THE ALLEGORY
Annesley knew that Knight was in the habit of coming home that way, in
order not to disturb her with the noise of the car if she had gone to
bed. If he were bringing parcels from the little mining town, he drove to
the house, left the packets, and ran the auto to a shanty he had rigged
up for a garage.
A few seconds later the small open car came into sight, and Madalena
sprang up, waving a dark veil she had snatched off her hat. She feared,
no doubt, that the man might take another direction and perhaps get into
the house by some door she did not know before she could intercept him.
From a little distance the tall figure standing on the veranda steps must
have been silhouetted black against the white wall of the house, clearly
to be seen from the advancing motor.
Quick as a bird in flight the car sped along the road, wheeled on to the
stiff grass, and drew up close to the veranda steps.
"Good heavens, Madalena!" Annesley heard her husband exclaim. "I thought
it was my wife, and that something had gone wrong."
The surprise sharpening his tone did away with the doubt in the mind of
the hidden listener. She had said to herself that the woman was here by
appointment, and that this hour had been chosen because the meeting was
to be secret.
"I wanted you to think so, and to come straight to this place," returned
the once familiar voice. "Don, I've travelled from San Francisco to see
you. Do say you are glad!"
"I can't," the man answered. "I'm not glad. You tried to ruin me. You
tried in a coward's way. You struck me in the back. I hoped never to see
you again. How did you find me?"
"I've known for a long time that you were in Texas," said Madalena. "Lady
Annesley-Seton and I kept up a correspondence for months after you--sent
me away so cruelly, in such a hurry, believing hateful things, though you
had no proof. She wrote that 'Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Smith' would probably
never come back to England to settle, as she'd heard from a Mrs. Waldo
that they'd gone to live in Texas. She asked if I knew whether 'Nelson
Smith' had lost his money. I forgot to answer that question when I
answered the letter. But when she said 'Texas' I felt sure you must be
somewhere in this part. I remembered your telling me about the ranch that
consumptive gambler left to you on the Mexican frontier."
"What a fool I was to tell you!" Knight exclaimed, roughly.
The words and his way of flinging them at her were like a box on the ear;
and Annesley, lying in her hammock, heard with a thrill of pleasure. She
was ashamed of the thrill, and ashamed (because suddenly awakened to the
realization) that she was eavesdropping.
But it seemed impossible that she should break in upon this talk and
reveal her presence. She felt that she could not do it; though, searching
her conscience, she was not sure whether she clung to silence because it
was the lesser of two evils or because she longed with a terrible longing
to know whether these two would patch up their old partnership.
"If you knew why I have come all these miles, maybe you would not be so
hard," Madalena pleaded.
"That I can't tell until I do hear," said Knight, dryly.
"I am going to explain," she tried to soothe him. "A great thing has
happened. I can be rich and live easily all the rest of my years if I
choose. But--I wanted to see you before deciding.
"I arrived in El Paso yesterday, and went to the Paso del Norte Hotel, to
inquire about you. I was almost certain you would have taken back your
own name, because I knew you used to be known by it when you stayed in
Texas. I soon found out that I'd guessed right. I heard you'd stopped at
that hotel last year on the way to your ranch. I hired a motor-car and
came here to-day; but I didn't let the man bring me to the house. I
didn't want to dash up and advertise myself.
"I questioned some of your cowmen. They said you'd gone off, and would be
getting back at night in your automobile, not earlier than ten and maybe
a good deal later. So I waited. The car I hired is a covered one, and I
sat in it, a long way from the house out of sight behind a little rising
of the land. Perhaps you call it a hill."
"We do," said Knight.
"I brought some food and wine. The chauffeur's there with the car now. He
has cigarettes, and doesn't mind if we stay all night."
"I mind," Knight cut her short. "You can't stay all night. The road's
good enough with such a moon for you to get back to El Paso. You'd better
start so as to reach there before she sets."
"Wait till you hear why I've come before you advise me to hurry!" the
Countess protested. "There's no danger of our being disturbed, is there?
Where is your wife?"
"In bed and asleep, I trust."
"I'm glad. Then will you sit on the top of these steps in this heavenly
moonlight and let me tell you things that are important to me? Perhaps
you may think they are important to you as well. Who knows?"
"I know. Nothing you can have to say will be important to me. I won't sit
down, thank you. I've been sitting in my car for hours. I prefer to
stand."
"Very well. But--how hard you are! Even now, you won't believe I was
innocent of that thing you accused me of doing?"
