Carmen had been following from San Francisco, a day late, because once, in
losing the trail, she had lost twenty-four hours. To-day she had arrived
at Wawona in the afternoon, and learning that Mr. Nickson Hilliard had
gone to the Mariposa Grove, she asked for a carriage to take her there
too.
"You'll reach the woods just about the time he's coming away," she was
advised. "He ought to be back by ten o'clock at latest, maybe earlier."
But Carmen insisted. She could not wait. Business made it necessary for
her to see Mr. Hilliard as soon as possible, without wasting a moment. She
looked sallow and hollow-eyed; for she had been travelling hard. Long ago
now she had put away her widow's weeds; yet in the warm June sunlight she
had the aspect of a mourner. It was as if she had drunk the blackness of
night, and it ran in her veins. In full sunshine she seemed to bleed
shadow.
The name of Gaylor was well known in California; and here at Wawona--far
from the Gaylor ranch as it was--those with whom she spoke were aware of
her importance. Carmen had no fear that she would be gossiped about and
misunderstood. She was Mrs. Eldridge Gaylor, the rich widow of old Grizzly
Gaylor. Everyone knew that Nick Hilliard, of Lucky Star Gusher fame, had
been her husband's foreman, and that the land which had made his fortune
had been sold to him by her. No one would doubt her or laugh behind her
back when she stated that the need of a business discussion with Hilliard
was pressing. People would think that perhaps another gusher had started
into being, or that some question of investments must be decided. But even
if her coming "made talk," Carmen was in no mood to care. In her mind a
searchlight shone fiercely upon three figures: her own, Nick Hilliard's,
Angela May's. Others were as shadows. A buckboard and horses, with a good
driver, were found for Mrs. Gaylor after a slight delay. But she had been
wandering on foot among the great redwoods for half an hour when Nick
heard her voice calling his name.
Mrs. May had not been mentioned at the hotel. Carmen had been informed
simply that Mr. Hilliard was showing a friend through the forest, and that
they had gone out in the morning with the intention of staying to see the
sunset. But Carmen had found in the visitor's book the name of "Mrs. May
and maid." She had been certain of finding them there, for she knew only
too well that all three, with a "black cat for luck," had left San
Francisco together.
Every day since Theo Dene had told her of Angela May's existence she had
"cut the cards," and had invariably come upon a "fair woman" close to the
King of Hearts. Madame Vestris also had seen the "fair woman" in the
crystal, and had described her. "She is beautiful and young, and stands in
the sunshine," said the seeress, in whose visions Carmen had implicit
faith; "but suddenly she is blotted out of my sight, as if by a dark
cloud that swallows her up."
"Does she come back into the crystal?" Carmen had asked, eagerly.
"No. I can see you now. But she doesn't come back."
"And Nick? Do you find him?"
Madame Vestris knew very well who "Nick" was.
During the last three or four years she had replied to a great many
questions about Nick Hilliard, and her answers had brought her a goodly
number of ten-dollar bills. For crystal-gazing her charge was ten dollars:
with a trance in addition, twenty-five.
"I see a man standing beside you. But he is in deep shadow. I can't make
out who it is."
Carmen revived. "It must be Nick. There's no other man I can think of I
would let come near me."
When she called to Hilliard in the Mariposa Grove, and his answering call
told her where to look, Carmen was even more anxious to see what Mrs. May
was like than to meet Nick himself, though it seemed years since the night
when she bade him good-bye, full of hope, believing he would come back to
her.
The two were standing under the Grizzly Giant when she came up to them,
Nick a few steps in advance, because he had started to meet his old
friend, and a sickly pang shot through Carmen's heart as she saw Angela,
tall and white in the rose-and-silver twilight. She had to admit the
enemy's beauty; and with a sharp stab of pain she remembered Nick's
description of "the angel of his dreams." Yes, this white, slender
creature was like a man's idea of an angel. Here was Nick's ideal made
human. Carmen wished that the Grizzly Giant might fall on the angel and
crush her to death, a lingering death of agony; because nothing less could
satisfy a woman's longing for revenge. Nor was death enough to atone
Carmen would have chosen to see Angela die disfigured, so that Nick should
remember her hideous through the years to come. Desiring this eagerly, and
all other evils, Mrs. Gaylor was, nevertheless, polite and pleasant to
Mrs. May. She came out from the tragic shadow which had enveloped her like
a mourning mantle, and wondered at herself, hearing the sweet tones of her
own voice. She began by explaining to Nick that she had not been well;
that her doctor had recommended her to try a change of air, and that she
had thought of the Yosemite. "I've always wanted to see the valley ever
since you came back and talked so much about it," she went on.
"Then, when I got to Wawona I heard you were there. I was surprised! Do
you realize, you only wrote to me once, and never told me any of your
plans? I should have thought you were in New York to this day if I hadn't
run up to the Falconers' place on the McCloud River not very long ago, and
found out that you'd been in Santa Barbara. I suppose this lady is Mrs.
