* * * * *
The long, sleepless night which followed Marian's harrowing experience,
painful as it was, proved the most vital moment of her life. From
girlhood it had been hers to receive rather than to give. Her beauty and
vivacity had always attracted attention and homage, her positive nature
demanded and was given leadership, until she came to regard this as
natural and to be expected. To have Huntington question her judgment was
as novel as it was unpleasant, to have Merry suggest a worldliness in
her approach to life struck her as absolutely incongruous. Mrs. Thatcher
knew herself to be a competent woman, and as no one before had
questioned her ethics, she accepted the successful outcome of her
undertakings as conclusive proof that her judgment was correct.
She might pass Huntington's comment by as the expression of one who
could look at any question only from a man's standpoint, she could make
light of what Merry said on the ground that the girl knew so little of
life; but in her experience with Hamlen she had come face to face with a
mistake so real that it compelled a readjustment of her perspective. She
could harbor no resentment against him: the climax had come as the
direct result of her own error in judgment, and the responsibility
belonged to her alone. Ever since that eventful meeting in Bermuda she
had seen the battling of conflicting emotions. To her more than to any
one else should have come knowledge of the limit beyond which this
self-tortured soul could not be pressed. She had deceived herself in
regard to the reclamation; Hamlen's condition remained unchanged;
Huntington had simply developed him to a point where he had gained
better control. Beneath the deceptive smoothness of the surface still
surged the turmoil started twenty years before, seething with
unsatisfied yearnings, and kept under only by the superb strength of
will which she herself at last had broken down. Huntington had warned
her of the danger but she refused to recognize its existence. Marian
could blame no one but herself, and the fact that her intentions had
been of the best did not mitigate the tragedy she had perpetrated. This
latest buffet of the world would be conclusive evidence to Hamlen that
he had no place in its daily routine.
Marian had reached this point in her mental struggle when the most awful
thought of all suddenly came to her.
"Would the harm stop there!"
She sat bolt upright, staring ahead into the grey dawn which lighted the
chamber through the long windows. "Merciful God!" she cried aloud,--"not
that! not that!"
A moment later she sprang out of bed and threw a kimono about her. Then
she opened the window-door and passed out onto the little balcony. The
sun was just rising, and Marian unconsciously first felt the beauty of
the breaking day. It had been long since she had seen a sunrise! She
stood watching it for a brief moment, brushing back with her hand the
mass of beautiful hair which fell about her shoulders and lay against
her ashen cheeks. Then she stepped forward, and facing the East like a
Sun-worshiper of old fell upon her knees in an agony of prayer. The God
who made a world like this she supplicated, who flooded it with the
radiance of such a day, would not so punish her for a single act of
folly! Mistaken as it was, behind it all lay a desire to atone, an
effort for the happiness of others. He would not ask for retribution
such as that!
Relieved by her outburst she returned to her chamber. She must see
Huntington. He would know what to do. He would be God's agent to prevent
the awful climax. But it would be several hours before she could disturb
him, and these hours must be endured.
Huntington responded promptly to the summons when it reached him,
wondering what the occasion might be. Marian's explanation of Hamlen's
disappearance the night before had been so diplomatic that he had
accepted it, so the real story was a complete surprise. He listened
intently as she told him everything, sparing herself in no degree,
anxious only to receive from him some assurance that her fears were
unwarranted.
"You should have told me sooner," was the only criticism Huntington
made, after learning the details.
"I was completely dazed," Marian explained helplessly. "This awful
thought only came to me in the early morning. You don't think it too
late! Don't tell me that!"
"It is useless to speculate," he answered gravely. "Knowing Hamlen as we
do, and knowing how high his sense of honor, the next step seems
inevitable. He will consider that he has sinned against the woman he
loves, and will demand of himself an expiation beyond what he would
exact from any one else. I shall do my best to find him. Let us hope it
will be in time."
"Couldn't I go with you?--No, of course I couldn't,--but how can I
endure it until I know? What can I do to help?"
Huntington had risen, ready to take his motor-car which had been
summoned when first he learned the facts. There was no excitement in his
manner, but an alert readiness to undertake his duty with the least
possible delay. As Mrs. Thatcher asked the question a sternness seemed
to come into his face, but his voice was kindly as he replied.
"Whatever you tell the others," he said with decision, "Merry must know
the whole truth. There is another tragedy going on in that little girl's
soul which needs a mother's care. That is where you can help.--I shall
telephone you as soon as I have news."
As the crunching of the wheels on the gravel road died away Mrs.
Thatcher rose and went to her daughter's room. Never before had she so
promptly followed another's suggestion, but at that moment she felt an
aversion to her own judgment, and welcomed the opportunity to follow
rather than to lead.
* * * * *
"All this mystery is getting on my nerves," Edith remarked to Cosden as
they sauntered out onto the piazza after a later breakfast. "Mr. Hamlen,
after seeming perfectly rational with us in the _bosquet_ yesterday,
rushes into the house, packs his belongings, and disappears without
saying 'good-bye' to any one. Marian, also rational when we saw her
yesterday, becomes invisible to the naked eye, and sends word she has a
headache--the first I've ever known her to have. This morning she is
down to breakfast before any one of us is up except Mr. Huntington, who
by a strange coincidence also craves an early breakfast for the first
time on record. Marian has gone up-stairs again, and our friend Monty
has motored off to Heaven knows where. Now then, what's the answer?"
"Why not accept Mrs. Thatcher's explanation until you have a better
one?" Cosden asked, drawing his chair nearer to hers.
"Because it's too fishy, and my curiosity is aroused."
"In that case I'm sure you'll find out all about it," he said smiling.