"I think now what I thought then. You were not innocent, but guilty. You
were just a plain, ordinary sneak, Madalena, because you were jealous
and spiteful."
"It is not true! Spiteful against _you_! It was never in my heart to lie.
Jealous, perhaps. But that is not to say I wrote the letter you believe
I wrote. You didn't give me time to try and prove I did not write the
letter. You accused me brutally. You ordered me out of England, with
threats. I obeyed because I was heartbroken, not because I was afraid."
"Why trouble to excuse yourself?" he asked. "It's not worth the time it
takes. If you've come to tell me anything in particular, tell it, and
let's make an end."
"I have an offer of marriage from a millionaire," the Countess announced
in a clear, triumphant tone.
"Which no doubt you accepted, not to say snapped at."
"Not yet. I put him off, because I wanted to see you before I answered."
"You flatter me!" Knight laughed, not pleasantly. "If you've come from
San Francisco to get my advice on that subject, I can give it while you
count three. Make sure of the unfortunate wretch before he changes his
mind."
"Ah, if I could think that your harshness comes from just a
little--_ever_ so little, jealousy!" Madalena sighed. "He won't change
his mind. There is no danger. He is old, and I seem a young girl to him.
He adores me. He is on his knees!"
"Bad for rheumatism!"
"He thinks I am the most wonderful creature who ever lived. I met him
through my work. He came from a friend of his who told him about my
crystal, and about me, too."
"You are still working the crystal?"
"But, of course! It has always given me the path to success. If I marry
this man I shall be able to rest."
"On your laurels--such as they are!"
"On his money. He can't live many years."
"You are an affectionate fiancée!"
"I am not a fiancée yet. Not till I give my answer. And that depends on
you.... Oh, Don, surely you must be sick of this--this existence, for it
is not life! I know you are angry with me, but you can't hate me really.
It is not possible for a man with blood in his body to hate a woman who
loves him as I love you.
"I have tried to get over it. At first I thought I was succeeding. But
no, when the reaction came, I found that I cared more than ever. We were
born for each other. It must be so, for without you I am only half alive.
I haven't come for your advice, Don, but to make you an offer. Oh, not an
offer of myself. I should not dare, as you feel now. And it is not an
offer from me only; it is from a great person who has something to give
which is worth your accepting, even if my love is not!"
"You've got in touch with _him_, have you?" Knight broke into the rushing
torrent of her words as a man might take a plunge into a cataract.
"Why not?" she answered. "I didn't seek him out. It was he who sought
me."
"You don't know how to speak the truth, Madalena! You said you found me
through Lady Annesley-Seton hearing from Mrs. Waldo, whereas you wrote to
Paul Van Vreck."
"You do me injustice--always! I _did_ hear from Constance. Then I--merely
ventured to write and ask Mr. Van Vreck if he kept up communication with
you, and----"
"You said in your letter to him that you knew where I was, and gave him
to understand that we were in touch with each other, or he would have let
out nothing."
"He has written and told you this!" She spoke breathlessly, as if in
fear.
"Ah, you give yourself away! No, I haven't heard from Van Vreck since I
saw him in New York, and thought I convinced him that my working days
for him were over. I simply guessed--knowing you--what you would do."
"I may have mentioned Texas," Madalena admitted. "I supposed he knew
where you were. I couldn't have told him, because I didn't know. But he
wrote and suggested I should use my influence with you to reconsider your
decision. Those were his words."
"How much has he paid you for coming here?"
"Nothing. As if I would take money for coming to _you_!"
"You have taken it for some queer things, and will again if you don't
settle down to private life with your millionaire.... It's no use,
Madalena. Go back to San Francisco. Send in your bill to Van Vreck. Tell
him there's nothing doing. And make up your mind to marriage."
"But, Don, you haven't heard what he offers."
"It can't be more than he offered me himself when I saw him in New
York----"
"It is more. He says that particularly. He raises the offer from last
time. It is _three times_ higher! Think what that means. Oh, Don, it
means life, real life, not stagnation! I would give up safety and a
million to be with you--as your partner again, your humble partner.
"Here, on this bleak ranch, it is like death--a death of dullness. I know
what you must be suffering because you are obstinate, because you have
taken a resolve, and are determined not to break it. You are afraid it
will be weakness to break it. There can be no other reason.
"I have asked questions about your life here. I have learned things. I
know _she_ is cold as ice. If you stay you will degenerate. You will
become a clod.
"Leave this hideous gray place. Leave that woman who treats you like a
dog. Let the ranch be hers. Send her money. You will have it to spare.
