LOLA GOES TO FENWAY'S
It seemed to Dr. Crossett, waiting there in the room, with this silent
old man, that John had been gone a very long time. It was almost
morning now, five hours, time enough surely for much to have happened.
He had insisted, some hours before, on Maria's going to bed, for in
spite of her grief she was so tired by the emotions of the evening,
that it was impossible for her to keep her eyes open, and he had
discovered her, sitting upright in a chair, sound asleep, with the
tears rolling down her cheeks.
He had made many efforts to induce Dr. Barnhelm to speak of Lola, and
of the events leading up to her sudden desertion of them, but to all
his questions, or remarks, the old man refused any answer, other than
to look up, almost vacantly, and shake his head.
[Illustration: LOLA IN DICK FENWAY'S ROOMS.]
"He is stunned," thought Dr. Crossett. "As yet his brain is too numbed
to realize; to-morrow, unless John brings her home, he will be
desperate." Would she come home? That was the question. That she had
been extravagant, and, through a desire for beautiful clothes, had
been, little by little, led into a maze of debts, of which she had
been afraid to tell them, and that the sudden temptation, when she had
unexpectedly come upon that roll of bank notes, had been too much for
her to resist. All this was obvious, and, sad as it was, was not
unforgivable. That she had deceived John, however, and, day after day,
had lied to him, and gone to the man whom, of all others, she had most
reason to avoid, was a treachery hard to excuse, even to this man, who
was doing his very best to find excuses.
What was the outcome to be? He could not decide. There had been so
much of real hate, and contempt, in her manner to them, that it was
out of the question to put it all down to excitement, or girlish
anger.
He quite realized that she had "burned her bridges behind her," that
her manner of going had left her no possibility of coming back, unless
she came humbly, and in repentance.
Try as he might he could not picture that. Humble she might be, and
repentant, but not until her spirit was broken by suffering.
He knew much of the world, much of human nature, and he knew that she
would have to make her choice at once between evil and good. That
alone she could not hope to live, as she had said that she was going
to live. The good in her heart might save her even now. She was like a
child. When this man offered her money and all the beautiful things
she longed for, did she know the price she would be asked to pay? When
she found it out would she shut her eyes, and go blindly on, or would
the innate delicacy of her nature, the instinctive purity of girlhood,
save her, as it has saved thousands before her? This was the only
hope. He tried to have confidence; after all, she was her mother's
daughter. He cherished that thought. Her child could not sink so low!
Great God! She could not do it!
In the stillness of the early morning he heard the clang of the iron
doors of the elevator as they were thrown open in the hall outside,
and a moment later John came in.
One look at his face was enough to tell him that he brought no good
news, but whatever it was he must know it.
"Well, John?" He came forward to meet him. "What have you to tell us?"
John looked quickly at Dr. Barnhelm, and Dr. Crossett understood that
what he had to tell would destroy any remaining hope that the old man
might have cherished.
"Thank you, John, for doing what you have done."
Dr. Barnhelm spoke quietly, but with a great weariness in his voice.
"I know that I am not alone in my sorrow, but I wish to know nothing
of what you have discovered; nothing now, or ever, of where she has
gone, or of the things that she has done, or will do. I am going to
ask you both not to speak of her in my hearing. It must be as though
she were dead, until the day she comes back to me."
He rose as he finished, and walked to the door.
"But Doctor, will she ever come back?" John said despondently. "Do you
think that we shall ever see her again?"
"I am quite sure of it," Dr. Barnhelm answered. "There can be no
question of that; she will come back."
There was no hope or joy in his voice, only absolute conviction, and
something a little like fear, at least that was the thought that came
to them both, as he quietly left the room.
"He is wrong, Doctor," John said as the door closed. "I have seen her.
She is not coming back."
"She told you so?" questioned Dr. Crossett eagerly.
"No. I did not speak to her. I saw her going up Broadway in Dick
Fenway's automobile. He was with her. She had gone to him. Is with him
now. I tried to stop them, but I failed. They were not alone. They had
a Mrs. Harlan with them."
"A woman! Thank God for that," exclaimed the Doctor. "We may be in
time yet, my boy."
"You don't know this woman," John spoke bitterly. "Her presence
wouldn't protect any girl from such a man as that. She laughs at the
things you and I call decency, or virtue. Between Dick Fenway and such
a woman, Lola hasn't a chance; not a hope! They won't stop, either of
them, until they have dragged her down to their own level!"
"I will go to her," the Doctor spoke eagerly. "She would fear me less
than she would you, or her father, because she has wronged me less. I
will go there, as soon as it is daylight."
[Illustration: LOLA IS HAPPY IN DOCTOR FENWAY'S ROOMS.]
"Go where? Do you suppose that if I could have found out where they
have taken her that I would be here now?" demanded John. "I went to
this Mrs. Harlan's apartment as fast as a taxicab could get me there.
Her maid said that Mrs. Harlan had not returned, and was not expected
before late in the following day. The hall boys absolutely denied
having seen her since noon. What was I to do? While I stood there at
the door she may have been standing within six feet of me, laughing at
me, as she did once before to-night. How was I to know? I left there,
and rode downtown to Fenway's rooms, on the chance that he had left
her. They let me go upstairs to his apartment. At the door a servant
tried to stop me, but I threw him aside, and went in. There was a
crowd of half-drunken men and girls there. I asked for him, and they
told me that they hardly expected him to return as he had gone away
with a regular peach! Damn them! They wouldn't tell me where I could
hope to find him, and when I grew excited they laughed at me. By God,
Doctor, I've been laughed at too often to-night. Someone is going to
pay me for it."
