This childish seeking after compliments made her smile, and naturally he
misjudged the smile.
"I think with Benjamin," she said softly.
"Yet my ways in the Garden must seem strange to you," went on David,
expanding in the warmth of his own sense of virtue. "But you will grow
accustomed to them, I know."
The opening was patent. She was beginning to nod her acquiescence when
Connor, in alarm, tapped on the table, once and again in swift
telegraphy: "No! No!"
The faint smile went out on her face.
"No," she said to David.
The master of the Garden turned a glance of impatience and suspicion
upon the gambler, but Connor carefully made his face a blank. He
continued to drum idly on the edge of the table, and the idle drumming
was spelling to the girl's quick ear: "Out!"
"You cannot stay?" murmured David.
She drank in his stunned expression. It was like music to her.
"Would you," she said, "be happy away from the Garden, and the horses
and your servants? No more am I happy away from my home."
"You are not happy with us?" muttered David. "You are not happy?"
"Could you be away from the Garden?"
"But that is different. The Garden was made by four wise men."
"By five wise men," said the girl. "For you are the fifth."
He was so blind that he did not perceive the irony.
"And therefore," he said, "the Garden is all that the heart should
desire. John and Matthew and Luke and Paul made it to fill that
purpose."
"But how do you know they succeeded? You have not seen the world beyond
the mountains."
"It is full of deceit, hard hearts, cruelty, and cunning."
"It is full of my dear friends, David!"
She thought of the colt and the mare and Elijah; and it became suddenly
easy to lure and deceive this implacable judge of others. She touched
the arm of the master lightly with her finger tips and smiled.
"Come with me, and see my world!"
"The law which the four made for me--I must not leave!"
"Was it wrong to let me enter?"
"You have made me happy," he argued slowly. "You have made me happier
than I was before. And surely I could not have been made happy by that
which is wrong. No, it was right to bring you into the valley. The
moment I looked at you I knew that it was right."
"Then, will it be wrong to go out with me? You need not stay! But see
what lies beyond the mountains before you judge it!"
He shook his head.
"Are you afraid? It will not harm you."
He flushed at that. And then began to walk up and down across the patio.
She saw Connor white with anxiety, but about Connor and his affairs she
had little concern at this moment. She felt only a cruel pleasure in her
control over this man, half savage and half child. Now he stopped
abruptly before her.
"If the world, after I see it, still displeases me, when I return, will
you come with me, Ruth? Will you come back to the Garden of Eden?"
In the distance Ben Connor was gesturing desperately to make her say
yes. But she could not resist a pause--a pause in which torment showed
on the face of David. And then, deliberately, she made her eyes
soften--made her lips smile.
"Yes, David, I will come back!"
He leaned a little toward her, then straightened with a shudder and
crossed the patio to the Room of Silence. Behind that door he
disappeared, and left Connor and the girl alone. The gambler threw down
his arms as if abandoning a burden.
"Why in the name of God did you let him leave you?" he groaned. "Why?
Why? Why?"
"He's going to come," asserted Ruth.
"Never in a thousand years. The fool will talk to his dummy god in
yonder and come out with one of his iced looks and talk about
'judgment'! Bah!"
"He'll come."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because--I know."
"You should have waited--to-morrow you could have done it, maybe, but
to-day is too soon."
"Listen to me, Ben. I know him. I know his childish, greedy mind. He
wants me just as much as he wants his own way. It's partly because I'm
new to him, being a woman. It's chiefly because I'm the first thing he's
ever met that won't do what he wants. He's going to try to stay with me
until he bends me." She flushed with angry excitement.
"It's playing with fire, Ruth. I know you're clever, but--"
"You don't know how clever, but I'm beginning to guess what I can do.
I've lost all feeling about that cruel barbarian, Ben. That poor little
harmless, pretty colt--oh, I want to make David Eden burn for that! And
I can do it. I'm going to wind him around my finger. I've thought of
ways while I stood looking at him just now. I know how I can smile at
him, and use my eyes, and woo him on, and pretend to be just about to
yield and come back with him--then grow cold the next minute and give
him his work to do over again. I'm going to make him crawl on his knees
in the dust. I'm going to make a fool of him before people. I'm going to
make him sign over his horses to us to keep them out of his vicious
power. And I can do it--I hate him so that I know I can make him really
love me. Oh, I know he doesn't really love me now. I know you're right
about him. He simply wants me as he'd want another horse. I'll change
him. I'll break him. When he's broken I'm going to laugh in his
face--and tell him--to remember Timeh!"
"Ruth!" gasped Connor.
He looked guiltily around, and when he was sure no one was within reach
of her voice, he glanced back with admiration.
"By the Lord, Ruth, who'd ever have guessed at all this fire in you?
Why, you're a wonder. And I think you can do it. If you can only get him
out of the infernal Garden. That's the sticking point! We make or break
in the next ten minutes!"
But he had hardly finished speaking before David of Eden came out of the
Room of Silence, and with the first glance at his face they knew that
the victory was theirs. David of Eden would come with them into the
world!
"I have heard the Voice," he said, "and it is just and proper for me to
go. In the morning, Ruth, we shall start!"
_CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO_
Night came as a blessing to Ruth, for the scenes of the early day had
exhausted her. At the very moment when David succumbed to her
domination, her own strength began to fail. As for Connor, it was
another story. The great dream which had come to him in far away Lukin,
when he watched the little gray gelding win the horse race, was now
verging toward a reality. The concrete accomplishment was at hand. Once
in the world it was easy to see that David would become clay, molded by
the touch of clever Ruth Manning, and then--it would be simply a matter
of collecting the millions as they rolled in.
But Ruth was tired. Only one thing sustained her, and that was the
burning eagerness to humble this proud and selfish David of Eden. When
she thought how many times she had been on the verge of open admiration
and sympathy with the man, she trembled and grew cold. But through the
fate of poor little Timeh, she thanked Heaven that her eyes had been
opened.
