topic--herself. He told her that nothing had occurred to make him change
his wishes or his hopes; since her absence began his resolve had grown.
He felt more than ever that the claim of Mr. Plummer upon her, though of
a high and noble nature, even if he did hold her promise, must yield to
the love of the husband for the wife. Mr. Plummer would come to see
this, and he would come to see it in time. He had no desire to interfere
with the natural affection of the man who had done so much for Sylvia,
nor did he feel that he was making such interference.
Harley was not sure that he would receive a reply to this letter, but it
came in due time, nevertheless, and it was Jimmy Grayson himself who
handed it to him. The handwriting of the address was known, of course,
to Mr. Grayson, and he could scarcely have failed to notice it, but he
said nothing, and apparently the fact passed unheeded by him.
Sylvia, in the course of her letter, confined herself to impartial
narrative, and began with the event of the spellbinder, which Harley had
told to her in detail. Indeed, it seemed to Harley that she devoted a
very remarkable amount of space to its consideration, especially as she
agreed with him that Mr. Grayson's action was right; nevertheless, she
discussed it from all points of the compass, and then she wrote with
almost equal amplitude of her sight-seeing in Salt Lake City.
Harley knew that Mormons were no novelty to Sylvia, as she had seen many
of them in Idaho, but she seemed to feel it necessary to describe with
particularity all the great Mormon buildings, and also to speak fully of
the manners and customs of the people. All this might have been very
interesting to him at another time and from another pen, but now he saw
only the handwriting and wished her to devote attention to that little
codicil in his own letter in which he so earnestly avowed again his love
and his belief in its ultimate triumph. She made no allusion whatever to
it, and he felt his heart sink. Nor did she speak of "King" Plummer, and
he could not gather from the letter whether he was yet in Salt Lake City
or had gone back to Idaho. She had carefully avoided all the subjects on
which he hoped she would write, and as he closed the letter and put it
in his pocket he was still rather blue.
But reflection put him in a different and much more pleasant frame of
mind. The fact that she had replied was a good omen, and her very
avoidance of the most delicate of all subjects was proof that she did
not forbid it to him. Harley was a bold man, and, being ready to push
his fortune to the utmost in a cause that he believed righteous, he
resolved to write her another letter in a few days, and to repeat in it
much that he had said in his first, or to say words to the same effect.
Meanwhile his countenance assumed a joyous cast, which was noticeable
because he was habitually of grave demeanor, and his associates,
observing the change, taxed him with the fact and demanded an
explanation, Hobart in particular wishing to know. Harley lightly
ascribed it to the rarefied air, as they were ascending a plateau, and
the others, though calling it the baldest and poorest of replies, were
forced to be content.
But one man who noticed Harley, and who said nothing, guessed much
closer to the cause. It was Mr. Grayson himself, who had seen the
address on the envelope, and it aroused grave thoughts in him. Nor were
these thoughts unkind to Sylvia or Harley. It was the custom of the
candidate to subject himself at intervals to a searching mental
examination, and now he made James Grayson walk out before him again and
undergo this minute process.
He was extremely fond of Sylvia, whose grace, intelligence, and loyalty
appealed to the best in him, and he was anxious to secure her happiness
and her position in life, on which, in a measure, the former depended.
For these reasons he had received with pleasure the news that Sylvia was
going to marry Mr. Plummer. Despite the disparity of ages, the match
seemed fitting to him; he knew the worth and honor of the "King" to be
so great that the happiness of any young girl, especially that of one
who owed so much to him, ought to be safe in his keeping. But now the
doubts which had begun to form were growing stronger. He saw that nature
was playing havoc with mere material fitness, and there came to him the
question of his own duty.
