Chapter 29

As Vaughan hung up the receiver and turned, Gallatin flung open the door on which he had just rapped a loud challenge. He scowled at Vaughan; Vaughan eyed him with the expression that simply looks and waits. It was evident Basil expected immediate combat, was ready for it�therefore altogether unready for the form of encounter less easy. Dick's tranquillity completely disconcerted him. He advanced a step, with an aggressive, "Well, here I am."

"So I see," replied Dick.

"You've been thinking it was cowardice that made me go away. But it wasn't. And I've come to face it out with you. You had your chance for her. You lost her. I purpose to keep her."

"Very well," said Dick. "She's free. Her affairs are none of my business." And he sat down at the long table under the windows, glanced at the electric furnace as if about to resume work.

"But she isn't free!" cried Gallatin. "You've not freed her, though she has the right to it. You're holding on to her through the boy."

Dick bent over the white crystals in the platinum tray on the shelf of the furnace.

Gallatin, exasperated, waved his fists. "I demand that you free her! If she were free, she'd come with me, for she loves me."

Dick took a metal rod from the case and began pushing the crystals this way and that carefully.

"She loves me, I tell you!"

Without pausing or looking round Dick said: "If you say that again�I'll begin to believe it isn't so. There's no accounting for tastes�especially for tastes feminine. But�" He did not finish; over his face drifted a slight smile more eloquent against Basil's deficiencies than the fiercest stream of epithet.

"I've won her," taunted Gallatin, in wild fury, yet as if restrained by an invisible leash. "I've got her heart. You might as well release the rest." As Dick seemed now quite absorbed and unconscious of his presence, he advanced still nearer. "By God, you shall!" he cried. "She belongs to me, and I'm here to maintain my rights at any cost."

Vaughan laid down the long rod with a gesture of deliberate precision and care, turned slowly toward him. His long handsome face was of a curious transparent pallor. His rather deep-set gray-blue eyes looked coldly and cruelly at his one-time guest and partner. "You evidently don't understand," said he. "There are times when one must either ignore�or kill."

Basil sneered, "Well?" said he, with intent to draw on.

"I have been choosing to ignore. At first it would have given me the greatest pleasure to kill you. Now�you are to me much like the cur that barks and snaps at passers by." He rose. "You've come here to try to make a vulgar scandal. You'll not succeed. You have nothing to lose. I can't give you your deserts without hurting my son. So�" Dick paused, seemed to be reflecting.

"You hide behind him�do you?" sneered Basil. In his frenzy he felt that one or the other must die then and there or he himself would be forever dishonored.

Dick apparently had not heard. In an abstracted way he said, to himself, not to Gallatin, "Yes, I think that will do." Again there was a pause, he thinking, Gallatin held silent and expectant by his expression. Suddenly Dick said sharply, "Yes�that will do." He moved the ladder to the south wall, mounted; he took from the high top shelf a jar of heavy glass, about one third full of dark red powder; he descended with it. "Close that door and lock it," he ordered.

Basil, from habit of association with him as assistant, moved to obey. Hand on knob and about to swing the door, he hesitated, turned. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.

"When you lock that door," replied Dick, "I shall empty what's in this jar into the bowl of water there, and in a few seconds we shall both be dead."

Basil shrank; a shudder ran visibly over his frame.

"I could kill you without killing myself," continued Dick, "and cover the scandal with the pretense of accident. It would serve you right, but�somehow it strikes me as cowardly. So�lock the door."

Basil was no coward; but he had grown yellow with fear. His hand now dropped nervously from the knob.

"Lock the door," said Dick sharply. "There's no time to lose. I think she's on the way here."

"She'll understand�and kill herself."

"Why not? Helen will take care of Winchie."

Basil's gaze wandered round, in search of another excuse. He braced himself, cried defiantly, "I refuse!"

"Very well." Dick set the jar on the table. "Then go."

"You think I'm a coward. But it's not that."

Dick shrugged his shoulders. "I know you're a coward. Everyone is. I'm as well pleased that you don't accept. I've no wish to die, particularly for such an absurd, stagy notion of honor. But I will not have a scandal��"

Just there Courtney dashed in, her expression so disheveled that it gave her the air of being disheveled in dress. Her glance darted from Richard leaning calmly against the table and, in blouse and cap, looking like a handsome workingman, to Basil in his fashionable English tweeds, standing shamefaced and irresolute near the door�so near that she had brushed him as she entered. On Basil her gaze rested like a withering blight. Her eyes flashed green fire; her every feature hurled at him the scorn that despises. "You shabby coward!" she said, her voice low and threatening to break under the weight of its burden of fury. "You who come here and try to ruin my child and me for your vanity!"

