THOSE WHO REAP THE WHIRLWIND
I
Grace Halsey, dead, her crippled child dead beside her, never knew the
contents of the letter which had been received for her that morning.
It still laid on the hall table unnoticed. There was almost none to
pay attention to the many duties of the household. The last servants
had begun to pass, scenting disaster even as had others. The magic
which had builded this mansion house now lacked strength to hold its
tenantry. There remained now only one man--the butler, lingering for
his pay. Only two persons might still be said to be actuated by any
sense of loyalty or duty to Graystone Hall and its owner--Halsey and
Virginia Rawn.
Of duty--to what and to whom? They dared not ask, dared not think.
They waited, they knew not for what. The master of this mansion house
was forth upon his business. Somewhere, he was hastening toward his
home. When he might be expected they did not know. Nor did the master
know what news awaited him upon his coming.
II
The evening dailies came out upon the streets, reeling and reeking with
the last accumulating sensations of the Rawn disasters. The business
world continued to rub its eyes, the social world continued to exult.
Many and many a woman smiled that evening as she contemplated proofs of
the downfall of one whom once she had envied. The Rawns, it now
seemed, had all along been known, by everybody who was anybody, to have
been nobody at all. They who had sown the wind, had the whirlwind for
their reaping. This was the general day of harvest for Graystone Hall.
But the day passed on. Shadows lengthened beyond the tall towers and
softened as they fell toward the east. The soft airs of evening,
turning, came in across the open gallery front. Night came, night
unbroken by more than a few lights in all the myriad windows of this
stately monument which John Rawn had builded as proof of his personal
success. Vehicles, passing slowly, held occupants staring in curiosity
at this vast, vacant pile. Human sympathy lacked, human aid there was
not.
III
Thus it chanced easily that there passed up the long driveway of
Graystone Hall, almost unnoticed, a vehicle carrying one who seemed a
stranger there; an elderly, rather tall woman of gray hair and
unfashionable garb, who made such insistence with the servant at the
door that at length she won her way through.
Her errand seemed not one of curiosity, nor did she lack in decision.
She left upon the table an old-fashioned reticule, and following the
advice given her, in reply to her question, passed up the stair and
down the upper hall, to the room where lay Grace Halsey and her child.
There, unknown by any of the household and accepted by those whose
professional duties took them thither, she remained for many hours.
Halsey and Virginia Rawn did not know of her coming.
It was a cold home-coming, also, which awaited John Rawn. But he came
at last, to meet that which was for him to encounter. It was night.
The lights were few and dim. None greeted him at his own gate, none
even at his own door, which was left unguarded. At length he found the
solitary footman-butler, asleep in a chair, the worse for wine.
"Where is she?" he demanded. "Where is Mrs. Rawn?"
He turned before he could be coherently answered, and passed down the
hall toward the library, through whose closed doors he saw a faint
light gleaming.
IV
Something impelled John Rawn to hesitate. He stood, himself the very
picture of despair, his face drawn, haggard, unshaven, his hair
disordered, his hands twitching. He must find his wife, he said to
himself; he must ask her what success she had had with their last hope.
Yes, yes, it must be true! With Halsey's aid he would yet win! If she
had won--Halsey would yet be on his side--Halsey would tell him--Halsey
would go back to the factory--
But John Rawn hesitated at this door. He felt, rather than knew,
believed rather than was advised, that his wife was beyond that door.
He waited, apprehensive, but kept up with himself the pitiful pretense
of self-deception. Ah, power, control, command!--those were the great
things of the world, he reasoned. True, he knew his daughter lay dead
in her room on the floor above--the paper he held in his hand told him
that; for at last the doctor had prepared his statement regarding Mrs.
Halsey's death by "heart failure"--the rich and all akin to them always
die respectably, in a house so large as Graystone Hall. But it was too
late to save her, Rawn reasoned. Let the dead bury the dead. The
larger things must outweigh the small. He first must know what his
wife had done with Halsey.
To the tense, strained nerves of John Rawn the truth was now as
apparent as it had been to the sensibilities of all these others, late
friends, servants, sycophants. Ruin was here, in his citadel, his
castle of pride. Only one thing could save him.... He hesitated at
the door, held back from that which he knew he was about to face....
But no, he reasoned, she was there alone, he _must_ see her!