"Why aren't you interested?"
"I'm perfectly comfortable," he explained, "and so entirely satisfied
with the present company that I can spare Hamlen, Monty, and even Mrs.
Thatcher just as well as not."
"Then you're going to leave me to do the work?" she demanded. "That's
just like a man!"
"I'm glad they're gone," Cosden admitted. "It gives me just the chance
I've been waiting for: will you marry me?"
"Again?" Edith inquired.
"No; just this once."
"It would serve you right if I did!"
"I dare you to!"
"No! no! no! no!" she cried.
"Give me an option for thirty days."
"You silly!" she laughed. "For a sensible man you can be more kinds of
foolish than any one I know."
"Flattery doesn't hurt anybody unless he swallows it," Cosden retorted
complacently.
Whither their gibes would have carried them is needless to consider, for
they were interrupted by the approach of a motor-car up the driveway.
"Monty has made a quick trip," Cosden observed, "now you can satisfy
your curiosity."
"On the contrary," Edith retorted rising, "the plot thickens. That is
Harry Thatcher. What in the world has happened to send him motoring down
here at ten o'clock in the morning?"
They passed through the hallway to the _porte cochere_ on the opposite
side of the house. Thatcher was just descending from the car.
"Hello!" he greeted Edith, who was ahead. "Where's Marian?"
"Up-stairs. What brings you home at this time of day?"
"Don't disturb her yet," he exclaimed, disregarding her question. "I
want a word with Cosden first. You'll excuse us?"
Locking his arm through Cosden's Thatcher led him back onto the piazza
which the two had just left.
"What's wrong?" Cosden asked. "Market gone to pieces?"
"It's hell,--nothing less," Thatcher answered, speaking with an
excitement unnatural to him. "I left New York at four o'clock this
morning. I've come to you, Cosden, as a last resort. We've fought each
other on every deal we've ever been in, so you understand how hard I'm
pushed. If you're fixed so that you can put me next to a bunch of cold,
hard cash, you can have anything I control at a fraction of its value.
This is your chance to make your everlasting fortune if you can command
the cash."
"You don't mean it!" Cosden exclaimed. "Are you caught as bad as that?"
"Worse than that. Securities are dropping out of sight. Germany will
declare war inside of a week, and there is danger of other big nations
becoming involved. If they do, God only knows what will happen to the
money system of the world; it is strained already to the breaking-point.
You may thank Heaven, Cosden, that your investments are not in
speculative stocks! But we're losing time. I must get back by three
o'clock. Is there any chance of pulling off my forlorn hope? If not,
we'll close our doors to-morrow."
"Do you actually mean that, Thatcher?"
"Exactly that. I don't advise you to do this unless you're fixed so that
you can carry things comfortably, for I tell you we're in for a crisis;
but if you can, it's the opportunity of a lifetime, and by sacrificing
my personal interests I can save my house."
"How much do you need?"
"Half a million, in cash. I'm that much short of what I must have to see
me through. It might as well be a billion!"
"What do you offer for it?"
"Five million in Consolidated Machinery stock."
Cosden whistled and then became contemplative, while Thatcher waited
eagerly for his reply. The hesitation in itself was encouraging, for it
indicated that Cosden could raise the money if he cared to do it.
"As a matter of fact, Thatcher," Cosden said at length, "I've been
laying my pipes for just this moment ever since the trouble began, and
I'm fixed where I can handle it all right; but I don't quite like the
proposition as it stands."
"Then make your own proposition."
"I've counted on having my available cash earn me something handsome, of
course; but I don't think I'd enjoy my profits much if I got them by
cleaning you out."
"We must forget friendship and all else at a time like this," Thatcher
cried. "For God's sake, man, if you can do it, don't stand on any
foolish sentiment! It may ruin me, but my house will weather the storm.
I ask it as a favor."
"How soon must you have the money?"
"By to-morrow."
"All right; I'll give you drafts to take back to New York."
"Thank God!" Thatcher exclaimed feverishly. "And you'll take the stock?"
"No, I don't want the stock. Give me your note."
"But I haven't a dollar's worth of collateral to put up with it.
Everything I own is pledged."
"Damn the collateral! The signature will be genuine, won't it? That's
good enough for me."
"You advance it simply as a loan?"
"Of course. Now let's get the drafts fixed up, and you run back to New
York and keep your finger on the pulse of the market."
"You're sacrificing the chance of your life, Cosden," Thatcher
exclaimed. "Why should you do this for me?"
"I don't quite understand it myself," Cosden admitted; "but as long as I
want to why not make the most of it? I might change my mind."
"And we've always said you were a hard man, Cosden!" Thatcher exclaimed
with gratitude in his voice.
"I was once," he admitted; "but lately I've been getting humanized, and
anybody can slip anything over on me. Now you trot back to New York and
cable Willie Kaiser that I disapprove of his declaring war."
"You are a friend in need!" Thatcher grasped his hand cordially. "I'll
run up for a word with Marian, and then back into the vortex. Keep your
eye on the cable news, Cosden. Hell is breaking loose!"
As Thatcher rushed up-stairs Cosden relit his cigar which had gone out
during the excitement, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked
meditatively up and down the piazza. He was immensely pleased with
himself, and felt entitled to his self-approval.
"Even old Monty couldn't have done that better," he muttered. "Good old
Thatcher--I hope it pulls him through!"
"What's the matter with Harry?" Edith demanded in a stage whisper,
appearing from nowhere.
"He forgot his umbrella yesterday," Cosden lied, speciously, "and he's
afraid it's going to rain."
"Oh, you tantalizing brute!" she cried, stamping her foot indignantly.
"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in the world!"
* * * * *