In the autumn she found an occupation which gave her a temporary place
in the scheme of things. Mrs. Yorba fell ill. The sudden and complete
change from a personage to a nobody, the long confinement,--she rarely
put her foot outside the house lest her shabby clothes be remarked
upon,--and a four years' course of sensational novels induced a nervous
distemper. Magdaléna, hearing the sound of pacing footsteps in the hall
one night, arose and opened her door. Mrs. Yorba, arrayed in a red
flannel nightgown and a frilled nightcap, was walking rapidly up and
down, talking to herself. Magdaléna persuaded her to go to bed, and the
next morning sent for the doctor. He prescribed an immediate change of
scene,--travel, if possible; if not, the country. Magdaléna undertook to
carry the message to her father.
Knowing that a knock would evoke no response, she opened the door of the
study and went in. Don Roberto, dirty, unshaven, looked like a wild man
in a mountain cave; but his eyes were steady enough. His table and the
floor about his chair were piled high with ledgers. On everything else
the dust was inches thick, and the spiders had spun a shimmering web
across one side of the room. It hung from the gas-rod like a piece of
fairy tapestry, woven with red and gold here and there, where the sun's
rays, scattering through the slats of the inside blinds, caressed it. On
the mantel-piece, supported on its broken staff, was the big American
flag which had floated above the house of Don Roberto Yorba for thirty
years. It had been carefully washed, and although broken bits of
spiders' weavings hung to its edges, there were none on its surface.
Magdaléna felt no desire to kiss her parent, although it was the first
time for several years that she had stood in his presence. She disliked
and despised him, and thought no less of herself for her repudiation. If
she, a young, inexperienced, and lonely woman, could fight and conquer
morbid fancies, why not he, who had been counted one of the keenest
financial brains of the country? She felt thoroughly ashamed of her
progenitor as she stood looking down upon the little dirty shrunken
shambling figure.
"Well?" growled Don Roberto, "what you want?"
"My mother is very ill. This life is killing her. The doctor says she
must have a change."
"All go to die sometime. What difference now or bimeby?"
"Will you let us go to Santa Barbara to visit aunt?"
"Si she send you the moneys, I no care what you do with it. I no give
you one cents."
"Very well; I shall ask my aunt."
But Mrs. Yorba declared that she would not go to Santa Barbara: she
detested her sister-in-law, and would accept no favours from her, nor be
forced into her society. There was nothing for Magdaléna to do but to
nurse her, and a most exasperating invalid she proved. Nevertheless,
Magdaléna, although a part of her duties was to read her mother's
favourite literature aloud by the hour, was almost grateful for the
change. She seldom found time for her daily walk, but at least she had
little time to think.
When Mrs. Montgomery, Mrs. Geary, and Mrs. Brannan returned to town,
they came frequently to sit with the invalid, and cheered her somewhat
with talk of the coming summer, when they should take her down to their
own houses in Menlo.
"And I shall go," said Mrs. Yorba to her daughter, "if I _haven't_ a
decent rag to my back. They think nothing of that; I was a fool not to
go before. And I'm going to get well--against the time when that old
fiend dies. There! I never thought I'd say that, for I was brought up in
the fear of the Lord, but saying it is little different from thinking
it, after all. I've been thinking it for two solid years. California's
not New England, anyhow. When I do get the money, won't I scatter it!
I've been economical all my life, for I had it in my blood, and it was
my duty, as your father wished it; as long as he did his duty by me, I
was more than willing to do mine by him: he can't deny it. But we all
know what reaction means, and it has set in in me. When I am my own
mistress, I'll give three balls and two dinners a week. I'll have the
finest carriages and horses ever seen in California. I'll have four
trousseaux a year from Paris, and I'll go to New York myself and buy the
most magnificent diamonds Tiffany's got. I'll refurnish this house and
Fair Oaks. The walls shall be frescoed, and every stick in them will
come from New York--"
She paused abruptly, springing to her elbow. The door was ajar. Through
the aperture came a long low chuckle. Magdaléna jumped to her feet,
flung the door to, and locked it.
"Do you think he's gone mad at last?" gasped Mrs. Yorba.
"It sounded like it."
"For Heaven's sake, don't leave me for a minute. You must sleep here at
night. There's a cot somewhere,--in the attic, I think, if the rats
haven't eaten it. What a life to live!" She fell to weeping, as she
frequently did in these days. Suddenly her face brightened. "If he
should make a will disinheriting us, we could easily enough prove him
insane after the way he's been acting these four years. Thank Heaven,
this is California! General William could break any will that ever was
made."
Mrs. Yorba took an opiate and fell asleep. Magdaléna went out, locking
the door behind her. She determined to ascertain at once if her father
was insane. If he was, he should be confined in two of the upper rooms
with a keeper. The world should know nothing of his misfortune; but it
would be absurd for herself and her mother to live in a constant state
of physical terror.
As she descended the stair, the door of her father's study opened
abruptly and a man shot out as if violently propelled from behind. The
door was slammed to immediately.