He flung open the folding doors and stood holding them apart.
V
Yes, she was there! John Rawn's face drew into a ghastly smile. Yes,
she had won! She, the wonderful woman, had triumphed as he had planned
for her to triumph. She had won! ...
They stood before him, those two, silent, face to face, embraced; their
arms about each other even as he flung wide the door. They turned to
him now, stupefied, so weary, so overstrained, that their arms still
hung, embraced. The face of each was white, desolate, unhappy; more
hopeless and desperate than terrified, but horrible. They were lovers.
They loved, but what could love do for them, so late? They had
paid--but what right had they to love, so late?
John Rawn, the man who had wrought all this, stood and gazed, ghastly,
smiling distortedly, at his wife's face. Why, then, should she be
unhappy? What was to be lost save that which he, John Rawn, was
losing--or had been about to lose?
But he was startled, stupefied, himself, for one moment. He turned
back, hesitating; and so tiptoed away, leaving them, although the joint
knowledge of all was obvious. They had not spoken a word, had not
started apart, had only gazed at him like dead persons, white, silent,
motionless--not lovers; no, not lovers.
For one-half instant, alone in the wide and darkened hall, Rawn
straightened himself up, threw his chest out. Yes, she had won--she
had done her task! She held Charles Halsey fast--there--in her
embrace. He, John Rawn, multimillionaire, collector of rare objects,
one of God's anointed rich, had the shrewdest wife the world had ever
seen, the most beautiful, the most successful!
Had he not seen--was it not there before his eyes? She had his one
enemy netted, in her power--there--had he not seen? She brought him,
bound hand and foot, to him, John Rawn! Could a man doubt his eyes?
They had hunted well in couple, he and his wife, and now she had pulled
down their latest victim! ...
What mattered the means?--there was but one great thing. And the great
things must outweigh the small. He was a man of power. He had been
born for success. He was--
VI
He stood, half in the shadow, hesitant. Then he heard other feet
approaching him slowly. His wife, Virginia, came and took him by the
arm and had him within the door; closed it back of him; and, leaving
him, advanced to where Halsey stood. She took Halsey by the hand....
It seemed a singular thing to Rawn, this performance; in fact, almost
improper, if the truth were known.... So it seemed to John Rawn's
mind, a trifle clouded with distress and drink.
"Well," said she apathetically; and held her peace as he frowned and
looked at her dumbly.
"Well!" he broke out at last; "I'm back again!-- You're _here_, I
see." This last to Halsey.
They two stood and regarded him without comment. Halsey kept his eye
on Rawn's hand, expecting some sudden movement for a weapon. He was
incredulous that any man could sustain Rawn's attitude toward him.
War, and nothing but war, seemed inevitable between himself and Rawn,
the man whom he had wronged, the man who had wronged him.
"I suppose--I see--" began Rawn clumsily, after a while. "Of course,
you have probably been here all the time, Charley. I came back as soon
as I could. I've been having all kinds of trouble in St. Louis and New
York. Everything's all gone to pieces."
They did not answer him, and he shuffled.
"Have you anything to say?" he demanded of his wife; "Has Mr.
Halsey--Charley--agreed?--Have you persuaded him to--"
"You wish to know, whether I have done what I was told to do--is that
it?" she demanded of him coldly.
"Yes; have you?"
"I have. Here is Mr. Halsey. I have kept my word. You have seen. I
told you I could bring him in, bound hand and foot. Kiss me, Charley,"
she cried. "Oh! kiss me!" And he did kiss her. Cold, white, hand in
hand, dead, they then faced him again.
VII
"Is it true?" began Rawn. His eyes lighted up suddenly. "He has
agreed?"
Halsey broke in now. "It is true, Mr. Rawn," said he. "I love her. I
love your wife; I can't help it. I have told her so. You see."
"You love her!" John Rawn burst out into a great, croaking-laugh.
"You _love_ her? I say, that's good! That's good news to tell me,
isn't it? Why--I sent her--I used her, to _make_ you love her! You
see reason now at last, do you?--every man does at last--every man has
his price. You'll go back to work to-morrow? There's a lot to do, but
we can save it all yet. We can whip them, I tell you--we'll get
everything back in our own hands before to-morrow night!"
