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THE GAME AND THE CANDLE
By ELEANOR M. INGRAM
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
P. D. JOHNSON
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1909
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
OCTOBER
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
TO THAT GRACIOUS FAMILY
CIRCLE OF WHICH I HAVE
THE HAPPINESS TO BE ONE
[Illustration: He carried her back to the cream-tinted boudoir.]
CONTENTS
I THE DECISION
II THE KEY TO THE DOOR
III HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
IV THE BOND
V THE NEW DAY
VI "THE KING IS DEAD--LONG LIVE THE KING"
VII ALLEGIANCE
VIII TO MEET THE EMPEROR
IX GUINEVERE OF THE SOUTH
X A STANIEF'S OWN
XI IN THE REGENT'S STUDY
XII THE TURN IN THE ROAD
XIII THE INTERVENTION OF ADRIAN
XIV THE ORDEAL
XV AT THE GATES OF CHANGE
XVI FIRE LILIES
XVII AN ARABIAN NIGHT
XVIII THE LAST WEEK
XIX ADRIAN'S DAY
XX CLOSED
THE GAME AND THE CANDLE
CHAPTER I
THE DECISION
"It will last about six months," stated John Allard. "Afterward--"
His brother looked up at him helplessly.
"Afterward?" he echoed drearily.
"Afterward there must be more. It is not possible, simply is _not_, for
poverty to approach Theodora and Aunt Rose. Look around you, Robert."
Under the clear California moonlight the jade-green lawns and terraces
dropped one below the other to the distant road. Through them writhed
the long serpentine drive and paths; dotted over them stood dark masses
of flowering bushes or trees, with here and there the snowy gleam of a
statue; over all floated the rhythmic tinkle of the central fountain.
Untroubled calm was the spirit of the place, hereditary comfort.
"I have looked so often, John. Yet, I find nothing."
"We must find not a little money, but a fortune, and we must find it in
six months," John answered, his low voice just reaching his listener.
"There is no way to earn it, we know. Inside the law there are ways to
acquire it. Wall Street, for instance; a new popular song or two, an
inexplicable conjuring trick, or a fresh breakfast food. But we have no
such talents, you and I; we are just the ordinary gentlemen of
leisure,--dilettanti. We are useless, within the limits set for us.
Outside the limits, outside the law--"
The suggestion was left unfinished, the two men falling silent before
it. They were young; so young that the morning mists of romance still
blurred the sharp landscape of reality, and for the moment, daring
appealed more than endurance.
"We could not do anything low," Robert demurred hesitatingly. "Not about
the mortgages or business tangles, John."
"No, no," John agreed, flushing. "Of course not that. I suppose there is
an honor even in crime, a class distinction. Sir Henry Morgan probably
despised a common thief, and Paul Clifford would not pick his neighbor's
pocket at dinner. No; we will pay our inherited debts, if we have to
steal for it. What a _comedie-heroique_!"
Robert regarded him seriously.
"You are just playing?" he doubted.
"I am not playing at all; only looking at things. For the time left us
is not long. If we do nothing, this place will go, and with it all that
Theodora and Aunt Rose call life. We must then take these women, Aunt
Rose an invalid, Theo a spoiled and petted patrician, to some cheap city
lodging, and there strive to support them. How, I haven't any idea. Some
one might employ us as clerks, possibly. I have traveled all over
Europe and speak French and Italian; that is all my stock in trade,
except an education."
"Mine is less."
"We have wasted our time thoroughly, if innocently. Now we pay. Do you
wonder that I look at the outlaw's path that offers itself?"
His brother moved, startled.
"Offers itself, John?"
"Yes; I did not think of this without the prompting of circumstance. Are
you dismayed, or shocked?"
"I can not see very clearly," Robert answered simply. "Or, rather, I
keep seeing the wrong things. Nothing dismays me to-night except the
idea of pain coming to Theo and her mother. I do not say it should be
so; merely that it is. We are more ornamental than useful, we Allards,
as you point out, but we have the art of loving. I think most people
have a less capacity for it; I believe it is a certain intensity born
with one--a gift, a talent. And we have it. Tell me more."