The candidate now knew well enough that Sylvia did not love Mr. Plummer
as a girl should love the man whom she is going to marry, but that she
did love Harley. He conceived it, too, to be a true and lasting love
with both the young man and the young woman, and again came to him that
question of his own duty, a question not only troublesome, but dangerous
to him in his present situation. He knew that Sylvia, despite all, would
marry "King" Plummer unless the unforeseen occurred, and make herself
unhappy all her life. Should he, then, tell "King" Plummer, or have his
wife tell him in the more indirect and delicate way women have, that the
burden of the situation rested upon him, and that he ought to release
Sylvia? The candidate shrank from such a task; he could not meddle, even
when it was his own niece whom he wished to save, and there was another
thought, too, in the background which he strove honestly to keep out of
his mind; it was the old apprehension lest the "King" in his rage,
particularly when it was the candidate himself who took from him his
heart's desire, should rebel, or at least sulk and put the Mountain
States in the opposing column. It was no less true now than in the
Middle Ages that men disappointed in love some times did desperate
things, and "King" Plummer was a full-blooded, impulsive man.
Brooding much upon the question, a rare frown came to the face of Jimmy
Grayson, and stayed there so long that his followers noticed it, and
wondered much. They decided that it was the revolt within the party, and
did not disturb him, but his wife, more acute, knew that it was not
politics, and, sitting down beside him, waited silently until he should
speak, as she knew he would in time. A full hour passed thus, and
scarcely any one in the train uttered a word. The candidate gazed
gloomily out of the window, but he did not see the mountains and the
canons as they shot by. Most of the state politicians slept in their
seats, and the correspondents either wrote or communed with themselves.
Mr. Grayson rose at last, and, saying to his wife, "I should like a word
with you in private," led the way to the drawing-room. She followed,
knowing that he wished to speak of the trouble on his mind, and she made
a shrewd guess as to its nature.
"Anna, it is something that I have been trying to put away from me," he
said, when they were in the privacy of the drawing-room, "but it won't
stay away. I suppose I ought to have spoken to you of it some time ago,
but I could not make up my mind to do it."
She smiled a little.
"I, too, have been dreading the subject," she said, "if it is what I
think it is. You are going to speak of Sylvia, Mr. Plummer, and Mr.
Harley."
"Yes, Harley has a letter from Sylvia, and he will have more. She
doesn't want to write to him, but she will. The girl is breaking her
heart, and I am not sure that you and I are doing what we ought to do."
"And you do not think that Mr. Plummer would make a suitable husband for
her?"
She regarded him keenly from under lowered eyelids--the question was
merely intended to lead to something else.
"That is not the point. Harley is the man she loves, and Harley is the
man she should marry."
"Should she not decide this question for herself?"
The candidate studied the face of his wife. Her words, if taken simply
as words, would seem metallic and cold, but there was an expression that
gave them a wholly different meaning to him.
"Under ordinary circumstances, yes," he said, "but the circumstances in
which Sylvia finds herself are not ordinary, and I am not sure how far
we are responsible for them."
"I undertook to act once, and I was sorry that I did so."
The candidate did not speak again for several moments, but Mrs. Grayson
read his expressive face.
"You have thought of something else," she said, "that is or seems to be
connected with this affair of Sylvia's."
"I have, and I am afraid it is that which has been holding me back."
The eyes of the two met, and, although they said no more upon that
point, they understood each other perfectly.
"Anna," said the candidate, with decision, "you must write to Mr.
Plummer. I do not shift this burden from myself to you because of any
desire to escape it, but because I know you will write the letter so
much better than I can."
Her eyes met his again, and hers shone with admiration--he was not less
brave than she had thought him.
"I do not know what will come of it," he said; "perhaps nothing, but in
any event we ought to write it."
"I will write," she said, firmly.
The candidate said nothing more but he bent down and kissed his wife on
the forehead.
When Jimmy Grayson returned from the drawing-room, they noticed that the
frown was gone from his face, and at once there was a new atmosphere in
the car. The sleepy politicians awoke and made new or old jokes; the
correspondents ceased writing, and asked Mr. Grayson what he intended to
put in his next speech. Obviously the current of life began to run full
and free again, and the incomparable scenery gliding by their
car-windows no longer passed without comment. But Mrs. Grayson, in the
drawing-room, taking much thought and care, was writing this letter,
which she addressed to Mr. Plummer, in Boise, where she heard that he
was going from Salt Lake City:
"DEAR MR. PLUMMER,--I want to tell you how we are getting on,
because I know how deeply you are interested in the campaign, and
all of us have enjoyed the way in which you affiliated with our
little group. We have been so long together now that we have become
a sort of family--speakers, writers, and well-wishers, with Mr.
