing a man couid do.” “Well, give me a month longer. Let me have that much, at least.” “1 shall go to-morrow. If I go now all these people will quickly forget me, and regard what has passed as one of your flirtations. But if I stayed on I ghould make you ridicuious, and per- haps compromise you—you are 8o reckless. And for other reasons the sooner I get away from here the bet- ter.” “What are the other reasons?” “We've discussed the subject enough. Come, let us go.” “I never knew that a man could be s0 obstinate with a beautiful woman he loved.” “You have a woman’s general knowl- edge of men, but you know nothing of any type of man you haven't encoun- tered. I believe you could make any man love you; but certain men are greater cowards before certain inherit- ed principles than they are before the prospect of parting from the woman they most love—" “I sald that you were the victim of traditions.” “Perhaps I am, but I am also unable to eat raw fish or human flesh. What are any of us but the logical results of traditions? Just look at this fog. Let me put your shawl round you.” Helena turped. A fine white mist was pouring out of the forest on the other side Of the creek. It had passed them, and was puffing slowly onward. It lay softly on the creek, covering the bright water. It swirled about the trees and moved lightly through the dark arbors above. It fled up the mountain beyond, and the forest show- ed through the silver veil like gray columns with capitals and bases of frozen spray. “¥es, we must go,” sald Helena, “or we shall be lost.” CHAPTER XV, Helena did not meet her guests at Qinner that night, nor did she trouble to send word that she was fll. She rang for the Chinese butler, gave him an or- der, then locked her doors and sat mo- tionless in her boudoir for hours. xgha pictured, until her brain ached and her ears rang, what her fife with Clive could have been, and what his would be with Mary Gordon. But despair was not In her as yet, for he was still under the same roof, and she had not played her last card. It was a card that she had half-con- sciously considered from the begin- ning, and during the last few days had locked full upon. To-night for the first time she realized that it was a hateful card, unworthy of her, but réminded herself that she was a woman who would, if necessary, walk straight to her purpose over cracking and spout- ing earth. At twelve o’clock she sat before her dressing table regarding herself atten- tively in a mirror. She wore a negligee of white crepe and lace, which half re- vealed her neck and bust. Her un- bound hair clung te her body like melt- ed copper, which had just to stiffen into rings and waves and spi- m She had never looked more beau- There was a knock at her door. “What is it?” she asked. “Allee gentlemans go to bled,” an- nounced Ah Bing cautiously. ‘“Very wel She rose hurriedly, almost - ing ber cair. Her shook. She caught sight of & face in the “This_won't do!” she thought an- rily. She rang. Ah, Sing returned, e o | me & glass of champagne,’ “Allight.” She closed the door upon him, then opened it quickly. “Ah Bing!” she called. The Chinaman returned. “Light a lamp in the drawing-room and esk Mr. Clive to go there.” “Allight.” She stood leaning against the door, her hand pressed hard against her chin, her eyes staring angrily at her reflection in a long Psyche mirror. Ah Sing tapped and handed in the champagne. She pushed it aside with gesture of disgust. “Take it away. Did you do as I told you?" “Yes, missee, Mr. Clive 1n dlawing- loom now.” He went out and still Helena stared at herself in the mirror with angry ter- rified eyes. After all,“she was but a girl, with a woman's theories. What \ she was determined upon had seemed very easy and picturesque at long range. She had even rehearsed it men- tally during the past two days; but now that she was to enact the role it appalled her. She recalled several scenes of the sort as presented by the makers of fiction (the canny and im- aginative Frenchman for the most part), but failed to find spiritual sta- mina in the retrospect. ‘“What a fool! What a fooll” she thought. “I, who have prided myself that I/have a will of iron. If his first duty is to me he will stay, and two people will be happy instead of miser- able. As for Mary Gordom, she will marry the curate inside of five years.” She retreated suddenly to her ward- robe and wrapped a broad scarf about her shoulders and bust, then brought her foot down and went resolutely cut into the corridor. The fog was banked in the court. The palms looked like: the dissolving eidola of themselves. The invisible fountain splashed heavily, as if op- pressed. “I needed the shawl after all,” she thought grimly. fatal” ummmm‘h She walked rapidly down the corridor to the drawing-room, and without giv- ing herself an Instant for vacillation turned the knob and went in. Then she cowered against the door and would have exchanged