May, a friend of that fascinating Miss Dene? She, or some of the people up
there, told me that you'd promised to show her round California."
As Carmen waited to be introduced, she glanced sharply from one to the
other, to see if they looked self-conscious, but they wore an air of
innocence that made Carmen long to strike Nick and trample on the woman.
How dared they act as if she had no right to resent their being here
together? Yet she did not want them to know, just now, that she did
resent it.
Angela was almost as keenly interested in Carmen as Carmen was in her; and
though Mrs. Gaylor was not at her best, she was excited; her eyes shone,
and dusk softened her hard look of fatigue. Angela thought Nick's old
friend one of the handsomest women she had ever seen. Also, she was
jealous, more sharply and consciously jealous than when Theo Dene had
gossiped about Mrs. Gaylor and Nick Hilliard, on the way back from Santa
Barbara Mission. Angela had never before known the sting of jealousy; had
never thought, till that day, that she could feel so mean a passion; yet
now she suffered as Nick once had suffered, and was ashamed to suffer.
A few minutes ago she had been sure that Hilliard loved her, and she had
keyed herself to tell him nobly why he must forget her, why she must
forget him. But, having seen, Carmen, she began to wonder if Nick did
care, and whether after all, he had meant to speak of his love, here in
the forest. Perhaps she had been conceited, and mistaken about his
feelings. Maybe Nick had merely been chivalrous and kind, like all
California men, and wanted nothing of her except friendship. Maybe if he
had meant to tell her anything, it had been about this beautiful Mrs.
Gaylor.
Nick introduced them to each other, rather shyly and formally, and they
were both extremely polite, even complimentary. Carmen said that she hoped
Mrs. May wouldn't think it very queer of her, hurrying out to meet Mr.
Hilliard the moment she heard he was near. Of course, she might have
waited for him to come back to Wawona, they said he would be back by ten.
But she was so impulsive! And she had wished to see the redwoods by
sunset and moonrise. She knew Mr. Hilliard wouldn't want to bother about
bringing her here next day, after he had just seen the trees himself, and
for the second time, too. This had been too good a chance to lose. The
trees were wonderful, weren't they? Would Mrs. May and Nick mind stopping
a little longer now that she had come, and letting her see the moon rise?
There was a sort of quiver over the sky as if it would appear soon.
All three sat down, but not in the place where Nick and Angela had sat
together. He could not have endured that. While Carmen talked and the
others answered--when they must--the moon-dawn came; and never would the
Princess di Sereno forget the drift of stars behind the trees, and the
fleecy moon-surf that beat on the high branches. Yet the music of the
forest was silent for her, and the charm was broken.
"What are you going to do to-morrow?" Carmen asked. And Angela answered
before Nick could speak: "Oh, my trip is over. There's nothing more to do
but to go back--by a different way, of course. I have still to see
Inspiration Point, of which I've heard so much. I'm looking forward to
that."
"When you say 'go back,' do you mean San Francisco or the East?" Carmen
tried to make her voice sound indifferent, though polite.
"To San Francisco, for a while. I'm not going East, I hope. I've bought
land near Monterey. I mean to build and make a home for myself in
California."
Carmen's one lingering hope died. She had thought it just possible that
this affair had been a travelling flirtation; that Nick, though
infatuated, would return to his old allegiance when this witch-light, this
will-o'-the-wisp, this love pirate, had gone. But the love pirate intended
to drop anchor in California waters, it seemed! Luckily for Carmen that
the daylight had faded. Changes on a woman's face, if bent a little, could
not be seen in the dusk.
"I wish you'd give me a chance to prove that California women are just as
glad as California men to be nice to strangers," she went on. "Your home
isn't ready yet, so you've nothing to tie you down. Won't you come and see
_my_ home? It's very pretty, if I do say so myself; and it might give you
one or two ideas. Try and help me persuade her, Nick. You see, Mrs. May, I
feel almost as if I knew you. They could talk of nobody else at Rushing
River Camp! And meeting you in this wonderful forest makes me sure we
ought to be friends, as if it was _meant_, you know."
"You're very kind," said Angela, feeling distinctly guilty, because she
did not like Carmen, and admired her only because she could not help it.
"I told you Mrs. Gaylor would want you to come to her house!" exclaimed
Nick, trying to be cordial and forget his bitter disappointment.
He too was feeling guilty. He had been even more sorry than surprised to
see Carmen, and wished her a hundred miles away. Something told him that,
if she had not interrupted him just at the critical moment, when hour and
place and mood had seemed propitious, Angela would have been kind. Such a
moment as Carmen Gaylor had spoiled might never come again. But he felt
that he was cruel and ungrateful to his loyal friend, his benefactress.
