ALMOST A TRAGEDY
Morton's passion for the beautiful girl beside him had overcome his
discretion to such an extent that he was hardly responsible for what
he did. The exhilaration of this swift ride through the gathering
darkness, the sense of nearness to the woman he believed he loved with
every force in him, the certainty that they were alone, and that, for
the moment at least, she was his sole possession, stirred up within
the young ranchman's mind those elements of barbaric wildness which
had grown and thrived to riotousness and recklessness during the life
he had lived on the cattle-ranges of Montana, but which had been more
or less dormant during his Eastern experiences. He forgot, for the
moment, the Sunday-night scene wherein he had promised to be
Patricia's friend, and had ceased to be her lover; he remembered only
that she was there beside him, with her terror-stricken eyes peering
into his beseechingly, and that she looked more beautiful than ever
she had before. But, more than all else, the influence she had had
over him was absent, and this was so because her haughty defiance and
the proud spirit she had hitherto manifested in her attitude were
gone. He had never seen her like this before, with the courage taken
out of her. It was a new and unknown quality, alluringly feminine,
wholly dependent, that possessed her now. She was frightened. And so
Morton forgot himself. He permitted the innate wildness of his own
nature to rule. He followed an impulse, as wild as it was unkind. He
seized her in his arms, and crushed her against him, raining kisses
upon her cheeks and brow, and upon even her lips. Patrica strove
bravely to fight him off; she struggled mightily to prevent this
greatest of all indignities. She cried out to him, beseeching that he
release her, but he seemed not to hear, or, if he heard, he paid no
heed, and, after a moment more of vain effort, Patricia's figure
suddenly relaxed. She realized the utter futility of her effort to
hold the man at bay, and she was suddenly inspired to practise a
subterfuge upon him. She permitted herself to sink down helplessly,
into his confining grasp, and she became, apparently, unconscious.
It was Richard Morton's turn to be frightened, then. On the instant,
he realized what he had done. The enormity of the offense he had
committed against her rushed upon him like a blow in the face, and he
released her, so that she sank back into the confining seat beside
him.
"Patricia! Patricia!" he called to her. He seized her hands, and
rubbed them; he turned them over and struck the palms of them sharply,
for he had somewhere heard that such action would bring a person out
of a swoon; but, although he struggled anxiously, doing whatsoever he
could to arouse her, and beseeching her in impassioned tones to speak
to him, she seemed to remain unconscious, with her head lying back
against the seat, her eyes closed, and her face paler than he had ever
seen it before.
The car had stopped before the edge of a wood. Just beyond it, there
was a bridge over which they must have passed, had they continued on
their way. Morton raised his head and looked despairingly about him.
He saw the bridge, and experience taught him that there must be a
stream of water beneath it. With quick decision, he sprang from the
car and ran forward, believing that, if he could return with his cap
filled with water, he might restore his companion to consciousness.
Then, strange to relate, no sooner had he left the car than Patricia
opened her eyes, straightened her figure, and with a quick leap
changed her seat to the one beneath the steering-wheel. She
accomplished this while Morton was speeding away from her, toward the
water.
She saw him arrive at the bridge and disappear down the bank, beneath
it; and forthwith, she reversed the gear of the steamer, and opened
the throttle. The engine responded instantly, and at the imminent risk
of wrecking the car, she backed it, and turned it, reversing and going
forward several times, before she quite succeeded in bringing it
around, within the narrow space. But, at last, she did succeed, and,
just at the moment when the car was headed in the opposite direction,
Richard Morton reappeared. He saw, at a glance, what had happened
during his short absence. He understood that Patricia had outwitted
him, and he ran forward, shouting aloud as he did so.
Patricia caught one glimpse of him over her shoulder, and saw that he
carried in his hands the cap he had filled with water to use in
restoring her to consciousness--a consciousness she had not for a
moment lost, which now was so alert and manifest in effecting her
escape.