She went to her room shortly after dinner, and she slept heavily until
the first grayness of the morning. Once awake, in spite of the early
hour, she could not sleep again, so she dressed and went into the patio.
Connor was already there, pacing restlessly. He had been up all night,
he told her, turning over possibilities.
"It seems as though everything has worked out too much according to
schedule," he said. "There'll be a break. Something will happen and
smash everything!"
"Nothing will happen," she assured him calmly.
He took her hand in his hot fingers.
"Partner"--he began, and then stopped as though he feared to let himself
go on.
"Where is he?" she asked.
"On his mountain, waiting for the sun, I guess. He told the servants a
while ago that he was leaving to-day. Great excitement. They're all
chattering about it down in the servants' house."
"Is no one here?"
"Not a soul, I guess."
"Then--we're going into that Room of Silence!"
"Take that chance now? Never in the world! Why, Ruth, if he saw us in
there, or guessed we'd been there, he'd probably murder us both. You
know how gentle he is when he gets well started?"
"But how will he know? No one is here, and David won't be back from the
mountain for a long time if he waits for the sun."
"Just stop thinking about it, Ruth."
"I'll never stop as long as I live, unless I see it. I've dreamed
steadily about that room all night."
"Go alone, then, and I'll stay here."
She went resolutely across the patio, and Connor, following with an
exclamation, caught her arm roughly at the door.
"You aren't serious?"
"Deadly serious!"
The glitter of her dark eyes convinced him more than words.
"Then we'll go together. But make it short!"
They swept the patio with conscience-stricken glances, and then opened
the door. As they did so, the ugly face of Joseph appeared at the
entrance to the patio, looked and hastily was withdrawn.
"This is like a woman," muttered Connor, as they closed the door with
guilty softness behind them. "Risk her life for a secret that isn't
worth a tinker's damn!"
For the room was almost empty, and what was in it was the simplest of
the simple. There was a roughly made table in the center. Five chairs
stood about it. On the table was a book, and the seven articles made up
the entire furnishings. Connor was surprised to see tears in the eyes of
Ruth.
"Don't you see?" she murmured in reply to his exclamation. "The four
chairs for the four dead men when David sits down in his own place?"
"Well, what of that?"
"What's in the book?"
"Are you going to wait to see that?"
"Open the door a little, Ben, and then we can hear if any one comes
near."
He obeyed and came back, grumbling. "We can hear every one except David.
That step of his wouldn't break eggs."
He found the girl already poring over the first page of the old book, on
which there was writing in a delicate hand.
She read aloud: "The story of the Garden of Eden, who made it and why it
was made. Told without error by Matthew."
"Hot stuff!" chuckled Connor. "We got a little time before the sun comes
up. But it's getting red in the east. Let's hear some more."
There was nothing imposing about the book. It was a ledger with a
half-leather binding such as storekeepers use for accounts. Time had
yellowed the edges of the paper and the ink was dulled. She read:
"In the beginning there was a man whose name was John."
"Sounds like the start of the Bible," grinned Connor. "Shoot ahead and
let's get at the real dope."
"Hush!"
Without raising her eyes, she brushed aside the hand of Connor which had
fallen on the side of the ledger. Her own took its place, ready to turn
the page.
"In the beginning there was a man whose name was John. The Lord looked
upon John and saw his sins. He struck John therefor. First He took two
daughters from John, but still the man was blind and did not read the
writing of his Maker. And God struck down the eldest son of John, and
John sorrowed, but did not understand. Thereat, all in a day, the Lord
took from John his wife and his lands and his goods, which were many and
rich.
"Then John looked about him, and lo! he was alone.
"In the streets his friends forgot him and saw not his passing. The
sound of his own footfall was lonely in his house, and he was left alone
with his sins.
"So he knew that it was the hand of God which struck him, and he heard
a voice which said in the night to him: 'O John, ye who have been too
much with the world must leave it and go into the wilderness.'
"Then the heart of John smote him and he prayed God to send him not out
alone, and God relented and told him to go forth and take with him three
simple men.
"So John on the next morning called to his Negro, a slave who was all
that remained in his hands.
"'Abraham,' he said, 'you who were a slave are free.'
"Then he went into the road and walked all the day until his feet bled.
He rested by the side of the road and one came who kneeled before him
and washed his feet, and John saw that it was Abraham. And Abraham said:
'I was born into your service and I can only die out of it.'
"They went on together until they came to three robbers fighting with
one strong man, and John helped this man and drove away the robbers.
"Then the tall man began to laugh. 'They would have robbed me because I
was once rich,' he said, 'but another thief had already plundered me,
and they have gotten only broken heads for their industry.' Then John
was sorry for the fortune that was stolen.
"'Not I,' said the tall man, 'but I am sorry for the brother I lost with
the money.' Then he told them how his own brother had cheated him.
'But,' he said, 'there is only one way to beat the devil, and that is to
laugh at him.'
"Now John saw this was a good man, so he opened his heart to Luke, which
was the name of him who had been robbed. Then Luke fell in with the two
and went on with them.
"They came to a city filled with plague so that the dead were buried by
the dying and the dog howled over his master in the street; the son fled
from the father and the mother left her child. They found one man who
tended the sick out of charity and the labor was too great for even his
broad shoulders. He had a broad, ugly face, but in his eye was a clear
fire.
"'Brother, what is your name?' said John, and the man answered that he
was called Paul, and begged them for the sweet mercy of Christ to aid
him in his labors.
"But John said: 'Rise, Paul, and follow me.'
"And Paul said: 'How can I follow the living when the dying call to me?'
"But John said: 'Nevertheless, leave them, for these are carrion, but
your soul in which is life eternal is worth all these and far more.'
"Then Paul felt the power of John and followed him and took, also, his
gray horses which were unlike others, and of his servants those who
would follow him for love, and in wagons he put much wealth.