every hope she Dossessed for the privilege of retreat. But Clive had seen her. A He was standing by the mantel. He looked his best, as he aywvays did in evening dress. Even as Helena won- dered if the earth were shaking be- neath Casa Norte, she was conscious of his remarkable physical beauty. He had his pipe in his hand. It dropped suddenly to the mantel shelf. But he did not go forward to it her. “There Is something I want to say,” she gasped, searching wildly for inspi- ration. “It has occurred to me that perhaps the reason you hesitated was my money. I will give it all away—to charity or my aunt. I will only keep a little, so as not to be a burden to you. You may think this a silly Qui- Xotic idea—made on the impulse of the moment—but indeed I would.” “I am sure that you would. I had not thought of the money. I did not get that far’ Helena pressed her hands against the docr behind her. She felt an im- pulse to laugh hysterically.. For the life of her she could not remember a detail that she had rehearsed. She felt as if on the edge of a farce-comedy. But she would nat give up the game. “I am so tired,” she sald, plaintively. “I have eaten nothing since I saw you, ind I have thought and thought and thought until T am all worn out.” He placed a chair at once, “I wonder what is going on in your head at the present moment.” “Don’t you know?” “No. Why are you such a reckless child? You could have seen me in the morning."” “I came here to make it lmponibl,c for you to marry Mary Gordon. I can't do it, and I feel like a fool.” He turned away his head. “T told you that the role of Delilah aid not suit you. And If it did, couldn’t you see that I had made up my mind? What sort of a weakling— “You didn’t let me finish,” she inter- rupted him, blushing furiously. - “T meant—of course I meant—that I want you to leave with me for Europe to- morrow—we can marry in San Fran- cisco--I must look like a Delilah! Why do the novelists and dramatists ar- range these matters so much better than we do?—Oh, what an idiot I am, anyhow!"™ = “Go back to your room—please do. “You won't marry me to-morrow, then?—good heavens! that I should propose to a man!" He made no reply. 2 “I don't believe you love me a bit. “Of course you don’t. A woman never gives a man credit for any de- cency of motlve: her theory is that he follows along the line or least resist- ance. Well, I suppose he doe;"‘ L She dropped her face into her han "x. Wl})npt shall I @0? What shall I do?” she said passionately. . Clive broyght his hand close above his own eyes. “Will it not help you to know that I love you unalterably?” " “You poor little thing,” he sald. “Let me go to the larder and see if I can't find you so; e “No; I don’t want anytning.” She sat down, holding the shawl closely about her. Clive returned to mantel. - 4 “Can a man remeniber a woman like that?” man in every man’ life that he never forgets; and. : ‘woman, worse luck, is rarely his oy “It would . And I could be tru you. doesn't satisfy me,".!'g. B“‘.i: hands stared at him. “I want you —you. How am I to drag out my life? I can't believe that after to-night I shall never see you agam. I can't! I can't!” She stood up and leaned against the opposite end of the mantel. “Do you know one thing that keeps on hurting me through everything?” she asked after a few momen “It 1s that you suffer more than I do. than 1 am capable of suffering, and that I cannot sympathize with you as 1 want to do. Is that the reason that you don't love me well enough to give up everything else for me—that I am not strong enough to hold you? “Of course it is not the reason. If you really love me—and I believe you do—you will suffer enough before you get through.” For a while neither spoke again, nor moved. The ocean sounded as if it were under the window. “There is another thing,” she said, finally. “I may as well say it. I know that if I had succeeded to-night I should have been horribly disappointed in you. It wouldn’t be you any longer. For what I love in you is your strength —a strength I don't possess. I'm glad I came to-night, although I've made myself ridiculcus: I know both you and myself better. I can be true to you now; I don’t think I could have been before, and I might have done reckless things. And perhaps after you have gone and the noveity and excitement have worn off, 1 shall understand you still better. That is what I shall live for. Promise me that you will believe that and that spirit- uvally I shall never be far from you, and that I am growing better Instead of worse.” “l don't need to promise”™ His left hand was still above his eyes. Helena saw his right clench. She went toward the door. He went forward to open it for her As he reached out his hand for the kneb she struck it down and fung her arms about him. “I can't go like thi she said pas- sionately. “You must kiss me once more.” He caught her to him. She saw his eyes blaze as he bent his head. and