She can divorce you, and you will be freed forever from the one great
mistake you ever made. As for me----"
"As for you--be silent!" The command struck like a whiplash. "You are not
worthy to speak of 'that woman,' as you call her. If I did what you
deserve, I'd send you off without another word--turn my back on you and
let you go. But--" he drew in his breath sharply, then went on as if he
had taken some tonic decision--"I want you to understand why, if Paul Van
Vreck offered me _all_ his money, and you offered me the love of all the
women on earth with your own, I shouldn't be tempted to accept.
"It's because of 'that woman'--who is my wife. It may be true that she
treats me like a dog, for she wouldn't be cruel to the meanest cur. But
I'd rather be her dog than any other woman's master.
"So you see now. It's come to that with me. I won her love and
married her for my own advantage. I lost her love because she found me
out--through you. Mild justice that, perhaps! But all the same, getting
her for mine _has_ been for my advantage. In a different way from what I
planned, but ten thousand times greater. Though she's taken her love from
me, she's given me back my soul. Nothing can rob me of that so long as I
run straight.
"And I tell you, Madalena, this ranch, where I'm working out some kind of
expiation and maybe redemption, _is_ God's earth for me. _Now_ do you
understand?"
For an instant the woman was silent. Then she broke into loud sobbing,
which she did not try to check.
"You are a fool, Don!" she wept. "A fool!"
"Maybe. But I'm not the devil's fool as I used to be. Don't cry. You
might be heard. Come. It's time to go. We've said all we have to say to
each other except good-bye--if that's not mockery."
Madalena dried her tears, still sobbing under her breath.
"At least take me to the automobile," she said. "Don't send me off alone
in the night. I am afraid."
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Knight answered, the flame of his
fierceness burnt down. "But I'll go with you, and put you on the way back
to El Paso. Come along!"
As he spoke, he started, and Madalena was forced to go with him, forced
to keep up with his long strides if she would not be left behind.
When they had gone Annesley lay motionless, as though she were under
a spell. The man's words to the other woman wove the spell which bound
her, listening as they repeated themselves in her mind. Again and again
she heard them, as they had fallen from his lips.
His expiation--perhaps his redemption--here on his bit of "God's
earth" ... "It may be true that she treats me like a dog.... But I'd
rather be her dog than any other woman's master...." And this was Easter
eve, a year to the night since his martyrdom began!
Something seemed to seize Annesley by the hand and break the bonds that
had held her, something strong although invisible. She sat up with a
faint cry, as of one awakened from a dream, and slipped out of the
hammock. There was a dim idea in her mind that she must go along the road
where they had gone, so as to meet Knight on his way back. She did not
know what she should say to him, or whether she could say anything at
all; but the something which had taken her hand and snatched her out
of the hammock dragged her on and on.
At first she obeyed the force blindly.
"I must see him! I must see him!" The words spoke themselves in her head.
But when she had hurried out of the enclosure walled in by the cactus
hedge, the brilliant moonlight seemed to pierce her brain, and make a
cold, calm appeal to her reason.
"You can't tell him what you have heard," it said. "He would be
humiliated. Or"--the thought was sharp as a gimlet--"what if he _saw_
you, and knew you were listening? What if he talked just for effect? He
is so clever! He is subtle enough for that. And wouldn't it be more
_like_ the man, than to say what he said _sincerely_?"
She stopped, and was thankful not to see her husband returning. There was
time to go back if she hurried. And she must hurry! If he had seen her in
her hammock, and made that theatrical attempt to play upon her feelings,
he would laugh at his own success if she followed him. And if he had not
seen her, and were in earnest, it would be best--indeed the only right
way--not to let him guess that the scene on the veranda steps had had a
witness.
Annesley turned to fly back faster than she had come. But passing the
cactus hedge her dress caught. It was as if the hedge sentiently took
hold of her.
She bent down to free the thin white material; and suddenly colour blazed
up to her eyes in the rain of silver moonlight. The buds had opened since
she noticed them last.
No longer was the hedge a grim barricade of stiff, dark sticks. Each
stalk had turned into a tall, straight flame of lambent rose. From a dead
thing of dreary ugliness it had become a thing of living beauty.
Knight's allegory!
He had said, perhaps she might understand when the time came; and perhaps
not.
She _did_ understand. But she had not faith to believe that the miracle
could repeat itself in life--her life and Knight's. She shut her eyes to
the thought, and when she had freed her dress ran very fast to the house.