Magdaléna ran downstairs and toward the stranger. He was a tall man
greatly bowed, and as she approached him she saw that he was old and
wore a long white beard. His head was large and suggested nobility and
intellect; but the eyes were bleared, the flesh of the face loose and
discoloured, and he was shabby and dirty. He looked like a fallen king.
"Was--was--my father rude?" asked Magdaléna. "He is not very well.
Perhaps I can do something." The man appealed to her strangely, and she
had a dollar in her purse.
"We were great friends in our boyhood and youth," replied the stranger.
He spoke with an accent, but his English was unbroken. "And he has been
my guest many times. There was a time when he thought it an honour to
know me. When the Americans came, everything changed. My career closed,
for I would have nothing to do with them. I had held the highest offices
under the Mexican government. I could not stoop to hold office under the
usurpers--many of whom I would not have employed as servants. Then they
took my lands,--everything. But I am detaining you, señorita."
"Oh, no, no, indeed! How could they take your lands? Who are you? Tell
me everything."
"They 'squatted,' many of them, almost up to my door. The only law we
could appeal to was American law, and California was a hell of sharpers
at that time. It is bad enough now, but it was worse then. And then came
the great drought of '64, in which we lost all our cattle. We never
recovered from that, for we mortgaged our lands to the Americans to get
money to live on with,--everything was three prices then; and when the
time came they foreclosed, for we never had the money to pay. And we
were great gamblers, señorita, and so were the Americans--and far better
ones than we were. We were only made for pleasure and plenty, to live
the life of grandees who had little use for money, and scorned it. When
the time came for us to pit ourselves against sordid people, we crumbled
like old bones. Your father has been very fortunate: he had a clever man
to teach him to circumvent other clever men. Years ago, when I was
prouder than I am now, I put my pride in my pocket and wrote, asking him
for help. I wanted a small sum to pay off the mortgage on a ranchita,
upon which I might have ended my days in peace, for it was very
productive. He never answered. To-day I came to ask him for money to buy
bread. He roared at me like a bull, and vowed he'd blow my brains out if
I ever entered his house again. He looks like--" He paused abruptly.
There was much of the old-time courtliness in his manner.
"I--I--am so sorry. And I have little money to spend. If you will leave
me your name and address, I will send you something on the first of each
month; and if--if ever I have more I will take care of you--of all of
you. I suppose there are many others."
"There are indeed, señorita."
"Some day I will ask you for all of their names. And yours?"
He gave it. It was a name famous in the brief history of old
California,--a name which had stood for splendid hospitality, for state
and magnificence, for power and glory. It was the name of one of her
beloved heroes. She had written his youthful romance; she had described
the picturesque fervour of his wooing, the pomp of his wedding; of all
those heroes he had been the best beloved, the most splendid. And she
met him,--a broken-down old drunkard, in the dusty gloom of an old
maniac's wooden "palace," in the fashionable quarter of a city which had
never heard his name.
"O God!" she said. "O God!" and she was glad that she had burned her
manuscripts. She took the dollar from her pocket and gave it to him.
He accepted it eagerly. "God bless you, señorita!" he said. "And you can
always hear of me at the Yosemite Saloon, Castroville."
He passed out, neglecting to shut the door behind him, but Magdaléna did
not notice the unaccustomed rift of light. She sank into a chair against
the wall and wept heavily. They were the last tears she shed over her
fallen idols. When the wave had broken, she reflected that she was glad
to know of the distress of her people; it should be her lifework to help
them. When she came to her own she would buy them each a little ranch
and see that they passed the rest of their lives in comfort.
She leaned forward and listened intently. Loud mutterings proceeded from
her father's room. She wondered if there was a policeman in the street.
She and her mother were very unprotected. The only man in the house
besides her father was the Chinaman, and Chinamen are as indifferent to
the lives of others as to their own. Don Roberto had ordered the
telephone and messenger call removed years ago. The sounds rose to a
higher register. Magdaléna, straining her ears, heard, delivered in
rapid defiant tones, the familiar national cry, "Hip-hip-hooray!"
She went over softly, and put her ear to the thick door. The tones of
the old man's voice were broken, as if by muscular exertion, and
accompanied by a curious bumping. Magdaléna understood in a moment. He
was striding up and down the room, waving the American flag, and
shouting, "Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-_hooray_! hoo_ray_! hoo_ray_!
hoo_ray_!"
She ran down the hall to summon Ah Kee and send him for a doctor, but
before she reached the bell she heard the front door close, and turned
swiftly. A man had entered.
She went forward in some indignation. So deep was the gloom of the hall
that she could distinguish nothing beyond the facts that the intruder
was tall and slight, and that he wore a light suit of clothes. When she
had approached within a few feet of him, she saw that he was Trennahan.
For the moment she thought it was the soul of the man, so ghostly he
looked in that dim light, in that large silence.
His first remark was reassuring: "I rang twice; but as no one came, and
the door was open, I walked in,--as you see."
"We have so few servants now. Won't you come and sit down?"
He followed her down to the reception-room. She jerked aside the
curtains, careless of the bad house-keeping the light would reveal. It
streamed in upon him. He was deeply tanned and indescribably improved.
They sat down opposite each other. Magdaléna, recalling her tears,
placed her chair against the light. "When did you get back?" she asked.
