THE CONFESSION OF VEATH
"Hugh, have you observed anything strange in Mr. Veath lately?"
The interrogation came suddenly from Grace, the next morning, on deck.
They had been discussing the plans for a certain day in May, and all the
time there was evidence of trouble in her eyes. At last she had broached
a subject that had been on her mind for days.
"Can't say that I have." The answer was somewhat brusque.
"I am convinced of one thing," she said hurriedly, coming direct to the
point. "He is in love with me."
"The scoundrel!" gasped Hugh, stopping short and turning very white.
"How dare he do such--"
"Now, don't be absurd, dear. I can't see what he finds in me to love,
but he has a perfect right to the emotion, you know. He doesn't
know, dear."
"Where is he? I'll, take the emotion out of him in short order. Ah, ha!
Don't look frightened! I understand. You love him. I see it all.
It's as--"
"Stop! You have no right to say that," she exclaimed, her eyes flashing
dangerously. His heart smote him at once and he sued humbly for pardon.
He listened to her views concerning the hapless Indianian, and it was
not long before he was heart and head in sympathy with Veath.
"Poor fellow! When I told him last night that I was to be married within
a year he actually trembled from head to foot. I never was so miserable
over a thing in my life," she said dismally. "Really, Hugh, I can't bear
to think of him finding out how we have played with him."
"Shall I tell him all about it?" asked he in troubled tones.
"Then I should not be able to look him in the face. Dear me, elopements
have their drawbacks, haven't they?"
Other passengers joined them, Veath and Lady Huntingford among them. In
the group were Captain Shadburn, Mr. and Mrs. Evarts, Mr. Higsworth and
his daughter Rosella, Lieutenant Hamilton--a dashing young fellow who
was an old and particularly good friend of Lady Huntingford. Hugh noted,
with strange satisfaction, that Hamilton seemed unusually devoted to
Miss Higsworth. In a most casual manner he took his stand at the rail
beside her Ladyship, who had coaxed Captain Shadburn to tell them his
story of the great typhoon.
Presently, a chance came to address her.
"Grace tells me that your name is an odd one, for a girl--woman, I
mean--Tennyson. Were you named for the poet?"
"Yes. My father knew him well. Odd, isn't it? My friends call me Lady
Tennys. By the way, you have not told Grace what I told you last night
on deck, have you?" she asked.
"I should say not. Does she suspect that you know her secret and mine?"
he asked in return.
"She does not dream that I know. Ah, I believe I am beginning to learn
what love is. I worship your sweetheart, Hugh Ridgeway."
"If you could love as she loves me, Lady Huntingford, you might know
what love really is."
"What a strange thing it must be that you and she can know it and I
cannot," she mused, looking wistfully at the land afar off.
At Aden everybody went ashore while the ship coaled at Steamer Point, on
the western side of the rock, three miles from the town proper.
Multitudes of Jewish ostrich-feather merchants and Somali boys gave the
travellers amusement at the landing and in the coast part of the town.
The Americans began to breathe what Hugh called a genuinely oriental
atmosphere.
They were far from Aden when night came down and with it the most
gorgeous sunset imaginable. Everybody was on deck. The sky was aflame,
the waters blazed and all the world seemed about to be swept up in the
wondrous conflagration. Late in the afternoon a bank of clouds had grown
up from the western line, and as the sun dropped behind them they glowed
with the intensity of fiercely fanned coals of huge dimensions. At last
the fiery hues faded away, the giant holocaust of the skies drew to an
end, and the soft afterglow spread across the dome, covering it with a
tranquil beauty more sublime than words can paint.
Grace looked eagerly among the impressed spectators for Henry Veath.
Somehow she longed for him to see all this beauty that had given her so
much pleasure. He was not there and she was conscious of a guilty
depression. She was sitting with Hugh and Lady Huntingford when, long
afterward, Veath approached.
"I'd like a word with you, Hugh," he said after the greetings, "when the
ladies have gone below."
"It is getting late and I am really very tired," said Grace. It was
quite dark, or they could have seen that her face was pale and full of
concern. She knew instinctively what it was that Veath wanted to say to
Hugh. Then she did something she had never done before in the presence
of another. She walked quickly to Hugh's side, bent over and kissed his
lips, almost as he gasped in astonishment.
"Good-night, dear," she said, quite audibly, and was gone with Lady
Huntingford. The astounded lover was some time in recovering from the
surprise inspired by her unexpected act. It was the first time she had
ever been sisterly in that fashion before the eyes of others.
"I hope I have said nothing to offend them," said Veath miserably. "Was
I too abrupt?"
"Not in the least. They've seen enough for one night anyhow, and I guess
they were only waiting for an excuse to go below," replied Hugh. To
himself he said, "I wonder what the dickens Grace did that for? And why
was Lady Huntingford so willing to leave?"
Veath sat nervously wriggling his thumbs, plainly ill at ease. His jaw
was set, however, and there was a look in his eyes which signified a
determination to brave it out.