"I shall not tell you very much, because the work is only for one of
us," John said. "One of us must go, the other stay here and live as
always. One must still be master of Sun-Kist, still the head of this
household of ours and an irreproachable citizen. He had better not know
too accurately what the one who goes is doing."
"John!"
John Allard slipped impulsively from the veranda rail and came to sit on
the arm of Robert's chair, drawing him into a caressing embrace.
"I know; we've always played together, dear old fellow. School and
college, and the short time since,--the two years' difference between us
got lost pretty early. But we must learn to go alone at last. And if we
undertake this insanity--for it is little better--we must stand without
flinching all it brings. Is it worth while? I do not know, but I know
many a man has gone into the underworld to protect a woman. How many
cashiers have misused funds entrusted to them, how many business men
have stooped to illegal methods, in order to give their wives--not
necessities, but luxuries? We see it every day, this cowardice for some
one loved. Only they do it by degrees, and we do it all at once."
Robert laid his hand over the one on his shoulder.
"It does not sound very pretty," he acknowledged wistfully. "It is the
old legend of selling your ego to Mephistopheles. Only, I wouldn't so
much mind going to Hades afterward; it is the clasping Mephisto's smudgy
fingers that hurts."
"I am not asking you to do it, Bertie. We will just forget this
half-hour, if you like. You know it was a suggestion, not a conviction,
I voiced. You are right, of course. But I was ready for rebellion
against all laws to-day; and then Desmond came to me--"
"Desmond! He is out of prison?"
"A week ago. He came to me for money to go East. 'Do you mind how you
and Master Robert used to sneak away from your nurse to play with
Tommy, the coachman's boy?' he said to me. 'And now Tommy Desmond is
nursed by the police far and near. I am a master at my trade, I am.' He
has not changed much since we recognized him at his trial, five years
ago, and tried to help him."
Robert turned to see the face above him in the moonlight.
"He said more than that."
"He was very frank," John answered laconically.
"Then, go on, please. I never meant that we should give up the last
chance because it was unpleasant, or unsafe. Theo--she has just tasted
her girlhood, just commenced to live; how can we let her lose it all? I
would rather smudge my fingers in saving her than wear the bar sinister
of cowardice. There are laws I know you will not break, because, being
yourself, you can not. Go on, and tell me what Desmond said."
A white moth, hunting some star across the dark, dashed itself against
Allard's coat and hung quivering there. He paused to disentangle the
delicate wings before replying, the careful seriousness of the little
action in itself a characterization.
"There has been shown to me a way to make enough money to thrust poverty
out of sight for the present and find comfort for the future. A way to
save Sun-Kist in the short time left us to command. But it is by a
crime, a crime which the world calls as ugly as forgery. You know for
what Desmond was punished. Yet it is in a certain sense the crime
magnificent, in that one wrongs a government instead of an individual,
and dashes the gauntlet into the face of the state itself. It is the
crime that to the least degree smudges, because, after all, it offers a
fair equivalent for value received."
"What do you mean?"
"The old mine is no longer worth operating; but there is silver in small
quantities," Allard replied quietly. "Enough for Desmond's use.
Naturally, he never dreamed of making such a proposition to me. He
simply told me how the affair could be carried out, as he told me a
dozen other amazing possibilities and reminiscences. I encouraged him to
talk, at first merely to dull the clamor of thought at my inner ear. In
the end, I kept him near here."
"It's so real, John?"
"It's so real and so possible. I have satisfied myself of that. Either
of us could carry the plan through, with Desmond; but we must realize
that the one who undertakes it steps out of this life. For, facing the
fact, disaster in the end is almost certain. The government machinery is
very perfect; he who breaks the law can scarcely hope to escape arrest
sooner or later. And if that happens, our world must never guess.
Whoever accepts the work must leave here for an indefinite journey
abroad, ostensibly; and in reality lose his identity absolutely
somewhere. The one who goes must endure in silence whatever happens;
the one who stays--"
"Go on."
"The one who stays," John finished gently, "must not interfere or try to
save."
Robert shuddered slightly and sat still for an instant.
"It is for the women," he said, his boyish voice quite steady. "Shall we
draw lots, or will you let me go?"
"Bertie, Bertie!" John exclaimed, and, rising abruptly, walked to the
rail.