"Courtney!" he pleaded, not daring to lift his eyes. "I love you. I cannot give you up."

"Love! You don't know what it means! You weak vain thing! You found you couldn't have me on equal terms. So you thought you'd degrade me�compel me." She turned on Richard. "And you, too!" she blazed. "If you were a man you'd kill him�you'd kill us both�with some of your chemicals there�and protect Winchie by saying it was an accident."

"Absurd," said Vaughan with an indifferent shrug. His arms were folded upon his broad chest.

Trembling and blazing, she went up to him. "Look at me!" she cried, her hands on her surging bosom, her eyes glittering insanely up at him. Every instinct of prudence, the instinct of self-preservation itself had succumbed under the surge of elemental passion, of frenzied shame that she should have lowered herself to such a man as this Basil Gallatin. "This body of mine," she said in a voice of terrible calm, "it's been his�that thing's�do you hear? He has had me in his arms�me�your wife�the mother of your boy�he�that creature quaking there. And I have kissed him and caressed him and trembled with passion for him as I never did for you.... Now, will you kill us?"

He did not move. But slowly the veins and muscles of his face tightened, pushed up against, strained against the ghastly whiteness of his skin. And slowly his eyes lighted with the fires of a demoniac fury that made hers seem like a child's weak hysteria. She gazed at him, fascinated. Then, with a gasp, she braced herself and waited for the frightful death that look of his signaled. But she did not flinch, nor shift her gaze from his. To Gallatin, paralyzed, watching them with eyes starting and lips ajar, it seemed an eternity while they stood thus facing each other in silence. Then, as slowly as that expression on Richard's face had come it departed, like a fiend fighting inch by inch against being flung back into the hell from which it had issued at the call of her dreadful taunts. The face remained deathly white; but those were Richard Vaughan's own eyes that gazed down at the small, delicate face of the woman, in them a look that filled her with awe, made her ashamed, gave her the impulse to sink down at his feet and burst into tears.

"No, Courtney," Richard said, infinite gentleness in his tone. "I'm neither god nor devil. I�all three of us�will do to-day what to-morrow we'll be glad we did. One can always die. But living again, once one's dead�that's not so simple."

There fell silence. She stood before him, bosom still heaving but eyes down. Vaughan turned to Gallatin with a courtly politeness like his grandfather's. "Don't you think you'd better go�for the present at least?"

Gallatin, who had been awed also, hesitated. He looked at Courtney; his jaws clenched and he fixed sullen, devouring eyes on her. "I want to talk to her alone," said he aggressively.

"That's for her to decide," said Richard.

Courtney lifted her head to refuse. Then it occurred to her that, by talking with Basil, she might settle the whole business for good and all. With a curious deference she looked inquiringly at Richard. He shrugged his shoulders, began pushing the tray into the furnace. She let her eyes rest on Basil, said "Yes�that's best. Come on." She went out of the laboratory, Basil following her. Richard closed the door behind them. At the edge of the clearing she halted, wheeled upon him. "Well!" she began, her voice as merciless as her eyes.

He was a pitiful spectacle. His feature were working in a ferment of many unattractive emotions�jealousy, pique, fear that he was ridiculous, wounded vanity, desire to regain with her the ground he felt he must have lost. "You see now, Courtney," he said, aggressive yet pleading, too, "he doesn't care a rap about you."

"Well?" she repeated. Her tone was much softer; her nerves were calming, and her temper was yielding to her sense of proportions. Also, the man looked weak and shallow and ridiculous�not worth the while of a great emotion. Just small. "What of it?" she asked.

He scowled in angry embarrassment at her expression which neither suggested nor encouraged tragedy. "I never heard of people acting as we've acted to-day!" he cried.

"But no doubt they often do," replied she. "Everybody doesn't act�all the time�as if he were in a novel or a play, or thought he was."

"You can respect him after this?"

Her eyes had the expression a man least likes to see in a woman's when she is looking at him. "Don't you?" said she.

He reddened, and his eyes shifted. Presently he said humbly, "I�I am sorry for what I did. I was crazy with jealousy. I'm not myself�not at all."

She felt the truth of this at once. "And I'm sorry for the things I said to you and to him. I was crazy with rage."

He lifted his head eagerly. "I knew you didn't mean them, dear."

Her brow darkened. It was annoying that the man couldn't realize; for such as she now knew him to be to aspire to her seemed impertinence. "Basil," she said, "it's all over between us. Don't let your vanity deceive you. And don't force me to tell you what I think of you. Be content with knowing what I don't think."

"Be careful!" he cried angrily. "I'm not the man to stand and beg�even for you."

