"Oh, that was inspiration; I can't explain it. You see, I had happened
to hear the name 'Payson' that morning, and it recalled the fact that I
had seen it before upon a picture in Madam Grant's bedroom. Your
father's name, 'Oliver Payson,' it was."
"In Madam Grant's room? How strange! I don't understand that."
"Nor I, either. Yet you say he knew her?" queried Granthope.
"Only slightly, so he gave me to understand, at least--still, that may
not be true. He may have his reasons for not telling more." She turned
to him with a strange, deliberate, questing expression, and said, "Who
_are_ you, anyway?" Then, "Was Madam Grant your mother?"
"I don't know. I've often suspected that it might be so, but somehow I
don't quite believe it. I don't, at least, _feel_ it."
"Why did you run away?"
"Just before she died she asked me to take some money she had and to
keep it safe. I hid it and ran away because I was afraid that they'd
find it and take it away from me. I went to Stockton and carried the
package to a bank, but they frightened me with their questions and I ran
away without any explanations. Of course it's lost, and it was, as I
remember it, a big sum, some thousands. I could never prove that I left
it there, for my name wasn't on the package of bills. I had written
some false name--I forget what. I never let any one know that I had
lived with Madam Grant, after that, for fear that I should be accused of
having stolen the money. My story would never have been believed, of
course."
"I see." Clytie's eyes half closed in thought. "I'm sure it was meant
for you, Francis."
The sound of his name stirred him and his hand tightened on hers.
"Perhaps so. But I've always thought that she intended it for some of
her kin. It has been impossible for me to trace any of her family,
though. All I know about her is that she was at Vassar College, but I
can't possibly identify her, because Grant was undoubtedly a name she
assumed here."
"We must try to see what we can do, you and I. Perhaps I may be able to
help you, somehow. What happened after that?"
"I worked at odd jobs in the country for a number of years, then came
back to San Francisco. There I did anything I could get to do till I
met Madam Spoll. She was a medium, and is yet. I lived with her several
years."
As he had torn down the draperies of that dark, mysterious room, he went
on, now, to tear down the curtain of shams and hypocrisies that had
hidden his true self from her and from her kind.
"That was the beginning of a long education in trickery. I was
surrounded by charlatans and impostors, I was taught that the public was
gullible and that it liked to be fooled--that it would be fooled,
whether we did it or not; and that we might benefit by its credulity as
well as any one else. There was sophistry enough, God knows, in their
miserable philosophy, but I was young and was for a while taken in by
it. I had no other teachers; I had only the example of the colony of
fakirs about me. I saw our victims comforted and encouraged by the
mental bread-pills we fed them. So we played on their weakness and
vanity without scruple. I learned rapidly. I was cleverer than my
teachers; I went far ahead of them. I invented new tricks and methods.
But it was too easy. There was scarcely any need of subtlety or finesse.
The most primitive methods sufficed. You have no idea how easily
seemingly intelligent persons can be led once they are past the first
turning. That was finally why I got out of it and went into palmistry.
That had, at least, a basis of science, and a dignified history."
He arose again and walked to the open window. His self-consciousness was
a little relieved by his interest in the analysis. He looked out, and
turned back to her with a grim smile.
"It's in the air, here--the gambling instinct is paramount!" he said.
"Almost everybody gambles in San Francisco. You know that well enough.
You can almost hear the rattle of the slot-machines on the cigar-stand
at the corner, down there. It's that way all over town. The gold-fever
has never died out. Every one speculates or plays the races or bets on
ball games or on the prize-fights, or plays faro or poker or bridge--or,
at least, makes love. They're all superstitious, all credulous, all
willing to take risks and chances, and so the mediums thrive. Tips are
sought for and paid for. Every one wants to get rich quickly and not
always scrupulously. It's not a city of healthy growth; it's a town of
surprises, of magic and madness and rank enthusiasms. We pretended to
show them the short cuts to success, that's all. You know, perhaps, how
the money-getting ability can eclipse all other faculties, and you won't
be surprised when I tell you that we made large sums from men of wealth
and prominence--they were the easiest of the lot, usually."
She brought him back to his story. "Of course I understood from what I
heard, that you had been an accomplice of these mediums. I don't think
you need to go into that."
"Oh, you don't know all! It will sicken you to have me go into the
actual details, but I want you to know the worst. I think I must tell
you, lest others may. One picture will be enough to make you see how
vulgar and despicable I had become in that epoch. You'd never get to
the sordidness of it unless I told you in so many words. Do you think
you can stand it? You may not want ever to know me again. God! I
don't know whether I _can_ tell you or not! It's terrible to have to
sully you with the description of it!"