She paid no heed to his shouts. She opened the throttle wider and
wider, and the steam roadster darted away through the darkness, with
Patricia Langdon under the wheel, leaving Richard Morton, cap in
hand, standing in the middle of the highway, gazing after her,
speechless with amazement and more than ever in love with the
courageous young woman who could dare, and do, so much.
Patricia Langdon was thoroughly capable of operating any automobile,
as was demonstrated by this somewhat startling climax to the
unpleasant scene through which she had just passed. Beneath her
customary repose of manner, her outward self-restraint and her
dignified if somewhat haughty manner, there was a spirit of wildness,
which, for years, had found no expression, till now. But, the moment
she turned the car about and succeeded in heading it in the opposite
direction, the instant she realized that she was mistress of the
situation, which, so short a time before, had been replete with
unknown terrors, she experienced all that sense of exhilaration which
the winner of any battle must feel, when it is brought to a successful
issue. She heard herself laugh aloud, defiantly and with a touch of
glee, although it did not seem to her as if it were Patricia Langdon
who laughed; it was, perhaps, some hitherto undiscoverable spirit of
recklessness within her, which called forth that expression of defiant
joy, which Richard Morton could not fail to hear.
The night was dark, by now, and there were only the stars to light the
narrow way along which Patricia was compelled to guide the flying car;
but she thought nothing of this, for she could dimly discern the
outlines of the roadway before her, and she believed she could follow
it to the main highway, without accident. Morton had not lighted his
lamps. There had been no opportunity to do so. But the road was an
unfrequented one; and Patricia, as she fled away from Morton, through
the darkness, thought only of making her escape, not at all of the
dangers she might encounter while doing so.
Several times, she caught herself laughing softly at the recollection
of how she had triumphed over the daring young ranchman, and at the
predicament in which she had left him, standing there near the bridge,
in a locality that was entirely unknown to him, from which he must
have some difficulty in finding his way to a place where he could
secure another conveyance. He might know what it meant to be left
horseless on the ranges of the West, but this would be a new and a
strange--perhaps a wholesome--experience for him.
Presently, she came to the turn of the road that would bring her upon
the main highway; and here she stopped the car, and got down from it,
long enough to light the lamps. This done, she went on again, as
swiftly as she dared, yet not too rapidly, because now she felt that
she was as free as the air singing past her. The highway she traversed
was almost as familiar to her as the streets of New York City.
The exhilaration she had experienced when she triumphed over Richard
Morton and escaped from him, increased rather than diminished as she
sped onward, and when, almost an hour later, she guided the car
between the huge gate-posts which admitted it to the grounds of
Cedarcrest, and followed the winding driveway toward the entrance to
the stone mansion, she was altogether a different Patricia Langdon
from the one who had started out, in company with the young Westerner,
shortly after five o'clock that afternoon.
She brought the car to a stop under the _porte-cochere_, and announced
her arrival by several loud blasts of the automobile-horn; a moment
later, the doors were thrown open, and Sally Gardner rushed out to
receive her.
"I am afraid I am late, Sally," Patricia called out, in a voice that
was wholly unlike her usual calm tones. "Will you call someone to care
for the car?" Without waiting for a reply, she sprang from beneath
the wheel, and with a light laugh returned the impetuous embrace with
which the young matron greeted her.
In some mysterious manner, word had already been passed to the guests
that Patricia Langdon had arrived in Richard Morton's car, but alone;
and so, by the time Patricia had released herself from Sally's
clinging arms, Roderick Duncan, followed by the others of the party,
appeared in the open doorway. Duncan came forward swiftly, but his
host forestalled him in putting the question he would have asked.
"I say, Patricia!" Jack Gardner called out. "What have you done with
Morton? Where is Dick?"
"Really, Jack, I don't know," replied Patricia, standing quite still,
with her right arm around Sally's shoulders, and lifting her head like
a thoroughbred filly. Mrs. Gardner's left arm still clung around her
waist. "Mr. Morton is back there, somewhere, on the road. If he
doesn't change his plans, he should arrive here, presently." She
laughed, as she replied to the question, perceiving, at the moment,
only the humorous side of it. She was still under the influence of
that swift ride alone; still delighted by the thought of the
predicament in which she had left her escort, because of his
outrageous conduct toward her.