"That's good," said she pleasantly. "Then�we can part here and now." She glanced up at the windows of the apartment. "You've got your traps up there still. Hadn't you better let me send Jimmie to help you pack them?"

"Thank you," replied he, haughtily. "I'll be obliged if you will."

She put out her hand. "Good-by, Basil."

He clinched his fists in vanity's boyish anger. "You can think of that apartment, and have no feeling?" he exclaimed.

"None," declared she.

"I'll not believe it. You couldn't be so unwomanly."

Her look forecast a sarcasm. But before she spoke it changed to one that was soft and considerate. She felt that she was responsible. True he had posed as something far superior to his reality; but it was an honest fraud, deceiving himself first and most of all. She felt to blame for having been taken in�felt repentant and apologetic toward him. "Let's not quarrel," she urged. "Don't be harsh with me. I know you'll find love and make some woman very, very happy�one that is sympathetic and comes up to your ideals of womanhood." She put out her hand again, and friendly and winning was the smile round her wide mouth, in the eyes under the long, slender brows. "Please, Basil." He hesitated. "Don't be harsh. You know you don't love me any more than I love you. What's the use of pretenses? Why not part sincerely? ... Please, Basil."

His hand just touched hers and his angry eyes avoided her pleading glance. "If you'll send Jimmie," he said. And with a stiff bow he moved in great dignity along the path to the apartment entrance. He went even more slowly than dignity required, for he confidently expected she would come to her senses when she saw he had indeed reached the limit of endurance of her trifling. Richard had shown he wouldn't take her back�cared nothing for her. Where then could she turn but to him? And all that vaporing about independence was�just vaporing. A woman was a woman, and he knew women. So, he walked slowly to give her a good chance. But no call came�not though he lingered over opening the door and made a long pause elaborately to wipe his clean boots on the mat. He did not look until he could do so from the security of the sitting-room windows. She was not in sight. Had she followed him softly? He went into the hall, glanced down the stairs. Not there! She had gone! ... She meant what she said; she had cast him off. There was no room for doubt�she had cast him off.... He heard a step, rushed to the door. It was Jimmie, come bringing his overcoat and gloves, and prepared to do the packing. She had really cast him off.

"God!" he muttered. "What a contemptible position that puts me in!" And, for the moment at least, he hated her. If he could only revenge himself�in some perfectly gentlemanly way, of course. Once that day vanity had lured him clean over the line into most ungentlemanly conduct; his face burned from the sting of her remembered denunciations�the sting of truth in them. If he could devise a gentlemanly way�something that would convince her he had made all that agitation simply because he felt that, as a gentleman, he in the circumstances must go to any lengths to keep faith with her. Yes, that would be a handsome revenge�and would save his face, too.

He gave Jimmie the necessary directions and resumed his brooding. He searched his brain in vain. He could contrive no way of escape; he would have to leave that place like a whipped dog�yes, a whipped dog. Spurned by Vaughan�spurned by Courtney��

A step, and the rustle of a skirt. His eyes gleamed. "I thought not!" he muttered exultantly. "Well, I'll teach her a lesson she'll never forget."

He turned his back to the door, stood at the window, looking out and puffing nonchalantly at his cigarette. The step, the rustle were on the threshold. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Gallatin��"

He wheeled to face Helen. His confusion was equal to hers. "Ah�Miss Helen�I�I�" he stammered.

"Am I intruding?" she asked. There was a charming blush in her sweet, beautiful face, and her honest dark eyes showed how perturbed she was.

"No indeed�no indeed," he protested.

"Courtney sent me��"

"Courtney sent you!" he exclaimed in amazement.

"She told me all about it," Helen hastened on. "She asked me to let you know that she had told me�how you and Richard have had a bitter falling out over the work�and that you're going away, not to come back."

One look into those eyes was convincing; Helen believed what she was saying.

"She thought perhaps I might be able to help you about the packing. Can I?"

"No, but I'd be glad if you'd stop while Jimmie is doing it. I don't want to leave without saying good-by to you."

All the roses fled from Helen's cheeks. "Yes�certainly," she murmured.

"You'll excuse my being somewhat confused? The truth is I'm very much upset."

"I can't tell you how dreadfully I feel," said Helen. "Are you sure you and Richard�" She paused. Her glance stirred him like an angel face in a drunkard's dream�her face earnest, grieved, sympathetic, unable to credit anything so dreadful, so wicked as a parting in hate.

"Quite sure. It's�final. Please, let's not talk about it. It's all so�so revolting."

In presence of those clear, noble eyes of hers, the sordidness of his "romance" now once more began to stand out. What a mess! No wonder he had taken to drink. If it had been Helen and the kind of love she inspired� "But you and I will always be friends�won't we?" he said to her.

