True to his resolve, Dick rose to the exigency of the occasion by laying
stubborn siege to Miss Van Ashton's heart. During the day he bombarded
her with flowers and books and bonbons, and gentle but passionate
missives; all of which the fair recipient as promptly hurled back into
his face. At night relays of musicians serenaded her uninterruptedly
until the glowing cast announced the coming of a new day. He took the
whole household into his confidence, rendering it impossible for her to
set foot outside her door without meeting him.
The first day she laughed at his eccentricities; on the second, she grew
furious, and on the third, not having closed her eyes for two whole days
and nights, she felt herself on the verge of a nervous collapse. There
being no rest for any one, Colonel Van Ashton suddenly appeared before
his daughter on the morning of the fourth day and gave her to understand
that if the infernal nuisance did not cease instantly he would shoot the
first person who entered the garden that evening after he had retired.
And to back his threat, he displayed a new automatic pistol which he had
purchased in the town the day before; the shopkeeper having assured him
that, for a running fire, it was the most convenient and effective
weapon on the market. The Colonel was in a reckless mood and seemed in
imminent danger of losing in a moment the self-control which years of
civilization had instilled within him. Having been literally goaded to
madness, little wonder that he too was on the verge of succumbing to the
customs of the land, and was beginning to feel a secret longing to shoot
and swear and swagger and destroy. Knowing her father to be as good as
his word, and to possess the courage of a lion when aroused, Bessie
found herself forced to capitulate a day earlier than she otherwise
would have, for, incensed though she was, not even a woman of her grit
and spirit could possibly have held out much longer under conditions
that turned night into day.
It was galling in the extreme to be compelled to surrender so soon, but
there being no alternative, she was obliged to accept the humiliation
with the best grace possible. Accordingly, she appeared in the garden
late on the afternoon of the fourth day where she espied the object of
her wrath and annoyance seated comfortably on the grass at the foot of a
pear tree, and as usual--smoking. The sight of him was hardly conducive
to soothe the feelings of one who inwardly was a seething volcano, and
she vowed that she would pay him out to the full before she was done
with him.
He seemed greatly surprised by her appearance, and hastily throwing away
his cigar, rose to his feet with the intention of speaking to her, but
without noticing him, she made her way to the farthest corner of the
garden and seated herself in a large rustic chair that stood in the
shadow of the high wall which surrounded the garden. She knew he would
not be long in renewing his persecutions. And angry though she was, she
could not help wondering at the novelty of the situation. She, Bessie
Van Ashton, placed at the mercy of an obscure person, a rustic nobody!
Like every other woman, she had dreamed of such a man as this, one that
would seize and carry her off; but then the time and place were other
than the present, and he resembled more closely the type of man with
which she had been familiar all her life. The spirit of antagonism which
he aroused was due rather to pique than to dislike, for in spite of his
audacity she could not help admiring his spirit.
Her sense of injury was poignantly enhanced by the fact that she
recognized herself to be the true cause of her trouble. Had she not led
him on this thing might never have happened; and yet, she was neither
sorry nor repentant for what she had done. Had any other man dared take
the liberties he had taken with her, she would have despised him, but
with him, though she was unable to explain it, things were somehow
different. She was furious with him for kissing her, and yet deep down
in her inner consciousness she was not so certain that she was sorry he
had done so. The things he did, which would have branded any other man
as a cad, were the very things the man of her dreams might have done
under similar circumstances. Yet she shuddered as she daily foresaw the
consequences that might ensue should she encourage him further.
Flirting with a man whose high-handed, arbitrary methods dazed rather
than offended her, was becoming dangerous.
Self-preservation being always our first thought, she had decided to
fly, but the presence of Blanch rendered such a course impossible. The
only alternative left her was to extricate herself as swiftly and
gracefully as possible from her dilemma by making herself as
disagreeable as possible in his eyes. In this wise she hoped to
disillusion him, and it was with this intention she had come forth to
meet him. She could not see him from where she sat, having turned her
back upon him; but, judging from the length of time it took him to
approach, she rightly conjectured that he had been walking in a circle,
doubtless at a loss what course to pursue. The silence that ensued when
he paused behind her was broken only by the sound of his labored
breathing and a nervous cough, plainly betraying the embarrassment he
felt on finding himself once more in her presence.
"Miss Van Ashton," he said at length, "it is extremely gratifying to
know that you have at last decided to leave the oppressive walls of your
inhospitable abode for the world of sunshine without, where the essence
and being of all things fill one with a desire to live." Nothing he
could have said at the moment could have aroused her resentment more
than this idiotic speech. She had expected him to eat humble pie, to
throw himself at her feet and implore forgiveness; but, no! She sprang
to her feet and facing him, turned a pair of beautiful blazing eyes upon
him. She was so furious she choked, and for some moments was quite
unable to speak.
