A GREAT TRIUMPH
It was getting dark when Brand reached the Grange. He found Beatrice in
the hall, for she had not heard his arrival in time to get away. She met
him calmly, but after a word of greeting she did not speak, and he
hesitated.
"Well," he said with an effort, "I have come for your answer."
"Isn't it too soon?" she asked. "You haven't carried out your part of
the bargain yet."
Brand frowned in embarrassment.
"You are very bitter; but I dare say it must be hard for you to see my
conduct in a favorable light."
"I'm afraid it's impossible."
Beatrice moved toward the broad stairway.
"My father is waiting for you in the library," she said.
Taking this for a dismissal, Brand joined Mowbray in his study. He was
sorry that the lamp was lighted, because he felt disturbed, and the
Colonel's constrained manner did not set him at ease. For all that, they
forced themselves to talk about matters of no importance until Davies
was shown in.
"I came to see your son, but I meant to ask for an interview with you
before I left," the money-lender said to Mowbray, and then glanced at
Brand. "I imagine that our business had better----"
"Mr. Brand is acquainted with it, and I prefer him to remain. My son has
informed me that you hold a note of his. No doubt, you have brought it
with you?"
"You propose to pay it for him?"
"Certainly," said Mowbray with a trace of haughtiness. "Since he was
foolish enough to give you such a document it must be met."
Davies felt surprised; but he took out the paper. He had not expected it
to be met, and as he stood with it in his hand, hesitating, he was
strangely irritated by Mowbray's smile. Then he put the note on the
table, and, after examining it, Mowbray gave it to Brand, who made a
sign indicating that he was satisfied.
"Yes," he said, "it seems to be in order." Then he turned to Davies.
"We'll keep this paper; I'll give you a check."
"Presently." Davies picked up the note. When he spoke, he addressed
Mowbray. "I'll give you the note canceled in return for payment of half
the amount; the rest to stand against a purchase I want to make."
"You can have it all. I have no wish to defer payment. And I don't
understand what your purchases have to do with me."
"I'll explain. One of your young neighbors is giving up his farm. He
hasn't broken much land and the buildings are small. The place ought to
go cheap, and I'm open to buy it. Then there's a section of vacant land,
and I'm willing to pay a small sum for an option of taking it up at a
fixed price in a year's time."
Mowbray looked at him in cold surprise.
"To begin with, I cannot sell you my neighbor's property; nor can I give
you an option on the vacant lot."
"In a sense that's true, but you can fix things as I want it if you
like. Your word goes a long way in these matters."
"I see no reason why I should use my influence in your favor."
"It's impossible!" Brand interposed bluntly. "We are very careful whom
we let in at Allenwood."
"In short, you mean to keep me out," Davies suggested with an ugly
smile.
"Take it for granted that we cannot sell you the land you want."
"Very well," said Davies. "I must try to convince you that you had
better indulge me." He fingered the note. "I have not parted with this
document yet. It seems to me that there's something unusual about Mr.
Harding's signature."
As a rule, both Brand and Mowbray were capable of self-control, but the
attack was so unexpected that they showed their alarm. It had not
occurred to them that the moneylender might suspect the forgery. Indeed,
there was terror in the Colonel's face before he recovered himself, and
Brand's grew angrily red.
"You scoundrel! What do you mean?" he cried.
"Only that I'm not sure Mr. Harding would know his own writing if I
showed it to him."
Mowbray motioned Brand to be silent, and for a few moments both sat
still, feeling overwhelmed. Brand saw that it was now out of his power
to protect his companion; and the Colonel realized that the sacrifice of
his daughter might prove useless. He was in the moneylender's hands, and
to comply with his exactions would not end them. The honor of the
Mowbrays was at the rascal's mercy.
There was a knock at the door.
"Mr. Harding!" a servant announced.
"I can't see him at present," said Mowbray with a start as he heard a
quick, resolute step in the passage.
Before he finished speaking, Harding entered.
"This must look like an intrusion, and you'll have to excuse my not
waiting your leave," he said. "The fact is, I was determined to get in."
"So it seems," Mowbray answered. "Since you have succeeded, may I ask if
you came here by this gentleman's request?"
"Why, no!" Harding looked at Davies with a twinkle. "I guess my turning
up is a surprise to him."
Davies' crestfallen air bore this out, but he waited silently, and for a
moment or two neither Brand nor Mowbray spoke. The Colonel, to his
astonishment, was conscious of some relief. After all, he would rather
fall into Harding's hands than the moneylender's.
"Perhaps you will explain the object of your visit," Mowbray said, when
the silence threatened to become awkward.
"Certainly; though it ought to be plain. Mr. Davies holds a note with my
name on it, which I understand Mr. Gerald Mowbray cannot meet." He
leaned forward and took the note. "It's due to-day."