Her eyelids dropped and he saw her bosom fluttering. "I hope so," she said so low he scarcely heard. She was pale now, and drooping. "Though I'm afraid�when you get away off there, you'll forget me very soon."

His heart smote him as he looked at that tall, voluptuous figure, at that lovely face, so regular, so pure. Here was a woman, a real woman, and she would have loved him�perhaps did love him. "I know I'm unworthy of a thought from you who are so good and pure," he said. "But your kindness to me has helped me. And God knows, I shall need help." Oh, that it had been his lot to anchor to this strong, white soul! How much nobler than the finest passion was a love centering about the sweet, old-fashioned ideals. What a haven those arms, that bosom would be! He felt dissolute and sin-scarred as only a vain young man can feel those dread but delightful depravities.

"You must not despair, Basil," came in Helen's soft voice, like oil upon his wounds. And it touched him to see how, maidenly shy though she was, she yet could not resist the appeal of this opportunity to try to do good. She went on, "It's always darkest before dawn, and the more rain falls the less there is to fall."

These words seemed like heavenly wisdom delivered by a messenger of light. He sighed.

"You'll come out all right�and will escape from that�that�whatever it is�" Helen's cheeks modestly colored�"and be happy with some good woman who is worthy of you."

She looked so sad, so beautiful that before he knew it he, ever sympathetic with women, had said, "Some woman like you, Helen."

She turned away. He saw that her emotions were making her tremble. How she loved him! What a prize such a love would be�and how chagrined Courtney would feel�Courtney the vampire woman who had tried to destroy him, and thought she had succeeded�and was gloating over his misery. "If we'd had the chance, Helen, how happy we could have made each other! But I mustn't talk of that."

"Why not?" said she, with bold shyness. "I know that for some reason we can never be anything more to each other. But it's been a happiness�" earnestly, with tears in her eyes of the Homeric Juno and in her voice young and honest and sympathetic�"a real happiness to feel that the best of you�the part that's really you�found something to like in me."

He thrilled. Here was a woman! And a woman who appreciated him. He wondered how he could have lingered under a malign spell when such beauty of soul�and body, too�was his for the asking. "Helen!" he cried. And all his wounded heart's longing and all his wounded vanity's suffering gave energy to his cry. He took her hand; he put his arm round her. Her cheek touched his. How cool yet warm she was! How lovely and sweet! And the unsullied, untouched down! How fresh! Except her male relatives, no doubt no man but himself had ever kissed her� "Helen�Helen! God forgive me, but I can't refuse this moment of pure happiness."

She gently drew away. "Oh, Basil," she sobbed. "And I had said no man should ever kiss me until� But you�it seems different. You are so noble�so pure minded." Her eyes gazed into his with a trustful adoration that thrilled him.

"Helen�do you love me?" he cried.

Her honest eyes opened wider. "Would I have let you touch me if I didn't?"

"Yes�I know that!" he exclaimed. "How pure you are! It's like heaven after hell."

She gazed on into his eyes. A faint flush overspread her pale cheeks. She kissed him. "I love you, Basil," she said, gravely. Then all at once the color surged wave on wave over her brow, her cheeks, her neck. She hung her head, slowly drew away from his detaining vibrating arms. There is a time for lighting a fire; there is a time for leaving it to burn of itself. Helen had by the guidance of feminine instinct hit upon exactly the right instant for drawing back. She released herself, avoided his touch just when passion having captured his imagination swept on to the conquest of the flesh. At the edges of her lowered eyes appeared two tears to hang glistening in the lashes. From her bosom rose a sigh, soft, suppressed but heart-breaking.

The bright flame was leaping in his eyes. "You noble, splendid woman!" he cried, as his glance leaped from charm to charm�from delicate, regular features to sumptuous yet girlish figure. "What a jewel�in what a casket! You appeal to the best there is in me�only to the best. If I become a man again, it will be through you." And sincerity rang in his voice; for, the fire of high resolve to be a good man, to be worthy of this exalted womanhood, was burning in his blood. "Helen�will you help me? I've sinned�you never will know how dreadfully. But I love you."

Her answer was a beautiful shaft of the love light from her now wonderful eyes.

"Helen�will you marry me?"

From head to foot she trembled. All her color fled, leaving her face whiter than the milk-white skin of her voluptuous neck and shoulders. "I�love�you," she said simply.

"Then you will? Say you will, Helen. I cannot trust myself to go away without your strength to help me."

"I will, Basil."

There were tears in his eyes as in hers as he reverently kissed her hands. He had a sense of peace, of sin forgiven, of joyous return to the fold of honor and respectability. And her heart was overflowing with love, with gratitude to him and to God.