"I suppose," she said at last, her voice trembling with suppressed
indignation, "that you take pleasure in pursuing a helpless woman like a
hunted beast. It's so manly," she added scathingly, looking in vain for
some sign of contrition in his face. "Why," she went on, "if a man where
I live had done the hundredth part of what you have done, society would
shun him as it would a pariah!"
"Or a leper," he added good humoredly, quick to recognize the
disadvantage at which the loss of her temper placed her. "They must be a
poor lot where you live," he continued. "I think we had better pass them
by without further comment." She was suffocated--she could have bitten
her tongue off!
"Have you no consideration for others' feelings--for what they might
want?" she cried.
"Ah! I see, Miss Van Ashton," he answered, regarding her
compassionately. "You quite overlook the true facts of the case. This is
not at all a question of what you may want, but of what is best for you.
I have merely been trying to tell you in my awkward way that it is not
good for one to live alone." She laughed hysterically. The colossal
impudence of the man took her breath away. She gasped--attempted to
speak, but words failing her, turned her back upon him and began tearing
into shreds the end of the silken gauze Indian scarf which she wore over
her shoulders.
"Can't you think of what you want, Miss Van Ashton?" he asked gently,
in the tone of one addressing a refractory child.
"No!" she screamed, without at all realizing what she was saying. To
think that this man was able to play with her like a worm on the end of
a pin! It was too much! "How dare you! I--I hate you!" she cried,
without turning round and quite beside herself. There was no mistaking
her attitude; he had gone far enough. The limit of her endurance had
been reached, and he suddenly became serious. Again there was silence
between them.
"Miss Van Ashton," he said, drawing himself up, "it really doesn't
matter what you or the rest of the world may think of me so long as I
can see you. Can you imagine what it would be like if you were never to
see the sun again? What could be more absurd than to allow such a trifle
as convention to come between you and me? Three feet of wretched adobe
wall between me and heaven!" he burst forth. "The idea's preposterous!
Why, if you shut yourself up in that miserable hovel again, I'll set
fire to the place!" She knew he would.
"Can't you understand," he went on, his voice softening, "that your
attitude has aroused the savage, the primeval man in me--that, had I met
you here fifty or a hundred years ago, I would have picked you up and
quietly carried you away? I know I've been a brute by driving you into
the open like this, but that's not me, myself--the man who loves you,
who would pass through fire for you, who has dreamed of you and watched
and waited through the long years for your coming; and now that you
have come, you surely can't blame me for what I cannot help--for loving
you and telling you so in my own way?"
She tried in vain to stifle the emotion his words aroused. She had set
out with the intention of wringing this avowal from him in jest, but how
differently it affected her now that she heard it. She forgot her anger,
everything, in fact, as she listened to the flow of his passion and
longed to hear him continue. Every note of his voice thrilled her as it
did on the day she first saw him. She remembered that she experienced a
peculiar sensation at the time; that his appearance reminded her of the
heroic type of manhood which the ancients had sought to depict in their
marbles. In him she had unconsciously recognized the true spirit of the
Argonaut on whose brow rests the star of empire. She did not idealize
him; she simply recognized him for what he was--a man; one in whose soul
the sentiment and enthusiasm of youth still sat enthroned, not smothered
by the crushing process of modern civilization which was the case with
the men she knew. A terror seized her as she compared the latter to him,
and beheld how small they appeared beside him.
"Miss Van Ashton," he continued passionately, "you wouldn't thank me if
I continued to bandy words with the woman I love, whose presence has
become the sunshine of life to me. The whole world has become filled
with song since you came into my life. Music and laughter have taken the
place of loneliness and despair. Flowers spring from the earth where
your feet rest! Don't imagine that you can ever estrange yourself from
me. Wherever you are, by day or by night, waking or dreaming, I also
will be there and ever whispering: 'Bessie Van Ashton, I love you--you
have filled my life so completely I can't live without you!'"
Had her face been turned toward him, he would have seen that it was
radiant, that her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy, that her hands
trembled beneath the folds of her scarf where she had concealed them.
"Bessie, sweet--"
"Stop!" she cried, almost in a voice of terror. "I've not given you
permission to speak to me, thus--to call me by name--"
"Then turn round and say you will be human once more! That you will talk
and walk and ride again! If you don't, I'll begin all over again by
telling you that you are the sweetest--"
"Hush!" she said softly, turning round abruptly with a gesture of
protest, looking up into his face, and then down at the ground to
conceal her confusion. "I think we understand one another," she said at
length, and raising her eyes to his again, she held out both her hands
which he seized and held in his own.
"Let us be friends again," she continued, gently withdrawing her hands
from his.
"No, don't say that!" he interrupted. "We can't be that! Let it rest as
it is!"