For a moment she faltered, gazing at him, trembling. Her eyes sought his
and left them, often, as she spoke. "You don't mean--I've heard that
some of these mediums--the vilest of them--don't hesitate to--take
advantage of the sensual weakness of their patrons--that they--Oh, don't
tell me that you ever had any part in _that_!" She covered her face.
He walked over to her and pulled her hands away, looking down into her
eyes. "Do you think I would ever have kissed you if I had?" he said.
"No, there were depths I didn't fall to, after all. Oh, I've had my way
with women often enough; but not that way."
She threw off her fears with a gesture of relief, and her mood changed.
"I believe you. But don't tell me any more, please. I think I know, in
a way, just about what you were capable of, and some things I couldn't
bear to think about. But my reason has always fought against my
intuition whenever I suspected you of any real dishonor. Thank Heaven I
shall never have to do so again! I think I was wise enough to see how,
in all this, you had the inclinations without the opportunities for
better things. You were a victim of your environment. Spare me any
more. I can't bear to see you abase yourself so. I am so sure you have
outlived all this. It's all over. I have told you that I love you. I
shall always love you!"
He yearned for her--for the peace and support that she could give him at
this crisis, but his pride was too hot, yet, for him to accept it; he
had not finished his confession. She was still on a pedestal--he
admired and respected her, but she was above his reach. He could not
quite believe that hint in her eyes, for her halo blinded him. She was
still princess, seeress, goddess--not yet a woman he could take
fearlessly to his arms. His hesitation at her advances, therefore, was
reluctant, almost coy. He did not wish to take her from her niche; he
must first receive absolution. After that--he dared not think. She had
allured him in the first stages of his acquaintance, she still allured
him; but her spiritual attributes dominated him. "I think I am another
man, now," he said, "but my repentance is scarcely an hour old. It is
too young; it has not yet proved itself. It's not fair for me to accept
all you can give for the little I can return. I must meet you as an
equal."
She looked at him calmly. "It is more than a few hours old," she said.
"Do you think I don't know? What I first saw in you I have watched grow
ever since. I told you all I could; it was not for me to help you more.
It was for you to help yourself--to develop from within. I think you
were all ready for me, and I came at the psychological moment." She
looked around the room from which the sunlight had now retreated,
leaving it shadowy and dim. The hangings of black velvet were scattered
about the floor, the little table and its two chairs were like a group
of skeletons, empty, satiric, suggestive of past vanities. "'What is to
come is real; it was a dream that passed,'" she quoted.
He found a new courage and a new hope. It shone in his eyes, it tingled
in his body; something of his old audacity returned. He stood dark and
strong before her.
"Oh, you have helped, indeed!" he said. "I think this would never have
come alone, for I was sunk in an apathy--and yet, I'm not sure. The old
life was no longer possible. I confess that I was in a trap, threatened
with exposure--I feared your discovery of what I had been--I smarted
under the shame of your disapproval--but it was not that that influenced
me. It was like a chemical reaction, as all human intercourse is; you
precipitated all this deceit and hypocrisy at one stroke and left my
mind clear."
"I'm so glad you feel it that way," Clytie said. "It brings us
together, doesn't it? It lessens the debt you would owe me." Her
eyelids crinkled in a delicious expression of humor, as she added, "And
it makes this place seem a little less like a Sunday-school room!"
"Oh, I suppose many a man has refused to reform for fear of being
considered a prig!" he laughed. "But I haven't swept out all the
corners yet. I must finish cleaning house before I invite you in."
"Why should we talk about it any more?"
"But it isn't all over!" he exclaimed. "I haven't told everything.
It's all over, so far as I am concerned--I shall not go back--but now
you are involved in it. Could anything drag me lower than that?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Only that, because of my fault in not warning you before, your father
has already become the latest dupe for this gang of fakirs. I'm afraid
he's in their power. Hasn't he told you anything about it?"
"A little. What is there to fear from them?"
"Of course, it's only his money they're after. They have got hold of
considerable information about him--I don't know just how or what--and
they have succeeded in hoodwinking him into a belief that they have
supernatural powers. I'm afraid it's no use for me to attempt to expose
them. He'd never believe anything I could say."
"No, that's useless. He has taken a violent prejudice against you, for
some reason."
"Oh, the reason is easy to find. I've made enemies of Madam Spoll and
Vixley, and they have probably done their best to hurt my reputation.
They made me a proposition to join them; in fact, their scheme was for
me to work you for information--make love to you, in order to help them
rob your father."
Clytie looked at him trustfully. "You can never convince me that that
was the reason why you were attracted to me, for I shall not believe
you!" She patted his hand affectionately, as he sat at her feet.