"Did you meet with an accident? Has anything happened to Mr. Morton?"
inquired Agnes Houston.
Patricia shrugged her shoulders, and, again laughing softly, withdrew
from Sally's embrace and began to ascend the steps. One of the
Cedarcrest servants appeared at that moment, to take the car around to
the garage; and for some reason each member of the party stepped
aside, one way or another, so that Miss Langdon was the one who led
the way into the house, the others falling in behind her, and
following. The circumstance of her arrival in such a manner and the
suggestion of mystery conveyed in Patricia's answer to Jack Gardner's
question convinced all that something had happened which needed an
explanation. Patricia's demeanor was so different from her usual
half-haughty bearing, that it was, in a way, a revelation to them all.
Each one there had his or her own conception of the occasion, and
probably no two opinions were the same; but at least they were all
agreed on one point: that there had been a scene somewhere, and that
Richard Morton had got the worst of it.
Patricia led the way to the dining-room. Her head was high, her eyes
were sparkling. Duncan hastened to her side, but she took no notice of
his nearness. As she entered the room, she called out:
"Do order some dinner served to me, Sally. I am as hungry as the
proverbial bear. You see, I had anticipated a hearty dinner with you,
and the long ride I have had--particularly that part of it which I
have taken alone--has whetted my appetite."
Sally nodded toward the butler, and waved him away, knowing that he
had overheard Patricia's words, and that she would speedily be served;
the others of the party resumed their former seats around the table,
and the practical Sally turned and faced Patricia, again, her eyes
flashing some of the indignation she felt because of her guest's
evident reluctance to explain the strange circumstance of her arrival
at Cedarcrest alone.
"Patricia Langdon," she said, "I think you might tell us what has
happened. We are all on edge with expectancy. Where is Dick Morton?"
"Oh, he is somewhere back there on the highway, walking toward
Cedarcrest, I suppose," replied Patricia smilingly, dropping into a
chair beside the table.
"Did you start out from New York together?" persisted Sally.
"Oh, yes."
"Won't you please tell us what has happened?"
Patricia's lips parted, while she hesitated for a reply. She had no
desire to tell these people of the incidents that had actually
occurred. Many another, in her position, would have revealed at once
the whole truth, and would have made these others acquainted with the
conduct of Richard Morton, during that wild ride she had been forced
to take with him through the gathering gloom. But Patricia was not
that kind. She was quite conscious of the strangeness of her arrival
at Cedarcrest alone, in Morton's car, and of the wrong constructions
which might be given to the incident. She knew that every man who was
present in the room, would bitterly resent the indignities Morton had
put upon her, if she should relate the facts. But she believed that
Morton had been sufficiently punished. She even doubted if he would
appear there, at all, now; and so, instead of replying to Sally's
repeated request, she shrugged her shoulders, and responded:
"I think I'll leave the explanation to Mr. Morton, when he arrives."
Food was placed before her at that moment and she transferred her
attention to it; while her friends, perceiving that she was not
inclined to take them into her confidence, started other subjects of
conversation, although the mind of each one of them was still intent
upon what might have happened during Patricia's journey from New York
in the company of Richard Morton.
Roderick Duncan had not resumed his seat at the table; he had remained
in the background, and had maintained an utter silence. But his
thoughts had been busy, indeed. He knew and understood Patricia,
better than these others did--with the possible exception of Beatrice,
who also was silent. But, now, he passed around the table until he
stood behind Patricia's chair. Then, he dropped down upon a vacant one
that was beside her, and, resting one elbow on the table, peered
inquiringly into the girl's flushed face, more beautiful than ever in
her excitement. That strange feeling of exhilaration was still upon
her, and there was undoubted triumph and self-satisfaction depicted in
her eyes and demeanor.