It was not her fault, he reminded himself, that she had appeared at the
wrong time. She could not have guessed that he loved Mrs. May. He ought to
be flattered because poor Carmen had started out to meet him in the
forest, instead of waiting at Wawona. The sound of her voice, with its
deep contralto, reminded him how much he owed to Mrs. Gaylor. Her
friendship and generosity had made him rich. If it had not been for her he
would never have owned or been able to sell the Lucky Star gusher. And,
after all, there would be other moments. Because Mrs. Gaylor had
inadvertently robbed him of this chance with Angela, there was no reason
to feel so gloomily sure that he would never have another. He would make
one for himself! And now here was his kind friend, inviting Mrs. May to
visit her, mostly to please him, of course. How like her! If only his
angel would accept, he might be able to "cross the dead line" by and by,
in his own country, and that would be the next best after the Mariposa
Forest.
Carmen bit her lip. So they had talked her over together, these two, and
Nick had told this woman that she would be invited to visit the Gaylor
ranch! Well, she would let them believe that she was good-naturedly
playing into their hands. She wanted, yet hated, to have them think that.
"Why, of course, Nick knows how delighted I am to get pleasant visitors,"
she forced herself to say. "I haven't many--and I get few other pleasures.
I'm awfully lonesome on my big ranch. Come for as long as you can--but
even a few days will be better than nothing, if you can't spare more. Nick
can show you his gusher--or rather the gusher that was his; and Lucky Star
City, which you'll think queer and interesting, I expect, just as Nick
does--though it seems vulgar and hideous to me. By the way, Nick, there's
a new school-teacher at Lucky Star. Oh, there's _lots_ of news since you
went away! I shall have heaps to tell you. Won't you come and visit me,
and be shown around by Nick, Mrs. May?"
Angela was torn between several emotions, none of which she was able
clearly to define. If she refused, it might seem ungracious, because
already, half in earnest, half in play, she had partly promised Nick to go
some time and have a glimpse of Lucky Star ranch and city. Yet, less than
ever did she wish to be indebted for hospitality to Mrs. Gaylor.
"Could I go for a day?" she inquired.
"You could for two days and a night," said Carmen, "if you couldn't give
us more time. You see, you'd have to travel all night from San Francisco
to Bakersfield, or rather to Kern--which is the same thing. And my place
is a good long drive from there, even in a motor, which I could easily
hire."
"You needn't do that. I've bought one," Nick cut in eagerly. "She's in San
Francisco. I was looking forward to showing her to you. But now I can do
better. If Mrs. May consents, I'll ship the auto by train in advance and
send the shuvver--my assistant, I mean--on ahead, so as to look the car
over and see that she's ready to run us all out to your ranch after we
arrive at Bakersfield in the morning. Now, aren't you surprised at my
news, Mrs. Gaylor--that I've got an automobile of my own? Or did they tell
you that, among other things, at River Camp?"
"Yes, they told me," answered Carmen, with the same praiseworthy calmness
which she had been admiring in herself, and wondering at, as if it were a
marvellous performance on the stage by an actress.
"Anyhow, I expect my yellow car will excite more interest at Lucky Star
than a new schoolmistress," said Nick, laughing, almost light-hearted
again. But he did not give more than a thought to the schoolmistress. Of
what possible importance could she be to him?
"Will you run over from Kern to the Gaylor ranch in his yellow car?" asked
Carmen, softly and kindly, seeing that the enemy hesitated.
"Yes--thank you both. I will go," Angela said.
"Then I'm rewarded for my long drive this afternoon." And indeed Carmen
felt rewarded. She thought of the crystal, and how Madame Vestris had seen
the "fair woman" blotted out of the sunshine by a dark cloud. And after
that she had not come into the crystal again. Carmen had been there with a
man standing by her side.
"But what should I have done if the hateful creature had refused to visit
me?" Carmen thought. "Everything depended on that."
Next day they took the long drive together, Mrs. Gaylor, Angela, and Nick,
and Angela's maid--for Carmen had not brought Mariette to the Yosemite.
Mariette was too talkative, and had been sent home from San Francisco.
Carmen did not wish Nick to find out how hurried this journey of hers had
been lest he should suspect that it was made in quest of him! She wanted
him to believe that she had been travelling leisurely for the benefit of
her health, as she had taken pains to explain.
Nothing could spoil the azure mystery of Inspiration Point: nothing could
dim the brightness of the Bridal Veil, seen from a new point of view. So
near that a strong wind might have driven the spray into their faces, they
saw the white folds of the waterfalls, embroidered with rainbows, and the
dark rocks behind its rushing flood, stained deep red, and gold and blue,
as if generations of rainbows had dried there. Nothing could stifle the
thrill of that wild drive, down steep roads that tied themselves
ribbonlike, round the mountain-side, and seemed to flutter, as ribbons
might flutter, over precipices. Yet the magic of four days ago was dead.
Carmen, sitting between Nick and Angela, had killed it. Neither rivers nor
trees sang their old song; and the white witch of the Bridal Veil had
turned her face away.