Baffled rage shone in Davies' eyes.
"You admit your liability?" he cried indignantly.
"Of course! My name's here; I don't go back on my obligations."
Mowbray looked at him with dull astonishment; and Brand, whose wits were
clearer, with reluctant admiration. He thought the farmer was playing
his part well; but Davies would not give in yet.
"Am I to understand that you acknowledge this as your signature?" he
asked in a calmer tone.
"Do you mean to tell me that you doubted it?" Harding returned. "You
haven't the reputation of being a fool. Would you have lent money on a
note you suspected was forged?"
Davies saw the game was up. Brand was Mowbray's friend, and Harding was
an obviously hostile witness. Unless he were very careful he might lay
himself open to a charge of conspiracy; and he was powerless to attack
Mowbray so long as Harding acknowledged his signature.
"Well," resumed Harding, taking out his wallet, "I guess I'll keep this
paper and give you a check."
Brand saw his last hope vanishing.
"Stop a minute!" he interposed. "You're taking too much for granted in
concluding that Gerald cannot pay. The debt is his in the first place,
and with the help of a friend he is able to find the money."
Mowbray looked up with a curious expression in which there was relief
and shame. Though he would have forced his daughter into a marriage she
shrank from, the necessity for doing so had preyed upon his mind and he
seized the chance of freeing himself of his debt to Brand. He did not
stop to reason, but acted on the vague feeling that Harding, whom he
had distrusted, would prove an easier creditor.
"Gerald cannot pay this note," he said firmly.
Brand turned to him in surprise; but he saw that Mowbray was not to be
moved, and he understood what had prompted the Colonel's sudden change.
Brand had not played a straight game, and he had lost. At the last
moment the prairie man had beaten him. All that he could do now was to
bear his defeat with dignity.
"Very well, sir," he answered, getting up. "Since I cannot be of
service, I will leave you to arrange matters with these gentlemen."
Mowbray went to the door with him, and closing it behind them laid his
hand on Brand's arm.
"You pressed me hard, but you were willing to help when I needed it
badly. I shall remember that with gratitude."
"I wish you could forget the rest, but it's too much to hope," Brand
replied; and when Mowbray went back into the room he walked moodily down
the passage.
Reaching the hall, he found Beatrice waiting there. She had seen Davies
come in and had heard of Harding's arrival, and she now wondered with
tense anxiety what was going on. She could form no conclusion and could
not ask Gerald, because he had carefully kept out of her way. Looking up
at Brand's step, she felt her heart beat with returning hope, for his
lips were set and his brows knit. He had rather the air of a man who had
received a heavy blow than that of a rejoicing lover. Something
unexpected had happened to humble him and set her free.
"Well," he said with an effort, "I have lost you. Still, I want you to
believe that I loved you."
Beatrice was trembling from the shock of relief, but she knew that it
would be cruel to show what she felt.
"I never doubted that," she answered quietly; "but you took the wrong
way."
"There was no other available. Now that I have lost, perhaps you will
forgive me. I'm going to England in a week or two; I haven't the courage
to stay here."
"I'm sorry," she said. "But to go away may be best."
Brand left her, and she leaned against the big newel-post and tried to
keep calm. The thing she dreaded most was not to happen. In some
miraculous way she was free! She wondered with keen anxiety what her
father and Harding were talking about. Davies, she knew, had left the
house a few moments after Brand.
As a matter of fact, the moneylender was promptly dismissed, with a
check for the full amount of the note; and when Mowbray returned after
closing the door behind him, Harding laid the note on the table.
"This is yours, sir," he said with a smile. "You may destroy it."
"Mine!" Mowbray showed his surprise. "You mean--you----" He stumbled
over the words. "You admit your responsibility?" he finally ended.
"Of course!"
Harding picked up the note, tore it across twice, and threw the pieces
into the open fire.
"There's an end of that," he smiled. "Since it bore my signature I
don't know that I have any claim, but you can pay me when you like. I
won't press you."
Mowbray did not answer for a moment. He felt overcome and could not
collect his thoughts. His prejudices against Harding were strong, but
they were, in a sense, impersonal. It was not the man he objected to,
but what he stood for. The fellow's generosity humbled him.
"I'm afraid I have done nothing to warrant this great kindness," he said
awkwardly. "Am I to understand that you offer it to me without
conditions, asking nothing in return?"
"No; not altogether. I guess I might choose a better time, but I feel
that you should know what I want. I'm going to ask a favor. I suppose
you no longer think of compelling Miss Mowbray to marry Brand?"
"You can take it that I do not. But what is this to you?"
"Well," Harding said with a slight unsteadiness in his voice, "I want to
ask you if you will give her to me?"
Mowbray straightened himself in his chair.
"So you, too, mean to make terms, when you know I cannot refuse!"