Grayson as the head in virtue of his position as nominee. You have
had a large place in this family--what shall I call it?--a kind of
elder brother, one who out of the fund of his experience could
wisely lead the younger and more impulsive."
Mrs. Grayson stopped here and tapped her finger thoughtfully with the
staff of her pen. "That paragraph," she mused, "should bring home to him
the fact that he is old as compared with Sylvia and Mr. Harley, and that
is the first thing I wish to establish in his mind." Then, dipping her
pen in the ink again, she wrote:
"This, I think, is one of the reasons that our young people have
missed you so much. You were always prepared to take your part in
the entertainment of the day, but your gravity and your years,
which, without being too many, become you so much, exercised a
restraining influence upon them, and showed them the line at which
they should stop. I think that you acquired over them an influence,
in its way paternal, and it is in such a capacity that they miss
you most."
The lady's smile deepened, and in her mind was the thought that if he
did not wince at this bolt he was, indeed, impervious. Then she
continued:
"My interest in this campaign is not alone political nor personal
to Mr. Grayson, which also means myself, but I have become much
interested in those who travel with us--that is, those who have
become the members of our new family. There is Mr. Heathcote, who
was sent West as our enemy, and quickly turned to a friend. There
is Mr. Tremaine, who is such a gay old beau, and who never realizes
that he is too old for the young women with whom he wishes to
flirt."
The lady stopped again, and her smile was deeper than ever. "Now that
was unintended," she mused, "but it comes in very happily." She resumed:
"And there is Mr. Hobart, who loves mysteries, especially murder
mysteries, and who saved the life of that innocent boy. I find him
a most interesting character, but, after all, he is read with less
difficulty than Mr. Harley, who, though silent and reserved, seems
to me to be deeper and more complex. His, I am sure, is a very
strong nature--Mr. Grayson, you know, is quite fond of him, and in
certain things has got into the habit of leaning upon him. Mr.
Harley seems to me to be fitted by temperament and strength to be
the shield and support of some one. He could make the girl who
should become his wife very happy, and I am wondering if he will go
out of our West without forming such an attachment."
"That surely," thought the lady, "will bring him to the question which I
present to his mind, and he will answer it whether he will or not, by
saying this attachment has been formed, and it is for Sylvia." She
continued:
"Like Mr. Grayson, I am very fond of Mr. Harley, who has proved
himself a true friend to us, and I should like to see him
happy--that is, married to a true woman, who would not alone
receive strength, but give it, too. In the course of his vocation,
he has already roamed about the world enough, and it is time now
for him to settle down. If I had my way I should select for him one
of our fine Western girls; about twenty-one or two, I think, would
be the right age for him--there is a fitness in these things."
"I wonder if that is blunt?" she mused. "No, he will think it just
popped out, and that I was unconscious of it. I shall let it stay." Then
she resumed:
"It ought to be a girl with a temperament that is at once a match
and foil for his own. She should have a sense of humor, a gift for
light and ironic speech that can stir him without irritating him,
because he is perhaps of a cautious disposition, and hence would be
well matched with one a little bit impulsive, each exercising the
proper influence upon the other. She should be strong, too,
habituated to physical hardship, as our Western girls are. Such a
marriage, I think, would be ideal, and I expect you, Mr. Plummer,
when you rejoin us, to help me make it, should the opportunity
arise.
Yours sincerely,
"ANNA GRAYSON."
She folded the sheets, put them in the envelope, and addressed them. It
was the second time that she had written to Mr. Plummer, but with a very
different motive, and she had more confidence in the second letter than
she had ever felt in the first.
"That will cause him pain," she reflected, "but the task cannot be done
without it."
In her heart she was genuinely sorry for Mr. Plummer, thinking at that
moment more of his grief than of her husband's risk, but she was
resolute to mail the letter, nevertheless. She read it a little later to
Mr. Grayson, and he approved.