When he came back to the seat beside his brother, it was with his face
turned from the silver light pouring through the arches of the veranda.
"We are spared the pain of choosing our roles, Bertie," he declared with
grave finality. "The decision is not ours. Theodora cares for one of us.
Aunt Rose admitted as much to me, although she herself could not say
which. Of course that one is the one who stays. You see I am just
taking it for granted that we both love her. We have never talked about
it, but we knew, I think."
"Yes."
John waited, but no more was volunteered.
"You agree with me?" he at last questioned.
"Oh, I suppose so!" Robert flung savagely. "John, I am not blind; if you
propose this, it is because you are satisfied Theo will choose me. If
you sacrifice everything to save Sun-Kist for the women, it is because
you mean the sacrifice to be yourself. Tell the truth; if I were to go,
you would refuse to carry out the plan."
"I said either of us could do the work."
"Yes, but you mean to do it yourself."
"I mean to leave the decision to Theodora."
"Honestly?"
"Honestly. And our time is short, Robert; ask her to-night when she
comes home."
"I will not," he refused flatly. "Take your right as eldest and tell her
your story before I tell mine. I will not take that advantage of you.
Oh, if she were only less delicate, less fastidiously reared, less
unable to endure even vexation! If we could fight it out, you and I!"
"Hush, hush; this is the fight. We are paying the penalty of being fit
for no better battle; he who can use neither sword nor gun must be sent
to dig in the muddy trenches."
"We could take care of ourselves."
"Without doubt, or starve decently. But we have to take care of others."
"John, let me go."
"Play fair, Bertie."
"John--"
"And Theo?"
The younger dropped his head against the other's knee.
"I think your part will be harder than mine," John rejoined, after a
long silence. "It is less difficult to suffer than to watch another
endure. I can very well believe we are taking the wrong way, but I do
not see a better. And for the--smudge--I have one consolation."
"That is, John?"
"The crime chosen is one the state finds it advisable to condemn for
reasons of policy. It is not so actual a wrong to our fellow-men as a
fortune made in Wall Street or in speculating on their necessities. I am
going to break man's regulations, not God's law."
"I hope you are right," said Robert with equal reverence. "But you are
taking an unblazed trail, and the safe road lies far aside."
Down the smooth slope of the country-side crept the vibrating throb of
an automobile, accompanied by laughter and the faint sound of gay
voices. Some one in the party was singing--a man whose clear tenor
reached the two on the veranda, filtered to purest pathos through the
veil of distance:
"_Sconto col sangue mio
L'amor que posi in te!
Non ti scordar--non ti scordar di me--_"
"That is Billy Clive," Robert identified wearily. "He is an arrant
humbug, is Billy; I do not believe he ever had a serious moment in his
life. Theo is coming; will you speak to her? It may be you, after all,
you know."
"I think not, Bertie."
"But you will try?"
Through the night air pierced the crescendo wail of a horn, startling
the insect choirs into silence and waking a sleepy bird in the wistaria
vines. Both men rose.
"If I must," John yielded. "Yet I have an idea it will not matter who
speaks first, and perhaps you are not quite up to the task to-night.
Yes, I will try."
"And try fairly. I," as the white lights of the car swung into the
avenue, "I am going in."
Their hands met in passing, Robert turning to the house door and John
descending the wide steps to greet the arrival.
"The most delicious time," pealed the sweet, high voice of a girl above
the noise of the halted automobile. "Good night, Mrs. Preston. Until
to-morrow, Sue and Billy. Oh, John, you!"
"Come over to-morrow, Allard," rang the merry chorus.
"Don't forget the hunt."
"Bring Robert, old man."
"_Adios_, Theo."
The car started noisily, and whirled down the driveway.
"I am so tired," sighed the girl on the steps, gathering up her
shimmering skirts and throwing back the hood of her cloak. "Mama has
gone to bed, John? Oh, and I do want tea! Why should I not have tea at
midnight, if I like? I love to be revolutionary."
"Why not, indeed? Sit down there in your chosen divan, my lady."
"You will bring me tea?"
"Wait only."
She sank laughing into a chair and began to draw off her long gloves,
watching him as he moved to the little tea-table in a nook of the
veranda. Allard possessed an almost feminine deftness at such tasks;
perhaps it was as well that Robert was not busied with the fragile
china and glass that evening.