thought, as far as she was capable of thinking, that her generalities had been correct. Even in the rapture of the moment a pang shot through her. Then she found herself on the. other side of the door and heard the key turn in the lock. She remembered only that she was hungry and tired. She went to the farder and sat on a box and ate 4 plate of cold chicken and bread, ther went to bed and slept soundly. CHAPTER XVL Next morning the guests of Casa Norte were assembled in the court discussing Clive’s departure and wait- ing for the traps which would take them for their accustomed drive, when Helena, dressed in her habit, came out of her room and walked up to them. “Mr. Clive has gone, I suppose?” she asked. “He left a short time ago,” said Miss Lord. “I am so sorry he will not return. Helena, how can you be so cryel? “You are a hypocrite and talking rubbish. I tried to get him away from Mary Gordon and I lost the game and 1 don’t care in the least whether you know it or pot. I shall not drive with you this morning. I am going for a ride by myself”; and she left the house. “Home, heaven and mother!™ said Rollins with a gasp. “I didn't think even she would be as game as that. Well, I am -sorry—sorry. Damn the whole business of life, anyhow.”. Helena rode rapidly through the for- est, taking a short cut by trail to the fern grove above the canyon. She came upon it after an hour's hard ridy ing. She noted that it was almost Yy circular in form, irregularly outlined by the redwoods. The stiff and feather tops were rustling in a soft breeze and glinted with the younger shades of green. She thought that she had pever seen the sky so biue, the sun so gelden. ‘The trees were singing high above. Occasionally, one branch creaked upon another d@iscordantly, She tethered her horse and went in among . the ferns. When they closed ‘above her head and the green twilight was about her, she feit gratefully that she wag beyond the eye of man, hidden even from the redwoods, which, she had a faney, were human and wise. She sat down on, the stone and cried. Tears did not come easily to her; she was not a lightly emotional woman. To-day she abandoned herself to a passion of grief which thrilled her nerves and cramped her fingers., It was a passion which accumulated depth and strength instead of dissipat- ing itself, and it was an hour before she was exhausted. The storm brought no relief, as April showers do to most women. She felt heavy and blunt, and knew that the third stage would be the first. She was conscious of one other thing only: that she understood Clive better than she had ever done be- fore, and that her sympathy was as strong for him as for herself. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and faced the point of the fern-wood where she had made entrance. The tears dried under the rush of blood. “Owin!" she cried. “Owin!™ She strained her head forward, then drew back siowly. There was not a sound in the forest. Her lips fell apart. “Owin!” she gasped. She shook from head to foot. He had a quick, strong step. She heard it now with a sub- consciousness of which she had never been cognizant before. But it made no sound in her ears. Then she sank back against the ferns, bending them with her weight, closing her eyes. The spiritual part within her seemed to become clearly defined. Something touched and passed ft. There was a moment of promise, rather than of ecstasy, then of peace. She opened her eyes. “Owin,” she whispered. But she was alone. She went out of the ferns and mounted her horse and rode rapidly homeward. As she turned the corner of Casa Norte she heard the telephone bell ring violently. A groom met her and lifted her from the horse. She walked down the garden toward the door. Her aunt entered the office. Helena paused outside of the window to listen to the ridiculous one-sided conversation of the telephone. “Hello! “Speak louder, please, “A what? “Oh—how dreadful! “What? The trestle? Are you sure? How awful. How high is it2 “Three hundred feet! Great heave ens! Were any lives lost? “Everybedy? Oh, impossible—but of course—three hundred feet. “Only a few passengers—well,that is something. “The cars are on fire, you say. Oh, merciful heaven! “Oh, I am glad. That Is one blessing at least. Of course they were killed in- stantly on those rocks. “Who? What? My God! No! No! ‘Why, he was here only this merning. It's cl‘z;’pouibh! Impossible! Mrs. Cartwright staggered to. her feet, her face appearing before the open window. Her jaw was fallem, her skin the color of dough. She saw Helena. “Oh!" she gasped. “"What—what do you think has happened”’ “What " “The train went over the trestle by Jo Bagley's—three hundred feet— burned up. And Mr. Clive—isat it awful that 1 should Bave speken to him not three hours ago?—was on it. Jo Bagley says he spoke to him, when the train stopped. Oh, Helena Bel- mont, how can you look so ! Helena turned and went back into the THE END. @