"My dear boy," said the Doctor gently, "surely we have enough to bear
now; bringing another tragedy into our lives is not going to do any
good."
"What's the use of talking?" John was quite unnerved by all the
experiences and shocks of the last few hours. "I came here because it
was useless to search any more until daylight. But I am going to find
that man. He can't hide himself from me forever. He may take her away.
He probably will, but I'll go after them. Not to bring her back; I
can't do that. I can't ever, ever think of her again with anything but
pity, but, by God, I can take him out of her life; yes, and I am going
to do it!"
"My dear boy!" Dr. Crossett would have given much to be able to
comfort him, but as he had said, "it wasn't any use to talk, suppose
we sleep over this. We can't do anything for several hours yet, and we
are both tired out. Come!"
"Sleep! Do you expect me to sleep with the thought of Lola and that
mean being together, driving me almost insane? Oh, I was a fool to
come here. I should have kept on hunting for them. I must have known
you wouldn't understand. You don't know what it is to love a girl, and
to lose her; to think of her and some other man living, laughing,
loving one another, without a thought of you."
For a moment the Doctor seemed about to reply, but with only a slight
hesitation he smiled rather sadly to himself, and spoke gently but
with a trace of irony.
"We will grant, John, that I do not understand; that I know nothing of
loving a woman whom fate sees fit to separate me from; but I do know
this: Always there must be one love stronger than another; as it was
with you and Lola, so it always is. One who loves, and gives, one who
is loved, and takes; not always selfishly, but always it is so. In
your life you may love again, for you are young, but you will never
again be able to give to any woman just what you gave to her. It is
not any man's to give more than once. If I were you I should try to be
worthy of the love that, on your part at least, was a very sacred
thing. Any scandal you bring upon her now, any act of selfish revenge
for your very real wrongs, is just going to become the darkest shadow
on your memory of her. If I could do it, my boy, I should forget the
woman, and only remember the love you had for her, for in all your
life you will never know a finer thing."
"You are a good man, Doctor, and I am ashamed for having spoken as I
did," replied John earnestly. "I can't make you any promise, because
to me there is only one thing to live for, just now--to find them.
What will happen then I don't know, but I must speak to her once more,
and to him. I am going home now, to change my clothes, and to write a
note to the bank. You must try to get some sleep. I will see you
during the day."
"Am I to depend upon that?" inquired the Doctor.
"Yes," John answered. "No matter what happens I will keep you
informed."
He went away, down the elevator, and through the deserted streets, to
his rooms. He saw no beauty in the dim, misty light of the summer
morning, or the faint glow of the first rays of the rising sun. He saw
nothing but Lola's face, as she had stood up in Fenway's car, and
looked back, and laughed at him.
When Maria came into the front room to put it straight before
breakfast she found Dr. Crossett still sitting where John had left
him. He looked up and spoke pleasantly to her as she entered, but she
thought that he had, as she expressed it to herself, "a queer, far-off
look in his eyes, like a person that had been thinking of things that
had happened a long time ago."
* * * * *
Lola was sleeping very peacefully in a large and rather ornate brass
bed, in one of Mrs. Harlan's guest rooms. As she lay there, dressed in
one of that lady's absurdly ample night robes, she was smiling to
herself happily--some freak of what we choose to call our
sub-conscious mind had flashed across her brain--a dream. There was no
hardness in her face now, no look of fear, or glitter of excitement in
her eyes. She was dreaming of John, and the day he had brought her a
beautiful bunch of roses; little Nellie, poor little girl, was there.
"Take them, dear," she muttered softly. "You don't mind, do you,
John?" And John smiled back at her, as they both thrilled at the
memory of their first kiss. How good he was, she thought; how gentle
and--darkness, absolute darkness, such as the mind cannot picture--a
fierce pang shooting through her heart, like a flame--slowly--life
coming back, life and thought--and memory--but the pain was there, and
a horror, a new burning in her blood, like that awful burning in her
heart. What was it--this thing that frightened her--this new, strange
nature that forced her to do its will? She must get away, far away
from these thoughts; she must run, quick--quick, or it would be too
late. She must have help. "Father! Father! Father!"
The sound of her own voice woke her, and she found herself sitting up
in bed, her hand clutching at her heart.
"Lola! What in the world is it?" Mrs. Harlan came running into her
room. "Good heavens, how you frightened me."
"It was a dream," said Lola, the terror slowly fading out of her face.
"A bad dream, and such a queer pain, here." She laid her hand again
over her heart.
"You're not used to late suppers, I guess," responded the always
practical Mrs. Harlan. "Go back to sleep now, because we've a million
things to do if we expect to get that afternoon train for Atlantic
City. How much money did Dick give you to do your shopping with?"
"I think he said it was five hundred dollars," said Lola carelessly.
"I didn't count it. He said I could get what else I needed as we went
along."
"He's a prince," exclaimed Mrs. Harlan heartily. "We can stop in and
leave an order with Madam Zelya, to be sent after us."
"We can not," replied Lola. "There's just one thing in the world
that's worrying me this morning; that is that I was fool enough to pay
her all that money."