"The ship docked an hour ago."
"You look very well. Have you been enjoying yourself?"
"I have been occupied, and useful--I hope. At least, I have collected
some data and made some observations which may be new to the world of
Science. I found the old love very absorbing. And, you will hardly
credit it, I have lived quite an impersonal life."
"Have you come back to California again because you think it a good
place to die in?"
"I came back to California, because it is a good place to write my book
in, and because you are here."
"Ah!"
"Don't misunderstand me. I am not so conceited as to imagine that I can
have you for the asking. But--listen to me: I had a brief but very
genuine madness. When I recovered I knew what I had th--lost. I
argued--even during my convalescence--that I had been wholly right in
believing that you were the one woman for me to marry, and, that fact
established, you must believe it no less than I. But for a long time I
was ashamed to come back, or to write. Later, I went where it was
impossible. Moreover, in solitude a man comes into very close knowledge
of himself. After a few months of it I knew that I should never be
contented with mere existence again. I determined to take advantage of
what might be the last chance granted me to make anything of my life; I
had thrown away a good many chances. I also argued that if you loved me,
you would wait for me; that you were not the sort to marry for any
reason but one. At least, perhaps you will give me another trial."
"I shall marry you, I suppose; I have wanted to so long, and I never had
any pride where you were concerned. A few months ago I should have flown
into your arms; and I had felt sure that you would return. But lately I
have not been able to care about anything. I am not the least bit
excited that you are here. It merely seems quite natural and rather
pleasant."
"Is anything the matter?" he asked anxiously. "You look very thin and
worn, and the house--it was like entering the receiving vault on Lone
Mountain. I thought when I came in that you were having a funeral, at
least."
"It has been like that for four years. Uncle died, and papa was afraid
to trust himself in the world for fear he would relapse into his natural
instincts. So he shut himself up, makes us live on next to nothing, and
of course we go nowhere, for we have no clothes. Mamma has been ill with
nervous prostration for months, and now I feel sure that papa has gone
insane. I have only spoken to him once in four years; but I have been
certain that he would lose his mind finally, and I have just discovered
that he is quite mad."
"Good God! We'll be married to-morrow. I never imagined your father
would hit upon any new eccentricities. You poor little hermit! I fancied
you going to parties and plodding at your stories. I never dreamed that
you were shut up in a dungeon. I shall see that you are happy
hereafter."
"I feel sad and worn out. I don't think I can ever feel much of anything
again."
"Oh, you'll get over that," he replied cheerfully; he was as practical
as ever. "What you want is plenty of sun and fresh air and a rest from
your family. If your father is insane, he'll go into an asylum; and a
rest cure is the place for your mother. That will dispose of her while
we are taking our honeymoon in the redwoods. Do you think you could
stand camping out?"
"I could stand anything so long as it was the country once more," she
said, with her first flash of enthusiasm. "But there is something I
should tell you. Perhaps after you hear it you won't want to marry me. I
tried to kill Helena once."
"You did what?" he said, staring at her.
"She came to me just after leaving you, on the night of your last
interview. I was very much worked up before she came, had been for a
long while; and when she told me that she had treated you badly and had
thrown you over, after taking you away from me, I suddenly wanted to
kill her, and I took my dagger out of the drawer beside me. It was very
dark, but she had an instinct, and she jumped up and ran away. I never
knew I could feel so; but every bit of blood in my body seemed shrieking
in my head, and if she had not gone I should have jumped on her and
hacked her to bits. I must go up to my mother now. You can think it over
and come back again."
"I don't need to think it over," he said, smiling. "That was all you
needed to make you quite perfect. You are a wonderful example of
misdirected energies. Where is your father? I will go and look after him
at once."
He took her suddenly in his arms and compelled her to kiss him; and then
Magdaléna knew how glad she was that he had come.
She went with him to the door of the study.
"He is quiet," she whispered. "Perhaps he is asleep."
She left him and went down the hall, turning to wave her hand to him.
Trennahan knocked. There was no answer. He opened the door softly, then
gave a swift glance over his shoulder, entered hurriedly, and closed the
door behind him.
Suspended from the gas pipe, which was bent and leaking, was Don
Roberto. The light was dim. The purple face on the languidly revolving
body was barely visible; but as it turned slowly to the door, it
occupied a definite place among the shadows. Trennahan flung back the
curtains and opened the window, closing the lower inside blinds. A cloud
hurried across the face of the sun, as if light had no place in that
ghastly room. About the limp body and sprawling hands clung the delicate
prismatic tapestry of the spiders. It was rent in twain, and it
quivered, and threatened to drop and trail upon the floor. The little
weavers were racing about, full of anger and consternation, bent on
repair. A number had already gathered up the broken strands and were
fastening them across the body. Had Don Roberto remained undiscovered
for twenty-four hours, he might have been wrought into the tissue of
that beautiful delicate web, a grotesque intruder over whom the spiders
would doubtless have held long and puzzled counsel.
The cloud passed. The sun caught a brilliant line of colour. Trennahan
went forward hastily, and examined the long knotted strip between the
body and the ceiling.
Don Roberto had hanged himself with the American flag.