"She is there in the tent. I saw her."
He came up and held his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I told you,"
he said.
"Why?" I asked. "She knows what I am. Is there any reason why she
should not be amused? I promise you she shall be!"
"Then why do you speak so bitterly? Don't misconstrue her presence.
Don't be a contemptible fool. If I have read her face--and I have
never spoken to her, as you know--I tell you, Scarlett, that young
girl is going through an ordeal! Do women of that kind come to shows
like this to be amused?"
"What do you mean?" I said, angrily.
"I mean that she _could_ not keep away! And I tell you to be careful
with your lions, to spare her any recklessness on your part, to finish
as soon as you can, and get out of that cursed cage. If you don't
you're a coward, and a selfish one at that!"
His words were like a blow in the face; I stared at him, too confused
even for anger.
"Oh, you fool, you fool!" he said, in a low voice. "She cares for
you; can't you understand?"
And he turned on his heel, leaving me speechless.
I do not remember dressing. When I came out into the passageway Byram
beckoned me, and pointed at a crack in the canvas through which one
could see the interior of the amphitheatre. A mellow light flooded the
great tent; spots of sunshine fell on the fresh tan-bark, where long,
luminous, dusty beams slanted from the ridge-pole athwart the golden
gloom.
Tier on tier the wooden benches rose, packed with women in brilliant
holiday dress, with men gorgeous in silver and velvet, with children
decked in lace and gilt chains. The air was filled with the starched
rustle of white coiffes and stiff collarettes; a low, incessant
clatter of sabots sounded from gallery to arena; gusts of breathless
whispering passed like capricious breezes blowing, then died out in
the hush which fell as our band-master, McCadger, raised his wand and
the band burst into "Dixie."
At that the great canvas flaps over the stable entrance slowly parted
and the scarlet-draped head of Djebe, the elephant, appeared. On he
came, amid a rising roar of approval, Speed in gorgeous robes perched
on high, ankus raised. After him came the camel, all over tassels and
gold net, bestridden by Kelly Eyre, wearing a costume seldom seen
anywhere, and never in the Sahara. White horses, piebald horses, and
cream-colored horses pranced in the camel's wake, dragging assorted
chariots tenanted by gentlemen in togas; pretty little Mrs. Grigg, in
habit and scarlet jacket, followed on Briza, the white mare; Horan
came next, driving more horses; the dens of ferocious beasts creaked
after, guarded by a phalanx of stalwart stablemen in plumes and armor;
then Miss Crystal, driving zebras to a gilt chariot; then more men in
togas, leading monkeys mounted on ponies; and finally Mrs. Horan
seated on a huge egg drawn by ostriches.
Once only they circled the sawdust ring; then the band stopped, the
last of the procession disappeared, the clown came shrieking and
tumbling out into the arena with his "Here we are again!"
And the show was on.
I stood in the shadow of the stable-tent, dressed in my frock-coat,
white stock, white cords, and hunting-boots, sullen, imbittered, red
with a false shame that better men than I have weakened under, almost
desperate in my humiliation, almost ready to end it all there among
those tawny, restless brutes pacing behind the bars at my elbow,
watching me stealthily with luminous eyes.
She knew what I was--but that she could come to see with her own eyes
I could not understand, I could not forgive. Speed's senseless words
rang in my ears--"She cares for you!" But I knew they were
meaningless, I knew she could not care for me. What fools' paradise
would he have me enter? What did he know of this woman whom I knew and
understood--whom I honored for her tenderness and pity to all who
suffered--who I knew counted me as one among a multitude of unhappy
failures whom her kindness and sympathy might aid.
Because she had, in her gracious ignorance, given me a young girl's
impulsive friendship, was I to mistake her? What could Speed know of
her--of her creed, her ideals, her calm, passionless desire to help
where help was needed--anywhere--in the palace, in the faubourgs, in
the wretched chaumières, in the slums? It was all one to her--to this
young girl whose tender heart, bruised by her own sad life, opened to
all on whom the evil days had dawned.
And yet she had come here--and that was cruel; and she was not cruel.
Could she know that I had a shred of pride left--one little, ragged
thread of pride left in me--that she should come to see me do my
mountebank tricks to the applause of a greasy throng?
No, she had not thought of that, else she would have stayed away; for
she was kind, above all else--generous and kind.
Speed passed me in ring-master's dress; there came the hollow thud of
hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into the ring on her white mare, gauze
skirts fluttering, whip raised; and, "Hoop-la!" squealed the clown as
his pretty little wife went careering around and around the tan-bark,
leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, while the band played
frantically and the Bretons shouted in an ecstasy of excitement.
Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars of laughter greeted
his discomfiture when Tim, the donkey, pitched him headlong and
cantered off with a hee-haw of triumph.
Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights to hold the
audience spellbound with her jugglery, and spin plates and throw
glittering knives until the satiated people turned to welcome Horan
and his "cogged" dumbbells and clubs.
"Have you seen her?" whispered Speed, coming up to me, long whip
trailing.