"So they all rode on as a mighty caravan until they came, at the side of
the road, to a youth lying in the meadow with his hands behind his head
whistling, and a bird hovering above him repeated the same note. They
spoke to him and he told them that he was an outcast because he would
not labor.
"'The world is too pleasant to work in,' he said, and whistled again,
and the bird above him made answer.
"Then John said: 'Here is a soul worth all of ours. Rise, brother, and
come with us.'
"So Matthew rose and followed him, and he was the third and last man to
join John, who was the beginning.
"Then they came to a valley set about with walls and with a pleasant
river running through it, and here they entered and called it the Garden
of Eden because in it men should be pure of heart once more. And they
built their houses with labor and lived in quiet and the horses
multiplied and the Garden blossomed under their hands."
Here Ruth marked her place with her finger while she wiped her eyes.
"Do you mean to say this babble is getting you?" growled Ben Connor.
"Please!" she whispered. "Don't you see that it's beautiful?"
And she returned to the book.
_CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE_
"Then John sickened and said: 'Bring me into the room of silence.' So
they brought him to the place where they sat each day to converse with
God in the holy stillness and hear His voice.
"Then John said: 'I am about to depart from among you, and before my
going I put this command on you that you find in the world a male infant
too young to know its father or mother, or without father and mother
living. Rear that child to manhood in the valley, for even as I depart
so will you all do, and the Garden of Eden will be left tenantless.'
"So when John was dead Matthew went forth and found a male child and
brought him to the valley and the two said: 'Where was the child found
and what is its name?' And Matthew said: 'It was found in the place to
which God led me and its name hereafter shall be David.'
"So peace was on the valley, and David grew tall and strong. Then Luke
died, and Paul died in a drift of snow and Matthew grew very old and
wrote these words for the eye of David."
The smooth running, finely made letters come to an end, the narrative
was taken up in fresher ink and in a bold, heavy hand of large
characters.
"One day Matthew called for David and said: 'My hands are cold, whereby
I know I am about to die. As I lay last night with death for a bedfellow
thoughts came to me, which are these: We have been brother and father
and son to one another. But do not grieve that I am gone. I inherit a
place of peace, but you shall come to torment unless you find a woman in
the world and bring her here to bear children to you and be your wife.'
"Then David groaned in his heart and he said: 'How shall I know her when
I find her?'
"And Matthew said: 'By her simplicity.'
"And David said: 'There may be many who are simple.'
"And Matthew said: 'I have never known such a woman. But when you see
her your heart will rise up and claim her. Therefore, within five years,
before you are grown too old, go out and find this woman and wed her.'
"And on that day Matthew died, and a great anguish came to David. The
days passed heavily. And for five years he has waited."
There was another interval of blank paper, and then the pen had been
taken up anew, hurriedly, and driven with such force and haste that it
tore the paper-surface.
"The woman is here!"
Her fingers stiffened about the edges of the book. Raising her head, she
looked out through the little window and saw the tree tops down the
hillside brightening against the red of the dawn. But Connor could not
see her face. He only noted the place at which she had stopped, and now
he began to laugh.
"Can you beat that? That poor dub!"
She turned to him, slowly, a face so full of mute anguish that the
gambler stopped his laughter to gape at her. Was she taking this
seriously? Was this the Bluebeard's chamber which was to ruin all his
work?
Not that he perceived what was going on in her mind, but her expression
made him aware, all at once, of the morning-quiet. Far down the valley a
horse neighed and a bird swooping past the window cast in on them one
thrilling phrase of music. And Connor saw the girl change under his very
eye. She was looking straight at him without seeing his face and into
whatever distance her glance went he felt that he could not follow her.
Here at the very threshold of success the old ledger was proving a more
dangerous enemy than David himself. Connor fumbled for words, the Open
Sesame which would let in the common sense of the everyday world upon
the girl. But the very fear of that crisis kept him dumb. He glanced
from the pale hand on the ledger to her face, and it seemed to him that
beauty had fallen upon her out of the book.
"The woman is here! God has sent her!"
At that she cried out faintly, her voice trembling with self-scorn: "God
has sent me--me!"
"The heart of David stood up and beat in his throat when he saw her,"
went on the rough, strong writing. "She passed the gate. Every step she
took was into the soul of David. As I went beside her the trees grew
taller and the sky was more blue.
"She has passed the gate. She is here. She is mine!
"What am I that she should be mine? God has sent her to show me that my
strength is clumsy. I have no words to fit her. When I look into her
eyes I see her soul; my vision leaps from star to star, a great
distance, and I am filled with humility. O Father in Heaven, having led
her to my hand, teach me to give her happiness, to pour her spirit full
of content."
She closed the book reverently and pressed her hands against her face.
He heard her murmuring: "What have I done? God forgive me!"
Connor grew angry. It was no time for trifling.
He touched her arm: "Come on out of this, Ruth. If you're going to get
religion, try it later."
At that she flung away and faced him, and what he saw was a revelation
of angry scorn.
"Don't touch me," she stammered at him. "You cheat! Is that the
barbarian you were telling me about? Is that the cruel, selfish fool you
tried to make me think was David of Eden?"
His own weapons were turning against him, but he retained his
self-control.
"I won't listen to you, Ruth. It's this hush-stuff that's got you. It's
this infernal room. It makes you feel that the fathead has actually got
the dope from God."
"How do you know that God hasn't come to him here? At least, he's had
the courage and the faith to believe it. What faith have we? I know your
heaven, Ben Connor. It's paved with dollar bills. And mine, too. We've
come sneaking in here like cowardly thieves. Oh, I hate myself, I loathe
myself. I've stolen his heart, and what have I to give him in exchange?
I'm not even worthy to love him! Barbarian? He's so far greater and
finer than we are that we aren't worthy to look in his face!"
"By the Lord!" groaned Connor. "Are you double-crossing me?"
"Could I do anything better? Who tempted me like a devil and brought me
here? Who taught me to play the miserable game with David? You, you,
you!"