"It was a nice dance," Theodora mused aloud. "But then, almost
everything is nice. Only I missed you and Robert. A dance without Robert
is like a salad without cayenne."
"And a salad with cayenne?"
"Is the chief joy of life's dinner."
He brought the cup and she extended a slim, jeweled hand to receive it.
Theodora had a somewhat oriental taste; odors of sandalwood and rose
breathed from her laces, her white wrist sparkled with slender
bracelets, and the high comb in her blonde hair held the glint of gems.
"Why do you not laugh at my epigram?" she demanded. "Thank you; I would
say you were adorable if you did not already know it. Please give me a
biscuit, and give yourself some tea. Why are you so serious to-night?"
"I had something to tell you, I think."
She waved a commanding spoon.
"Then sit down and begin."
But Allard remained silent, regarding her. It was not easy to begin.
Moreover, the glamour of the future had fallen away, leaving the naked
ugliness; and he was held by a prescient certainty that to-night ended
for ever this gracious life.
[Illustration: Allard remained silent, regarding her.]
"Robert is not up?" Theodora queried presently, too fine to insist on
the suggested confidence.
"No. Are you sorry, Theo?"
Surprised at the tone, she glanced up, but the shadows were heavy where
he sat.
"Why, yes, of course." And recovering herself, "Certainly; how could we
exist without him?"
"How, indeed?" he echoed, rather too quietly for naturalness. "Suppose
he were to go away?"
"I should expire immediately of ennui. You see, he and I have a bond of
frivolity; while against you we all lean for support. You are very
supporting, John; now, this tea," she laughed gleefully. "Robert
probably would have pressed champagne upon me, because it is less
trouble to get."
"You might have made tea yourself," he suggested, drawing a branch of
the wistaria to shade his face more completely.
"I hate to do things for myself. I hope that I never will have to."
"I hope not. But I promised to tell you something. I am going on a trip
to South America; part business, part restlessness."
"You!"
"Why not? I can not play all the time, you know, not being a girl
myself. I may be away only a few months, or--much longer. But let me be
quite frank; surely you are aware Robert loves you, Theo. If I should
not be home before you are married, still you will understand how much
good I wish you both, and remember that I said this now. Forgive me for
speaking of this; it is ventured because I start to-morrow."
She sat very still, and he heard her hurried breathing in the hush.
"I did not know you meant that," she said at last, her accents unsure.
"Or you would not have confessed? Never mind my blundering interference,
little cousin; I have no wish so dear as that you two should care for
each other. You are not angry?"
She rose abruptly to set down the cup, the shadows now a cloak for her.
"Angry? Oh, no; I have never learned to be angry with you. I--It is damp
out here; I must go in. Good night, John."
"Good night, Theo," he responded with all gentleness. It was so
wonderful, this exquisite timidity, this virginal shyness that only
Robert should have seen. He saw her quivering as she passed him in the
moonlight, her head averted.
But in the doorway she turned back.
"John, as we entered the avenue to-night, there was a man standing near
the olive-trees. Mr. Preston stopped the car and called to ask what he
did there. The man answered that he was waiting to see you about some
gardening work, but it was so late that you must have forgotten. He
sounded honest, but Mr. Preston bade me warn you, saying that a man,
once your father's servant, had just been released from prison, and
might use a knowledge of Sun-Kist to attempt burglary. You will be
careful?"
"I will be careful," he answered calmly. "Thank you, dear."
She slipped hurriedly across the threshold, as if in escape, ruthlessly
tearing her thin gown upon the door-latch. Allard wearily rested his
head against the column behind him, and so remained.
At the end of an hour he rose and went down across the moon-blanched
lawns, walking steadily and directly toward the group of olive-trees. He
knew for what Desmond was waiting, knew what answer would be given, and
it seemed to him that he had already severed the connection between the
present and the future. It seemed to him that not to-morrow, but
to-night, he was taking leave of all things; that the unblazed trail
led straight on from behind those dark trees just beyond him.
The white statues stirred with the wavering shadows as he passed; the
rich scent of the tuberoses called as a familiar voice; like a patter of
tiny footsteps the ripple of the fountain followed.