"You know me pretty well by this time, Hugh," he said. Hugh awoke from
his abstraction and displayed immediate interest. "You know that I am
straightforward and honest, if nothing else. There is also in my make-up
a pride which you may never have observed or suspected, and it is of
this that I want to speak before attempting to say something which will
depend altogether upon the way you receive the introduction."
"Go ahead, Henry. You're serious to-night, and I can see that something
heavy is upon your mind."
"It is a very serious matter, I can assure you. Well, as you perhaps
know from my remarks or allusions on previous occasions, I am a poor
devil. I have nothing on earth but the salary I can earn, and you can
guess what that will amount to in Manila. My father educated me as best
he could, and I worked my way through college after he had given me to
understand that he was unable to send me there himself. When I was
graduated, I accepted a position with a big firm in its engineering
service. Within a year I was notified that I could have a five months'
lay-off, as they call it. At the end of that period, if matters
improved, I was to have my place back. Out of my wages I saved a couple
of hundred dollars, but it dwindled as I drifted through weeks of
idleness. There was nothing for me to do, try as I would to find a
place. It was a hard pill to swallow, after four years of the kind of
work I had done in college, but I had to throw every plan to the winds
and go to the Philippines. My uncle, who is rich, sent me money enough
to prepare for the voyage, and here I am, sneaking off to the jungles,
disgusted, discouraged and disappointed. To-night I sit before you with
less than one hundred dollars as the sum total of my earthly
possessions."
"By George, Veath, just let me know how much you need--" broke in Hugh
warmly, but the other silenced him, smiling sadly.
"I'm greatly obliged to you, but I don't believe it is money that I want
now--at least, not borrowed money. When you told me that your sister was
to become a missionary, I inferred that you were not burdened with
worldly goods, and I felt at home with you both--more so than I should,
I believe--"
"Oh, the devil!"
"But a few days ago your sister told me that she is not to be a
missionary and that she is rich enough to make this trip to the Orient
for mere pleasure--oh, well, you know better than I how rich you both
are." His voice was low and unsteady. "I don't know why you should have
told me that she--she was to be a missionary."
"It was--I did it for a little joke on her, honestly I did," mumbled
Hugh.
"And it was a serious one for me. Before I knew of her real position she
seemed more approachable to me, more as if I could claim her friendship
on the grounds of mutual sympathy. I was deceived into believing our
lots not vastly unequal, and I have suffered more than I can tell you by
the disparity which I now know exists."
"But what difference can it make whether we are rich or poor? We can
still be friends," said Hugh eagerly.
"It was when I believed your sister to be a missionary that I learned to
love her better than all else in this world. Now do you understand?"
"Great Scott!" gasped his listener, starting from his chair. Now he
realised that she had not been mistaken in her fears. "Does she know
this?" he managed to ask.
"No, and I dare not tell her--I cannot. I had to tell some one, and to
whom should I confess it if not to the brother of the woman I love? It
is no disgrace, no dishonor to her. You cannot blame me for being honest
with you. Some day after you have gone back to America you can tell her
that I love her and always will. She has intimated to me that she is to
marry another man, so what chance is there for a poor wretch like me? I
don't see how I have endured the awakening from the dreams I have had.
I even went so far as to imagine a little home in Manila, after I had
won her from the mission field and after I had laid by the savings of a
year or two. I had planned to fairly starve myself that I might save
enough to make a home for her and--and--" but he could say no more. Hugh
heard the sob and turned sick at heart. To what a pass their
elopement had come!
Above all things, how could he comfort the unfortunate man? There was no
word of encouragement, no word of hope to be given. The deepest pity he
had ever felt went out to Henry Veath; the greatest remorse he had ever
known stung his soul. Should he tell Veath the truth? Could he do it?
"Do you see my position?" asked Veath steadily, after a long silence. "I
could never hope to provide for her as she has been accustomed to
living, and I have too much pride to allow my wife to live other than
the way in which I would have to live."
"She may not love you," said Hugh, suddenly hopeful.
"But I could win her love. I'm sure I could, Hugh. Even though she is
pledged to another man, I could love her so powerfully that a new love
would be inspired in her for me. You don't know how I love her. Hugh,
you are not angry with me for having told you this?"
"Angry? Great Heavens, no! I'm heartbroken over it," cried Hugh. There
were traces of tears in his eyes.
"You know how hopeless it is for me," went on Veath, "and I hope you
will remember that I have been honest and plain with you. Before we part
in Manila I may tell her, but that is all. I believe I should like to
have her know that I love her. She can't think badly of me for it,
I'm sure."
Hugh did not answer. He arose and silently grasped the hand of the
other, who also had conic to his feet.
"I would to God that I could call you brother," said he.
"Don't say it! It is too wild an improbability," cried Veath.
"Yes; it is more than that: it is an impossibility."
"If in the end I should conclude to tell Miss Ridge of my feelings, will
you tell me now that I may do so with your permission?"
"But there is no hope," cried Hugh miserably.
"I do not ask for hope. I shall not ask her to love me or to be my wife.
I may want to tell her that I love her, that's all. You can have no
objection to that, Hugh."
"I have no objection," murmured Ridgeway, a chill striking deep into his
heart.