"What happened, Patricia?" he asked her, in a low tone, which the
others could not hear.
"Nothing has happened that need concern you at all," she replied to
him, coldly.
"But something must have happened, or you--"
"If something did happen," she interrupted him, "rest assured that I
shall tell you nothing more about it, at the present time. If Mr.
Morton chooses to explain, when he arrives, that is his affair, and
not mine. I am here, and I am unharmed. Somewhere, back there on the
road my escort is probably walking toward Cedarcrest; or, perhaps,
away from it. You will have to be satisfied with that explanation,
until he arrives--if he does arrive." She spoke with such finality
that Duncan changed the character of his questioning.
"I have not seen you, Patricia, since the receipt of your letter,
fixing our wedding-day for next Monday," he persisted. "It now occurs
to me that, in the light of the contents of your letter, I have a
right to ask you for an explanation of the incidents of to-night."
Patricia turned her eyes for an instant upon him, and then withdrew
them, while she said, coldly:
"If you have taken time to read carefully the stipulations in the
contract you signed yesterday morning, at Mr. Melvin's office, you
will understand why I deny your right to do so."
"Has Morton affronted you in any way?"
"Ask him. I have no doubt that he will answer you."
"Patricia, are you going to persist in this attitude toward me, even
after we are married?" Duncan inquired, anxiously. But, instead of
replying, she raised her head in a listening attitude, and announced
to all who were present:
"I hear the horn of an approaching automobile. Perhaps, Mr. Morton has
caught a ride."
"Answer me, Patricia," Duncan insisted.
"My conduct will be the answer to your question," she said, with her
face averted.
Jack Gardner hurriedly left the room, accompanied by Sally. A moment
later, when the automobile horn sounded nearer, Duncan left his place
beside Patricia, and followed. Melvin, the lawyer, also went out, and
then one by one the others, until Patricia was the only guest who
remained at the table. She continued to occupy herself with the food
that had been placed before her, while the flush on her cheeks
deepened, her eyes shone with added brightness, and she smiled as if
she were rather pleased than otherwise by the predicament in which
Morton would find himself, when he should be closely questioned by
Jack and Sally Gardner and the guests as well, whose curiosity, she
knew, would now far exceed their discretion.
It never once occurred to her that Dick Morton, having had time to
think over the occurrences of the afternoon and evening, and to
realize the enormity of the offense he had committed, would tell the
truth about it. Men within her knowledge, who belonged to the society
with which she was familiar, would temporize, under such
circumstances, would seek, by diplomatic speech to shield the woman in
the case from the comment that must follow a revelation, would make
use of well-chosen words to escape responsibility for what had
occurred; would practise a studied reserve until certain knowledge
could be obtained of what the woman might have said, upon her arrival.
The doors had been left open, and Patricia was conscious of loud tones
proceeding from the veranda at the front of the house; of masculine
voices raised in anger; and then she heard the sound of a blow,
followed instantly by a heavy fall. Almost at the same instant, the
sharp crack of a pistol smote upon the air, for an instant stiffening
her with horror. She started to her feet in terror, her face gone
white, her eyes dilated with apprehension. Then, she somehow stumbled
to her feet, and stood there, trembling in every nerve, until she
could gather strength to run forward.
A horrified and silent group of persons surrounded the principals in
the scene that had just occurred, for there had not yet been time for
any of them to recover from the paralyzing effect of what had
happened.
Richard Morton was on the floor of the veranda where he had raised
himself upon one elbow, and he still held in his right hand the small
revolver from which the shot that Patricia had overheard, had come.
Roderick Duncan was standing a few feet away, and he was holding in
his arms the limp form of Beatrice Brunswick, whose head had fallen
backward, as if she were unconscious, or dead. Just at the instant
when Patricia caught a view of this strange tableau, the other
spectators threw off the momentary lethargy that had overpowered them,
and rushed forward toward the principal actors in the scene that had
passed, each shouting a different exclamation, but all alike in their
expressions of horror and loathing for the man who was down--Richard
Morton.