Perspiration was streaming down the white face of Connor.
"Try to give me a chance and listen one minute, Ruth. But for God's sake
don't fly off the handle and smash everything when we're next door to
winning. Maybe I've done wrong. I don't see how. I've tried to give
this David a chance to be happy the way any other man would want to be
happy. Now you turn on me because he's written some high-flying chatter
in a book!"
"Because I thought he was a selfish sham, and now I see that he's real.
He's humbled himself to me--to me! I'm not worthy to touch his feet! And
you--"
"Maybe I'm rotten. I don't say I'm all I should be, but half of what
I've done has been for you. The minute I saw you at the key in Lukin I
knew I wanted you. I've gone on wanting you ever since. It's the first
time in my life--but I love you, Ruth. Give me one more chance. Put this
thing through and I'll turn over the rest of my life to fixing you up
so's you'll be happy."
She watched him for a moment incredulously; then she broke into
hysterical laughter.
"If you loved me could you have made me do what I've done? Love? You?
But I know what real love is. It's written into that book. I've heard
him talk. I'm full of his voice, of his face.
"It's the only fine thing about me. For the rest, we're shams, both of
us--cheats--crooked--small, sneaking cheats!"
She stopped with a cry of alarm; the door behind her stood open and in
the entrance was David of Eden. In the background was the ugly, grinning
face of Joseph. This was his revenge.
Connor made one desperate effort to smile, but the effort failed
wretchedly. Neither of them could look at David; they could only steal
glances at one another and see their guilt.
"David, my brother--" began the gambler heavily.
But the voice of the master broke in: "Oh, Abraham, Abraham, would to
God that I had listened!"
He stood to one side, and made a sweeping gesture.
"Come out, and bring the woman."
They shrank past him and stood blinking in the light of the newly risen
sun. Joseph was hugging himself with the cold and his mute delight. The
master closed the door and faced them again.
"Even in the Room of Silence!" he said slowly. "Was it not enough to
bring sin into the Garden? But you have carried it even into the holy
place!"
Connor found his tongue. The fallen head of Ruth told him that there was
no help to be looked for from her, and the crisis forced him into a
certain boisterous glibness of speech.
"Sin, Brother David? What sin? To be sure, Ruth was too curious. She
went into the Room of Silence, but as soon as I knew she was there I
went to fetch her, when--"
He had even cast out one arm in a gesture of easy persuasion, and now it
was caught at the wrist in a grip that burned through the flesh to the
bones. Another hand clutched his coat at the throat. He was lifted and
flung back against the wall by a strength like that of a madman, or a
wild animal. One convulsive effort showed him his helplessness, and he
cried out more in horror than fear. Another cry answered him, and Ruth
strove to press in between, tearing futilely at the arms of David.
A moment later Connor was miraculously freed. He found David a long pace
away and Ruth before him, her arms flung out to give him shelter while
she faced the master of the garden.
"He is saved," said David, "and you are free. Your love has ransomed
him. What price has he paid to win you so that you will even risk death
for him?"
"Oh, David," sobbed the girl, "don't you see I only came between you to
keep you from murder? Because he isn't worth it!"
But the master of the Garden was laughing in a way that made Connor look
about for a weapon and shrink because he found none; only the greedy
eyes of Joseph, close by. David had come again close to the girl; he
even took both her hands in one of his and slipped his arm about her. To
Connor his self-control now seemed more terrible than that one outbreak
of murdering passion.
"Still lies?" said David. "Still lies to me? Beautiful Ruth--never more
beautiful than now, even when you lied to me with your eyes and your
smiles and your promises! The man is nothing. He came like a snake to
me, and his life is worth no more than the life of a snake. Let him
live, let him die; it is no matter. But you, Ruth! I am not even
angered. I see you already from a great distance, a beautiful, evil
thing that has been so close to me. For you have been closer to me than
you are now that my arm is around you, touching you for the last time,
holding your warmth and your tender body, keeping both your hands, which
are smaller and softer than the hands of a child. But mighty hands,
nevertheless.
"They have held the heart of David, and they have almost thrown his soul
into eternal hellfire. Yet you have been closer to me than you are now.
You have been in my heart of hearts. And I take you from it sadly--with
regret, for the sin of loving you has been sweet."
She had been sobbing softly all this time, but now she mastered herself
long enough to draw back a little, taking his hands with a desperate
eagerness, as though they gave her a hold upon his mind.
"Give me one minute to speak out what I have to say. Will you give me
one half minute, David?"
His glance rose past her, higher, until it was fixed on the east, and as
he stood there with his head far back Connor guessed for the first time
at the struggle which was going on within him. The girl pressed closer
to him, drawing his hands down as though she would make him stoop to
her.
"Look at me, David!"
"I see your face clearly."
"Still, look at me for the one last time."
"I dare not, Ruth!"
"But will you believe me?"
"I shall try. But I am glad to hear your voice, for the last time."
"I've come to you like a cheat, David, and I've tried to win you in
order to steal the horses away, but I've stayed long enough to see the
truth.
"If everything in the valley were offered me--the horses and the
men--and everything outside of the valley, without you, I'd throw them
away. I don't want them. Oh, if prayers could make you believe, you'd
believe me now; because I'm praying to you, David.
"You love me, David. I can feel you trembling, and I love you more than
I ever dreamed it was possible to love. Let me come back to you. I don't
want the world or anything that's in it. I only want you. David--I only
want you! Will you believe me?"
And Connor saw David of Eden sway with the violence of his struggle.
But he murmured at length, as one in wonder:
"How you are rooted in me, Ruth! How you are wound into my life, so that
it is like tearing out my heart to part from you. But the God of the
Garden and John and Matthew has given me strength." He stepped back from
her.
"You are free to go, but if you return the doom against you is death
like that of any wild beast that steals down the cliffs to kill in my
fields. Begone, and let me see your face no more. Joseph, take them to
the gate."