"It is likely to bring 'King' Plummer raging down from Idaho, but it
ought to go," he said.
A half-hour later, this letter, written in a delicate, feminine hand,
but heavy with fate, was speeding northwestward.
XVIII
THE SACRIFICE
A few days after writing this letter, Mrs. Grayson announced that Sylvia
would rejoin them on the following afternoon, having shortened her stay
in Salt Lake City, as her relations were about to depart on a visit to
California.
"She wants very much to go on with us," said Mrs. Grayson, "and rather
than send her either to Boise or to our home, where she would be alone,
we are willing for her to continue."
"I should think you would be!" exclaimed Hobart. "Why, Mrs. Grayson,
much as we esteem you, we would start a violent rebellion if you should
send Miss Morgan away, a rebellion attended by bloodshed and desperate
deeds."
Mrs. Grayson smiled and glanced at Harley, who was silent. But she did
not fail to see the flash of pleasure under his veiled eyelids.
"Keep your pistol in your pocket and your sword in its sheath, Mr.
Hobart," she said; "I shall not give you occasion to use either."
"Then I declare for peace."
Sylvia joined them at the time mentioned by Mrs. Grayson, quiet,
slightly pale, and disposed, in the opinion of the Graysons, to much
thought. "The girl has something on her mind which she cannot put off,"
said Tremaine, and in this case he was right.
Sylvia, while in Salt Lake City, far from the influences which recently
had brought to her acute pain and joy alike, considered her position
with as much personal detachment as she could assume. Away from Harley
and the magic of his presence and his confident voice, she strengthened
her resolve to keep her word--if "King" Plummer claimed her, he should
yet have her. But this same examination showed her another fact that was
unalterable. She loved Harley, and, though she might marry another man,
she would continue to love him. In a way she gloried in the truth and
her recognition of it. It was a love she intended to hide, but it
brought her a sad happiness nevertheless.
It was this feeling, spiritual in its nature, that gave to Sylvia a new
charm when she came back, a touch of sorrow and womanly dignity that all
noticed at once, and to which they gave tribute. It melted the heart of
Jimmy Grayson, who knew so well the reason why, and he was glad now that
his wife had written to "King" Plummer.
Sylvia said nothing about Mr. Plummer; if she knew whether he would
return and when, she kept it to herself, and Mrs. Grayson, who was
waiting in anxiety for an answer to her letter--an answer that did not
come--was in a state of apprehension, which she hid, however, from all
except Mr. Grayson. This agitation was increased by an event in her
husband's career, so unexpected in its nature and so extraordinary that
it was the sensation of the country, and exercised an unfavorable
influence upon the campaign. If any one in the United States, whether
friend or enemy, had been asked if such a thing could occur, he would
have said that it was impossible.
In their travels they came presently to Egmont, a snug town, lying in a
hollow of the land, from which they were going to conduct what Hobart
called a circular campaign--that is, it was the centre from which they
were to make journeys to a ring of smaller places lying in a circle
about it, returning late at night for sleep and rest.
They were all pleased with Egmont; though less than ten years old, it
had houses of brick and stone, a trim look, and the smoothness of life
and comfort that usually come only with age. It was a pleasure to return
to it every night from the newer and cruder villages in the outer ring,
and enjoy good beds and fresh sheets.
But the candidate spoke first in Egmont, and the chairman of the
committee that managed the meeting was the solid man of the town. Harley
and his comrades required no information on this point; it was visible
at once in the important manner of the Honorable John Anderson, the cool
way in which he assumed authority, and his slight air of patronage when
he came in contact with the correspondents. Harley and his comrades only
laughed; they had often noticed the same bearing in men much better
known in the world than the Honorable John Anderson, of Egmont, Montana,
and they generally set it down as one of the faults of success;
therefore they could smile.
But Mr. Anderson was hospitable, insisting that the candidate and his
family, instead of spending the first night at the hotel, should go with
him to his house. "I have room and to spare," he said, with a slight
touch of importance. "My house will be honored if it can shelter
to-night the next President of the United States."
