He had steeled himself to see it all, and on Saturday when the storm
had subsided, and the little train started up the mountainside, his
face was a gray mask, and the nearer the top he came, the more
impassive, the grayer was his face. A little turn of a boulder and he
knew he 'd see the ruin. A few piles and the welter of the swollen
river attacking them. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. The
official beside him suddenly screamed.
"My God! Excellency! The bridge!"
"Yes, I know. The bridge is down."
"The bridge is there. Excellency, the bridge is there!"
All Lovat could do was to laugh, a vacant laugh. Yes, it was there.
But it was so impossible. The sun suddenly flashed behind it, and he
saw the arrogant white structure soar like a bird, joining green hill
to green hill. Beneath it rolled an unknown river, not the tumbling,
snarling river of a week before, but a brown concave current, become
gigantic, flying northward to the greatest of waters and carrying on
its thewed back death and desolation. There was something that looked
like a man and then an ox. And here was the wreckage of a homestead.
And there was a jaguar and here was a great serpent of the jungle, and
now a horse and here a gigantic tree. But the bridge spurned the
river, floated on it like a swan. Lovat jumped off on the platform.
"It holds! It stays!" he cried exultantly. He rushed toward the
house. "Cecily, it holds!"
But he felt, as he flung open the door, that the house was empty.
"Cecily! Where are you, Cecily?"
There was no one there but a weeping, terrified maid.
"Where is Madame? Where is your señora?"
But she only wept and wrung her hands. Lovat, half crazy, yanked her
to her feet, and shook her.
"Where is Madame?
"Cecily! Cecily!"
He ran outside. It suddenly occurred to him that all his men had made
way for him from the station, with silent pitying eyes. Why, they
should have been cheering, too, but for something--
"Cecily! Cecily!" He ran around the little house.
One of the big Inca foreman detached himself from a standing group, and
stood in front of the frenzied man.
"Excellency," he said, "there's no good calling Madame. Madame has
left us."
"Left us? What do you mean?"
"Excellency--" the big Indian threw his hands toward the river--"the
bridge is there, but Madame has left us. Don't you understand?"
With numbing force the blow descended on Lovat.
"The bridge took her, you mean."
"No, señor. She left us."
Lovat suddenly straightened up.
"Mason, what do you mean?"
"Señor, when the wind came and the flood, the men quit. The wind
shrieked through the arches. The river rose and attacked the piers.
And the bridge groaned, and we left. It was the will of God, we
thought. He did n't want this chasm joined.
"And I came up toward your house, señor, to see if everything was right
there. I met Madame on the path. She had her big black cloak on.
"'You had better go back, señora,' I said.
"'I am going to the bridge,' she said.
"'But it is growing black as night, señora; you had better go back.'
"'Stand aside, Vicente,' was all she said. And there was something in
her eyes that made me give way. She went on.
"Excellency, I loved Madame, as did every one here. And she liked me.
And I was your man. I followed her down the path. I caught up to her
at the bridge. It was blue dark, like twilight. The bridge was
quivering. I caught the edge of her cape.
"'What are you going to do, señora?'
"'Stand aside, Vicente.'
"'You are crazy, señora!' I cried out.
"'No, Vicente, I am wise.'
"'You must n't, señora!'
"'I must, Vicente.'
"'Let me, señora,' I pleaded.
"'Vicente,' she said, 'you 've done your work on the bridge. Now I
must do mine.'
"I could n't stop her, Excellency. Something in the face, in the
eyes--I don't know--I dropped on my knees. She moved over the bridge.
"Excellency, from the time she was on it the bridge stopped quivering,
the wind hushed. I saw her drop her cloak as she stood in the center.
I saw her step forward, sure, unafraid. And for an instant I saw her,
like a blossom in the wind....
"And so, Excellency, the bridge stands, will always stand...."
X
So there it was, all finished, all done, and for the last time Lovat
looked at it, saw the green mountains, the tumbling river, the white
span of the bridge. But the bridge and he were finished now. His work
was done.
The little Latin-American official touched his elbow deferentially.
"Excellency, the train!"
"Yes, the train," Lovat repeated mechanically. His companion looked at
him with grave sympathy. Only three months ago Lovat was a young and
happy bridegroom. To-day the builder was a grave gray-haired man.
Yes, the bridge was done, Lovat knew. A little while ago it was just
the product of his hand and genius and will, a thing of himself. But
now it was a fulfilled entity, with its own duties, its own uses, its
own destiny. Over it went trains joining country to country and sea to
sea. Over it went the loping Latin people. Over it went the little
patient burros, pannier-laden. In confidence all went over it.
"It will stand." Lovat knew. "It will always stand."
But there was no high note of proud achievement in his thought. It
would not stand because of skill in building or strength in masonry.
But because there guarded it one whose pleading sacrificial fingers
would unclench the angry hand of God. Flood and thunder and immense
winds would spare it because of that guardian like a white flame, to
whose unselfishness selfish nature must do reverence.
The official ventured to recall him:
"Excellency!"
"Just one more moment!"
He had a vision of her for the moment, and his throat quivered and his
eyes were uncertain. He saw her in her white, billowing gown, with her
dark head and face like a flower. Two brown shy little children were
standing fearful of the bridge, and she knelt to them. "Come,
darlings," he could hear the deep remembered voice. She led them
confidently across his bridge, and as she led them she smiled to him.
Well, he must go. There was other work to be done, other bridges to
build, until the time the Master of the Masons told him to rest. He
must be about his work.
"All our life is work," he said to himself as he boarded the train.
"All our love is comradeship."
Well, there was work to be done, and there was comradeship. She would
always be with him now, being dead....