And he turned his back with a slowness which made his resolution the
more unmistakable.
_CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR_
It was, unquestionably, a tempting of Providence, but Connor was almost
past caring. Far off he heard the neighing of an Eden Gray; Ruth, with
her bowed head and face covered in her hands, was before him, sobbing;
and all that he had come so near to winning and yet had lost rushed upon
the mind of the gambler. He hardly cared now whether he lived or died.
He called to the master of the Garden, and David whirled on him with a
livid face. Connor walked into the reach of the lion.
"I've made my play," he said through his teeth, "and I don't holler
because I've lost the big stakes. Now I'm going to give you something to
show that I'm not a piker--some free advice, Dave!"
"O man of many lies," said David. "Peace! For when I hear you there is a
great will come on me to take you by the throat and hear your life go
out with a rattle."
"A minute ago," said Connor coolly enough, "I was scared, and I admit
it, but I'm past that stage. I've lost too much to care, and now you're
going to hear me out to the last damned word!"
"God of Paul and Matthew," said David, his voice broken with rage, "let
temptation be far from me!"
"You can take it standing or sitting," said Connor, "and be damned to
you!"
The blind fury sent David a long step nearer, but he checked himself
even as one hand rose toward Connor.
"It is the will of God that you live to be punished hereafter."
"No matter about the future. I'm chattering in the present. I'm going to
come clean, not because I'm afraid of you, but because I'm going to
clear up the girl. Abraham had the cold dope, well enough. I came to
crook you out of a horse, Dave, my boy, and I did it. But after I'd got
away with the goods I tried to play hog, and I came back for the rest of
the horses."
He paused; but David showed no emotion.
"You take the punishment very well," admitted Connor. "There's a touch
of sporting blood in you, but the trouble is that the good in you has
never had a fair chance to come to the top. I came back, and I brought
Ruth with me.
"I'll tell you about her. She's meant to be an honest-to-God woman--the
kind that keeps men clean--she's meant for the big-time stuff. And where
did I find her? In a jay town punching a telegraph key. It was all
wrong.
"She was made to spend a hundred thousand a year. Everything that money
buys means a lot to her. I saw that right away. I like her. I did more
than like her. I loved her. That makes you flinch under the whip, does
it? I don't say I'm worthy of her, but I'm as near to her as you are.
"I admit I played a rotten part. I went to this girl, all starved the
way she was for the velvet touch. I laid my proposition before her. She
was to come up here and bamboozle you. She was to knock your eye out and
get you clear of the valley with the horses. Then I was going to run
those horses on the tracks and make a barrel of coin for all of us.
"You'd think she'd take on a scheme like that right away; but she
didn't. She fought to keep from going crooked until I showed her it was
as much to your advantage as it was to ours. Then she decided to come,
and she came. I worked my stall and she worked hers, and she got into
the valley.
"But this voice of yours in the Room of Silence--why didn't it put you
wise to my game? Well, David, I'll tell you why. The voice is the bunk.
It's your own thoughts. It's your own hunches. The god you've been
worshiping up here is yourself, and in the end you're going to pay hell
for doing it.
"Well, here's the girl in the Garden, and everything going smooth. We
have you, and she's about to take you out and show you how to be happy
in the world. But then she has to go into your secret room. That's the
woman of it. You blame her? Why, you infernal blockhead, you've been
making love to her like God Almighty speaking out of a cloud of fire!
How could she hear your line of chatter without wanting to find out the
secrets that made you the nut you are?
"Well, we went in, and we found out. We found out what? Enough to make
the girl see that you're 'noble,' as she calls it. Enough to make me see
that you're a simp. You've been chasing bubbles all your life. You're
all wrong from the first.
"Those first four birds who started the Garden, who were they? There was
John, a rich fellow who'd hit the high spots, had his life messed up,
and was ready to quit. He'd lived enough. Then there was Luke, a gent
who'd been double-crossed and was sore at the world on general
principles.
"Paul would have been a full-sized saint in the old days. He was never
meant to live the way other men have to live. And finally there's a guy
who lies in the grass and whistles to a bird--Matthew. A poet--and all
poets are nuts.
"Well, all those fellows were tired of the world--fed up with it. Boil
them down, and they come to this: they thought more about the welfare
of their souls than they did about the world. Was that square? It
wasn't! They left the mothers and fathers, the brothers and sisters, the
friends, everything that had brought them into the world and raised 'em.
They go off to take care of themselves.
"That wasn't bad enough for 'em--they had to go out and pluck you and
bring you up with the same rotten hunches. Davie, my boy, d'you think a
man is made to live by himself?
"You haven't got fed up with the world; you're no retired high liver;
you haven't had a chance to get double-crossed more than once; you're
not a crazy poet; and you're a hell of a long ways from being a martyr.
"I'll tell you what you are. You're a certain number of pounds of husky
muscle and bone going to waste up here in the mountains. You've been
alone so much that you've got to thinking that your own hunches come
from God, and that'd spoil any man.
"Live alone? Bah! You've had more happiness since Ruth came into this
valley than you've ever had before or you'll ever have again.
"Right now you're breaking your heart to take her in your arms and tell
her to stop crying, but your pride won't let you.
"You tried to make yourself a mystery with your room of silence and all
that bunk. But no woman can stand a mystery. They all got to read their
husband's letters. You try to bluff her with a lot of fancy words and
partly scare her. It's fear that sent the four men up here in the first
place--fear of the world.
"And they've lived by fear. They scared a lot of poor unfortunate men
into coming with them for the sake of their souls, they said. And they
kept them here the same way. And they've kept you here by telling you
that you'd be damned if you went over the mountains.
"And you still keep them here the same way. Do you think they stay
because they love you? Give them a chance and see if they won't pack up
and beat it for their old homes.
"Now, show me that you're a man and not a fatheaded bluff. Be a man and
admit that what you call the Voice is just your pride. Be a man and take
that girl in your arms and tell her you love her. I've made a mess of
things; I've ruined her life, and I want to see you give her a chance to
be happy.