"No," Harding answered shortly, "I make none. If you had insisted on
Miss Mowbray's marrying Brand, I might have had something to say. All I
ask is that you give her a free choice; if she uses it to take somebody
else, I won't complain."
"That is remarkably generous," Mowbray conceded.
"We'll let that go. Perhaps my request is something of a shock, but I
want you to hear me out. If things go well with me this year, I can give
my wife every comfort you have at Allenwood, and she can lead the life
she likes best--except that I can't leave the prairie. Then there is
nothing that need separate your daughter from you. Many of her friends
are mine; they'll welcome me into the settlement. I did not go to them;
they came to me."
Mowbray knew this was true. His own younger son firmly believed in
Harding. Kenwyne, who had fastidious tastes, was his friend. There were
others Mowbray could think of, and all were men of character and
standing.
"May I ask how long you have entertained these views about my daughter?"
"Since the first time I saw her, and that was very soon after I came to
this neighborhood. I knew as soon as she spoke to me that I would never
marry any one else."
Mowbray studied him. He had not suspected Harding of romantic
tendencies, but the man was obviously serious.
"Has she any reason to suspect your feelings?" he asked.
"The best of reasons; I have told her on more than one occasion. Still,
I can't claim that she approves of me."
Had Harding made his proposal earlier, it would not have been
entertained for a moment, but Mowbray had suffered during the last few
days. He had found that it cost him more than he had expected to
disregard his daughter's inclinations, and he shrank from doing so
again. Then he owed much to Harding, who had behaved with somewhat
surprising good taste. After all, if Beatrice were fond of him--Mowbray
stopped here, feeling that the matter must be settled at once. He
determined to confront the girl with Harding and learn the truth.
"I hope to give you an answer in a few minutes," he said, and left the
room.
Somewhat to his surprise, Mrs. Mowbray agreed to his plan, and when he
went back to his study he and Harding waited until Beatrice entered. She
was highly strung but calm, though a trace of color crept into her face
as she glanced at Harding.
"Gerald is safe," Mowbray told her. "Mr. Harding, who has acted very
generously, has ensured that. Now he asks that I should allow you to
marry him."
Beatrice look startled; her face grew dead-white and her expression
strained.
"After what he has learned about us he is very rash. But this is not
generosity!"
Mowbray stopped Harding, who would have spoken.
"I see that I did not make his meaning clear. He merely asks that I
withdraw my objections, and not that I try to influence your decision. I
am willing to do the former, but you must make your choice."
Beatrice gave Harding a swift, grateful look.
"I am sorry I misunderstood. I should have known you better," she said
in a very low voice.
Then she was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes, and the two men
waited tensely. When she looked up her eyes glistened with tears; but
behind the tears there shone a great happiness.
"It is not hard to decide," she murmured, reaching her hand out timidly
toward Harding.
He grasped it eagerly, and Mowbray forced himself to smile. In spite of
the Colonel's prejudices, he felt that his daughter's quiet confidence
in the prairie man was justified.
"I sincerely wish you well," he said. He laid one hand on Harding's arm,
and there was a tremor in his voice as he continued: "We have not agreed
on many points, but I have learned that you can be trusted. I am glad to
remember it now."
"Thank you, sir," said Harding. "I know the value of what you have given
me."
After a few more words Mowbray let them go, and when they sat together
on the large black settle in a corner of the hall, the girl was
conscious of a calm tenderness for her lover that was stronger than
anything she had yet felt.
"Craig," she said softly, "I wasn't brave enough when you first urged
me, but the hesitation I then felt has gone, and I am ashamed of it. I
know that I am safe with you."
"Thank you for that," he answered and his face grew compassionate. "But
you look very tired and distressed."
"I am tired--but I'm happy." A faint flush tinted her cheeks and she
smiled shyly. "The last few days have been very trying, Craig; and when
there seemed to be no way out, then I knew that I wanted you. Now I am
still half dazed; my escape seems so wonderful!"
"I know," Harding said gently. "I was sorry for you all. It must have
been hard for your father, but one can see his point of view. You must
forget about it, dear. I am starting for Winnipeg to-morrow, and may be
there a week. You will have time to get used to things before I come
back."
"You are very considerate, and even kinder than I thought."
He smiled into her eyes.
"I am going to leave you now, because I feel that I ought to. But you
know I want to stay!"
He lifted the hand she gave him and kissed it tenderly. Then a swift
flood surged through him.
"Beatrice!" he breathed. "Oh, Beatrice! You don't know what it means to
me!"
The little fingers were nearly crushed in his strong grasp; but he
released them quickly and turned away.
"Good-by, dear!" he said.
Beatrice let him go, but her look was strangely tender and her heart
beat fast. He had shown a fine unselfishness, and a tact that was
perhaps remarkable. She had no hesitation about him now.