"Thank you for the invitation," said Jimmy Grayson, gravely. "I shall be
glad to join you with my family and Mr. Harley. Mr. Harley has become in
a sense one of my advisers, almost a lieutenant, I might say."
Mr. Anderson was not intending to ask Harley, as the correspondent knew,
but the candidate had included him so deftly that the important citizen
must do so, too, and he widened the invitation with courtesy. Harley,
always in search of new types, always anxious to explore the secrets of
new lands, accepted as promptly as if the request had been spontaneous.
Although his house was only a few hundred yards away, Mr. Anderson took
them there in his two-seated, highly polished carriage, drawn by a pair
of seal-brown trotters. "Good horses," he said, as he cracked his whip
contentedly over them. "I brought them all the way from Kentucky. Cost
me a lot, too."
The Anderson house was really fine, built of light stone, standing far
back on a wide lawn, and Harley could see that the good taste of some
one had presided at its birth. It had an Eastern air of quiet and
completion. When Mr. Anderson, glancing at his guests, beheld the look
of approval on their faces, he was pleased, and said, in an easy,
off-hand manner:
"Been up only four years; planned it myself, with a little help from
wife and daughter."
Harley at once surmised that the good effect was due to the taste of the
wife or daughter, or both, and he was confirmed in the opinion when he
met Mrs. Anderson, a slight, modest woman, superior to her husband in
some respects that Harley thought important. The daughter did not appear
until just before dinner, but when she came into the parlor to meet the
guest the correspondent held his breath for a moment.
Rare and beautiful flowers bloom now and then on the cold plains of the
great Northwest, and Harley said in his heart that Helen Anderson was
one of the rarest and most beautiful of them all. It was not alone the
beauty of face and figure, but it was, even more, the nobility of
expression and a singular touch of pathos, as if neither youth nor
beauty had kept from her a great sadness. This almost hidden note of
sorrow seemed to Harley to make perfect her grace and charm, and he
felt, stranger though he was, that he was willing to sacrifice himself
to protect her from some blow unknown to him. Speaking of it afterwards,
he found that she had the same effect upon the candidate. "I felt that I
must be her champion," said Mr. Grayson. "Why, I did not know, but I
wanted to fight for her."
Miss Anderson herself was unconscious of the impression that she
created, and she strove only to entertain her father's guests, a task in
which she achieved the full measure of success. Mr. Anderson mentioned,
casually, how he had sent her to Wellesley, and Harley saw that her
horizon was wider than that of her parents. But the pathetic, appealing
look came now and then into her beautiful eyes, and Harley was convinced
of her unhappiness. Once he saw a sudden glance, as of sympathy and
understanding, pass between her and Sylvia.
It was not long before the secret of Helen Anderson was told to him,
because it was no secret at all. The whole town was proud of her, and
everybody in it knew that she was in love with Arthur Lee, the young
lawyer whose sign hung on the main street of Egmont before an office
which was yet unvisited by clients. It was true love on both sides,
they said, with sympathy; they had been boy and girl together, and
during her long stay in the East at school she had never forgotten him.
But Mr. Anderson would have none of the briefless youth; his prosperity
had fed his pride--a lawyer without a case was not a fit match for his
daughter. "If you were famous, if it were common talk that some day you
might be governor or United States senator, I might consent, but, sir,
you have done nothing," he had said, with cruel sarcasm to Lee.
It was a bitter truth, and Lee himself, high and honorable in all his
nature, saw it. The girl, too, had old-fashioned ideas of duty to
parents, and when her father bade her think no more of Lee she humbly
bowed her head. But the town said, and the town knew, that the more she
sought to put him out of her heart, the more strongly intrenched was he
there; that while she now tried to think of him not at all, she thought
of him all the time.
The whole story was brought to Harley; it was not in his nature to pry
into the sacred mysteries of a young girl's heart, but the tale moved
him all the more deeply when he saw young Lee, a man with a high, noble
brow and clear, open eyes, through which his honest soul shone, that all
might see. But upon his face was the same faint veil of sadness that
hovered over Helen Anderson's, as if hope were lacking.