"Because she's not the kind to love more than one man if she lives to be
a thousand. Now, David Eden, step out and give yourself a chance!"
It had been a gallant last stand on the part of Connor. But he was
beaten before he finished, and he knew it.
"Are you done?" said David.
"I'm through, fast enough. It's up to you!"
"Joseph, take the man and his woman out of the Garden of Eden."
The last thing that Connor ever saw of David Eden was his back as he
closed the door of the Room of Silence upon himself. The gambler went to
Ruth. She was dry-eyed by this time, and there was a peculiar blankness
in her expression that went to his heart.
Secretly he had hoped that his harangue to David would also be a
harangue to the girl and make her see through the master of the Garden;
but that hope disappeared at once.
He stayed a little behind her when they were conducted out of the patio
by the grinning Joseph. He helped her gently to her horse, the old gray
gelding, and when he was in place on his own horse, with the mule pack
behind him, they started for the gate.
She had not spoken since they started. At the gate she moved as if to
turn and look back, but controlled the impulse and bowed her head once
more. Joseph came beside the gambler and stretched out his great palm.
In the center of it was the little ivory ape's head which had brought
Connor his entrance into the valley and had won the hatred of the big
Negro, and had, eventually, ruined all his plans.
"It was given freely," grinned Joseph, "and it is freely returned."
"Very well."
Connor took it and hurled it out of sight along the boulders beyond the
gate. The last thing that he saw of the Garden of Eden and its men was
that broad grin of Joseph, and then he hurried his horse to overtake
Ruth, whose gelding had been plodding steadily along the ravine.
He attempted for the first time to speak to her.
"Only a quitter tries to make up for the harm he's done by apologizing.
But I've got to tell you the one thing in my life I most regret. It
isn't tricking David of Eden, but it's doing what I've done to you. Will
you believe me when I say that I'd give a lot to undo what I've done?"
She only raised her hand to check him and ventured a faint smile of
reassurance. It was the smile that hurt Connor to the quick.
They left the ravine. They toiled slowly up the difficult trail, and
even when they had reached such an altitude that the floor of the valley
of the Garden was unrolling behind them the girl never once moved to
look back.
"So," thought Connor, "she'll go through the rest of her life with her
head down, watching the ground in front of her. And this is my work."
He was not a sentimentalist, but a lump was forming in his throat when,
at the very crest of the mountain, the girl turned suddenly in her
saddle and stopped the gray.
"Only makes it worse to stay here," muttered Connor. "Come on, Ruth."
But she seemed not to hear him, and there was something in her smile
that kept him from speaking again.
_CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE_
The Room of Silence had become to David Eden a chamber of horror. The
four chairs around him, which had hitherto seemed filled with the ghosts
of the four first masters of the Garden, were now empty to his
imagination. In this place where he had so often found unfailing
consolation, unfailing counsel, he was now burdened by the squat, heavy
walls, and the low ceiling. It was like a prison to him.
For all his certainty was gone. "You've made yourself your God," the
gambler had said. "Fear made the Garden of Eden, fear keeps the men in
it. Do you think the others stay for love of you?"
Benjamin had proved a sinner, no doubt, but there had been a ring of
conviction in his words that remained in the mind of David. How could he
tell that the man was not right? Certainly, now that he had once doubted
the wisdom of that silent Voice, the mystery was gone. The room was
empty; the holiness had departed from the Garden of Eden with the
departing of Ruth.
He found himself avoiding the thought of her, for whenever her image
rose before him it was torture.
He dared not even inquire into the depression which weighed down his
spirits, for he knew that the loss of the girl was the secret of it
all.
One thing at least was certain: the strong, calming voice which he had
so often heard in the Room of Silence, no longer dwelt there, and with
that in mind he rose and went into the patio.
In a corner, screened by a climbing vine, hung a large bell which had
only been rung four times in the history of the Garden of Eden, and each
time it was for the death of the master. David tore the green away and
struck the bell. The brazen voice crowded the patio and pealed far away,
and presently the men came. They came in wild-eyed haste, and when they
saw David alive before them they stared at him as if at a ghost.
"As it was in the beginning," said David when the circle had been formed
and hushed, "death follows sin. Sin has come into the Garden of Eden and
the voice of God has died out of it. Therefore the thing for which you
have lived here so long is gone. If for love of David, you wish to stay,
remain; but if your hearts go back to your old homes, return to them.
The wagons and the oxen are yours. All the furnishing of the houses are
yours. There is also a large store of money in my chest which Elijah
shall divide justly among you. And on your journey Elijah shall lead
you, if you go forth, for he is a just man and fit to lead others. Do
not answer now, but return to your house and speak to one another.
Afterward, send one man. If you stay in the Garden he shall tell me. If
you depart I shall bid you farewell through him. Begone!"
They went out soft-footed, as though the master of the Garden had turned
into an animal liable to spring on them from behind.
He began to pace up and down the patio, after a time, rather
impatiently. No doubt the foolish old men were holding forth at great
length. They were appointing the spokesman, and they were framing the
speech which he would make to David telling of their devotion to him,
whether the spirit was gone or remained. They would remain; and
Benjamin's prophecy had been that of a spiteful fool. Yet even if they
stayed, how empty the valley would be--how hollow of all pleasure!
It was at this point in his thoughts that he heard a sound of singing
down the hillside from the house of the servants--first a single, thin,
trembling voice to which others were added until the song was heartened
and grew full and strong. It was a song which David had never heard
before. It rang and swung with a peculiarly happy rhythm, growing
shriller as the old men seemed to gather their enthusiasm. The words,
sung in a thick dialect, were stranger to David than the tune, but as
nearly as he could make out the song ran as follows:
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars
For the cows they has come to the pasture bars,
And the little game chicken's beginning to crow:
Come back to us, Jo; come back to us, Jo!
"He was walkin' in the gyarden in the cool o' the day
When He seen my baby Jo in the clover blossoms play.
"He was walkin' in the gyarden an' the dew was on His feet
When He seen my baby Jo so little an' sweet.
"They was flowers in the gyarden, roses, an' such,
But the roses an' the pansies, they didn't count for much.
"An' He left the clover blossoms fo' the bees the next day An'
the roses an' the pansies, but He took Jo away.
"Oh, Jo, come back from the cold and the stars
For the cows they has come to the pasture bars,
And the little game chicken has started to crow:
Come back to us, Jo; come back to us Jo!"
He knew their voices and he knew their songs, but never had David heard
his servants sing as they sang this song. Their hymns were strong and
pleasant to the ear, but in this old tune there was a melody and a lilt
that brought a lump in his throat. And there was a heart to their
singing, so that he almost saw them swaying their shoulders to the
melody.
It was the writing on the wall for David.
Out of that song he built a picture of their old lives, the hot
sunshine, the dust, and all the things which Matthew had told him of the
slaves and their ways before the time of the making of the Garden.
He waited, then, either for their messenger or for another song; but he
neither saw the one nor heard the other for a considerable time. An
angry pride sustained him in the meantime, in the face of a life alone
in the Garden. Far off, he heard the neigh of the grays in the meadow
near the gate, and then the clarion clear answer of Glani near the
house. He was grateful for that sound. All men, it seemed, were traitors
to him. Let them go. He would remain contented with the Eden Grays. They
would come and go with him like human companions. Better the noble head
of Glani near him than the treacherous cunning of Benjamin! He accepted
his fate, then, not with calm resignation, but with fierce anger against
Connor, who had brought this ruin on him, and against the men who were
preparing to desert him.
He could hear plainly the creaking of the great wains as the oxen were
yoked to them and they were dragged into position to receive the burdens
of the property they were to take with them into the outer world. And,
in the meantime, he paced through the patio in one of those silent
passions which eat at the heart of a man.
He was not aware of the entrance of Elijah. When he saw him, Elijah had
fallen on his knees near the entrance to the patio, and every line of
his time-dried body expressed the terror of the bearer of bad tidings.
David looked at him for a moment in silent rage.
"Do you think, Elijah," he said at last, "that I shall be so grieved to
know that you and the others will leave me and the Garden of Eden? No,
no! For I shall be happier alone. Therefore, speak and be done!"
"Timeh--" began the old man faintly.
"You have done that last duty, then, Elijah? Timeh is no longer alive?"
"The day is still new, David. Twice I went to Timeh, but each time when
I was about to lead her away, the neighing of Juri troubled me and my
heart failed."
"But the third time you remembered my order?"
"But the third time--there was no third time. When the bell sounded we
gathered. Even the watchers by the the gates--Jacob and Isaac--came and
the gate was left unguarded--Timeh was in the pasture near the gate with
Juri--and--"
"They are gone! They have passed through the gate! Call Zacharias and
Joseph. Let them mount and follow and bring Juri back with the foal!"
"Oh, David, my master--"
"What is it now, Elijah, old stammerer? Of all my servants none has cost
me so much pain; to none shall I say farewell with so little regret.
What is it now? Why do you not rise and call them as I bid you? Do you
think you are free before you pass the gates?"
"David, there are no horses to follow Juri!"
"What!"
"The God of John and Paul give me strength to tell and give you strength
to hear me in patience! When you had spoken, and the servants went back
to speak of the strange things you had said, some of them spoke of the
old days before they heard the call and followed to the Garden, and then
a song was raised beginning with Zacharias--"
"Zacharias!" echoed David, softly and fiercely. "Him whom I have favored
above the others!"
"But while the others sang, I heard a neighing near the gate and I
remembered your order and your judgment of Timeh, and I went sorrowfully
to fulfill your will. But near the gate I saw the meadow empty of the
horses, and while I stood wondering, I heard a chorus of neighing beyond
the gate. There was a great answer just behind me, and I turned and saw
Glani racing at full speed. I called to him, but he did not hear and
went on, straight through the pillars of the gate, and disappeared in
the ravine beyond. Then I ran to the gate and looked out, but the horses
were gone from sight--they have left the Garden--they are free--"
"And happy!" said David in a terrible voice. "They, too, have only been
held by fear and never by love. Let them go. Let all go which is kept
here by fear. Why should I care? I am enough by myself. When all is gone
and I am alone the Voice shall return and be my companion. It is well.
Let every living thing depart. David is enough unto himself. Go, Elijah!
And yet pause before you go!"
He went into his room and came out bearing the heavy chest of money,
which he carried to the gate.
"Go to your brothers and bid them come for the money. It will make them
rich enough in the world beyond the mountains, but to me there is need
of no money. Silence and peace is my wish. Go, and let me hear their
voices no more, let me not see one face. Ingrates, fools, and traitors!
Let them find their old places; I have no regret. Begone!"
And Elijah, as one under the shadow of a raised whip, skulked from the
patio and was gone.
_CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX_
The last quiet began for David. He had heard the sounds of departure. He
had heard the rumble of the oxwains begin and go slowly toward the gate
with never the sound of a human voice, and he pictured, with a grim
satisfaction, the downcast faces and the frightened, guilty glances, as
his servants fled, conscious that they were betraying their master. It
filled him with a sort of sulky content which was more painful than
sorrow. But before the sound of the wagons died out the wind blew back
from the gate of the Garden a thin, joyous chorus of singing voices.
They were leaving him with songs!
He was incredulous for a time. He felt, first, a great regret that he
had let them go. Then, in an overwhelming wave of righteousness, he
determined to dismiss them from his mind. They were gone; but worse
still, the horses were gone, and the valley around him was empty! He
remembered the dying prophecy of Abraham, now, as the stern Elijah had
repeated it. He had let the world into the Garden, and the tide of the
world's life, receding, would take all the life of the Garden away
beyond the mountains among other men.
The feeling that Connor had been right beset him: that the four first
masters had been wrong, and that they had raised David in error. Yet his
pride still upheld him.
That day he went resolutely about the routine. He was not hungry, but
when the time came he went into the big kitchen and prepared food. It
was a place of much noise. The great copper kettles chimed and murmured
whenever he touched them, and they spoke to him of the servants who were
gone. Half of his bitterness had already left him and he could remember
those days in his childhood when Abraham had told him tales, and
Zacharias had taught him how to ride at the price of many a tumble from
the lofty back of the gentle old mare. Yet he set the food on the table
in the patio and ate it with steady resolution. Then he returned to the
big kitchen and cleansed the dishes.
It was the late afternoon, now, the time when the sunlight becomes
yellow and loses its heat, and the heavy blue shadow sloped across the
patio. A quiet time. Now and again he found that he was tense with
waiting for sounds in the wind of the servants returning for the night
from the fields, and the shrill whinny of the colts coming back from the
pastures to the paddocks. But he remembered what had happened and made
himself relax.
There was a great dread before him. Finally he realized that it was the
coming of the night, and he went into the Room of Silence for the last
time to find consolation. The book of Matthew had always been a means of
bringing the consolation and counsel of the Voice, but when he opened
the book he could only think of the girl, as she must have leaned above
it. How had she read? With a smile of mockery or with tears? He closed
the book; but still she was with him. It seemed that when he turned in
the chair he must find her waiting behind him and he found himself
growing tense with expectation, his heart beating rapidly.
Out of the Room of Silence he fled as if a curse lived in it, and
without following any conscious direction, he went to the room of Ruth.
The fragrance had left the wild flowers, and the great golden blossoms
at the window hung thin and limp, the bell lips hanging close together,
the color faded to a dim yellow. The green things must be taken away
before they molded. He raised his hand to tear down the transplanted
vine, but his fingers fell away from it. To remove it was to destroy the
last trace of her. She had seen these flowers; on account of them she
had smiled at him with tears of happiness in her eyes. The skin of the
mountain lion on the floor was still rumpled where her foot had fallen,
and he could see the indistinct outline where the heel of her shoe had
pressed.
He avoided that place when he stepped back, and turning, he saw her bed.
The dappled deerskin lay crumpled back where her hand had tossed it as
she rose that morning, and in the blankets was the distinct outline of
her body. He knew where her body had pressed, and there was the hollow
made by her head in the pillow.
Something snapped in the heart of David. The sustaining pride which had
kept his head high all day slipped from him like the strength of the
runner when he crosses the mark. David fell upon his knees and buried
his face where her head had lain, and his arms curved as though around
her body. Connor had been right. He had made himself his god, and this
was the punishment. The mildness of a new humility came to him in the
agony of his grief. He found that he could pray, not the proud prayers
of the old days when David talked as an equal to the voice, but that
most ancient prayer of sinners:
"O Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief!"
And the moment the whisper had passed his lips there was a blessed
relief from pain. There was a sound at the window, and turning to it, he
saw the head and the arched neck of Glani against the red of the
sunset--Glani looking at him with pricked ears. He went to the stallion,
incredulous, with steps as short as a child which is afraid, and at his
coming Glani whinnied softly. At that the last of David's pride fell
from him. He cast his arms around the neck of the stallion and wept with
deep sobs that tore his throat, and under the grip of his arms he felt
the stallion trembling. He was calmer, at length, and he climbed through
the window and stood beside Glani under the brilliant sunset sky.
"And the others, O Glani," he said. "Have they returned likewise? Timeh
shall live. I, who have judged others so often, have been myself judged
and found wanting. Timeh shall live. What am I that I should speak of
the life or the death of so much as the last bird in the trees? But have
they all returned, all my horses?"
He whistled that call which every gray knew as a rallying sound, a call
that would bring them at a dead gallop with answering neighs. But when
the thin sound of the whistle died out there was no reply. Only Glani
had moved away and was looking back to David as if he bid the master
follow.
"Is it so, Glani?" said the master. "They have not come back, but you
have returned to lead me to them? The woman, the man, the servants, and
the horses. But we shall leave the valley, walking together. Let the
horses go, and the man and the woman and the servants; but we shall go
forth together and find the world beyond the mountains."
And with his hand tangled in the mane of the stallion, he walked down
the road, away from the hill, the house, the lake. He would not look
back, for the house on the hill seemed to him a tomb, the monument of
the four dead men who had made this little kingdom.
By the time he reached the gate the Garden of Eden was awash with the
shadows of the evening, but the higher mountain-tops before him were
still rosy with the sunset. He paused at the gate and looked out on
them, and when he turned to Glani again, he saw a figure crouched
against the base of the rock wall. It was Ruth, weeping, her head fallen
into her hands with weariness. Above her stood Glani, his head turned to
the master in almost human inquiry. The deep cry of David wakened her.
The gentle hands of David raised her to her feet.
"You have not come to drive me away again?"
"To drive you from the Garden? Look back. It is black. It is full of
death, and the world and our life is before us. I have been a king in
the Garden. It is better to be a man among men. All the Garden was mine.
Now my hands are empty. I bring you nothing, Ruth. Is it enough? Ah, my
dear, you are weeping!"
"With happiness. My heart is breaking with happiness, David."
He tipped up her face and held it between his hands. Whatever he saw in
the darkness that was gathering it was enough to make him sigh. Then he
raised her to the back of Glani, and the stallion, which had never borne
a weight except that of David, stood like a stone. So David went up the
valley holding the hand of Ruth and looking up to her with laughter in
his eyes, and she, with one hand pressed against her breast, laughed
back to him, and the great stallion went with his head turned to watch
them.
"How wonderful are the ways of God!" said David. "Through a thief he has
taught me wisdom; through a horse he has taught me faith; and you, oh,
my love, are the key with which he has unlocked my heart!"
And they began to climb the mountain.