"--But, Mr. Rawn! Listen! You do not know! Surely you do not
understand--"
"Understand? What is there left to understand? Didn't I see you both
just now? Didn't you--right now--haven't you _got_ to come across now?
Hasn't she done what I told her to do; what she said she'd do? I told
her to bring you back to us again, and she's done it, hasn't she?
"But come on, now," he resumed, as though reluctantly--"I suppose we've
got to go up there--Grace--? Too bad.... But I wanted to see Jennie
first."
"My God!" whispered Virginia Rawn, shuddering. "Oh, my God!"
VIII
"Rawn," said Halsey directly, abandoning even any pretense at courtesy;
"the end of the world has come for you, for us all. My wife is
dead--she's lucky! My child is dead, too, and that's lucky. It had no
life to live, crippled as it was. She killed herself and the baby. I
don't seem to care as I ought to care. And now your wife has told me
that she loves me. It's true! She doesn't love _you_; she never has.
She has not taken me a prisoner any more than I have her. We're both
in this to-night. We're both to blame. But, at the bottom, you are to
blame--for _all_ of this."
"Of course! Of course!" smiled John Rawn sardonically. "What would
you expect? I am sorry. But I'll never tell any one about it, you can
depend on that!"
"You'll never tell!" went on Charles Halsey slowly. "You'll never
_need_ to tell. But here's what I want to tell _you_, once more.
Whatever this is--and it's about bad enough--it's come because of
_you_. You--you were the cause of this!"
"_You blame me_--why, what do you mean!" burst out John Rawn. "Where
have _I_ been to blame, I'd like to know! What do you mean, young man?"
"Every word I have told you, and more than I can tell you. You'll not
think--you don't dare to face the truth; but there's the real truth.
If you can't understand that, take what you can understand. Your wife
isn't to blame--I'm to blame. Love is to blame. I love her. I've
done this."
"You have done--what?"
"I've taken your wife away from you, can't you understand, you fool?
She's going to marry me as soon--"
"_Jennie_!--what's this fellow talking about?" The veins on John
Rawn's forehead stood high and full.
IX
"He is only telling you the truth," she said calmly, wearily. "I don't
care one picayune whether or not you know it, whether or not the world
knows it! I'm tired! I'm done with all this sort of thing! Yes, I'm
going to marry him as soon as we can get away. As soon as it's decent,
if anything's decent any more!"
"And you love him, you'll rob _me_, you'll leave _me_--you'll--why, are
you all crazy? What are you talking about? When I've given you
everything you've got--when you were so much to me! _Jennie!_"
"No, no!" she raised a hand. "Don't talk about that! It's all over
now."
She tore at her throat, at her fingers, heaped up in his hands the gems
she wore even then, the gems she had put upon her person to protect
them from uncertain servants, gems which left her blazing like some
waxen queen in her tomb--white, dead, enjeweled.
"Take them!" she cried. "I don't want them." She went on, piling his
hands full of glittering, flashing things. He stood gazing at her,
stupefied. Then, slowly, the burden of years, the burden of business
failure, and lastly this--the burden of the worst of man's
discomfiture, the worst of a man's possible losses--began to weigh down
upon him. He shortened visibly; shriveled; drooped.
X
They had no pity for him. Youth has no pity for age, love no pity for
a mate's inefficiency; but after all some sort of contempt, at least,
seemed due him.
"Rawn," said Halsey, "it's pretty hard. We're all of us paying a hard,
heavy price for what we thought we had. But we can't evade it, any
part of it. It was your fault that Grace left me. We were going to
part. You sent your wife after me, as you call it. I suppose Grace
found that out. You know what she did then. I said I blame you, and
so I do. But I was going to get a divorce--"
"Divorce!--you divorce my daughter! John Rawn's daughter!"
"Did you not divorce her mother--you, yourself?"
"But I loved--my wife--I mean, this woman--Jennie, here!"
"So do _I_ love her; more than you do or ever will know how to do!
What you have done we'll do. Is it worse for us than it was for you?
What's the difference?"
"But she's my _wife_! Why, _Jennie_!" He held out a hand to her.
"So was Laura Rawn your wife, my wife's mother," went on Halsey.
"What's the difference?"
Virginia Rawn stepped between the two. "I'm as much to blame as any
one of us all," she said quietly. "I sold out to you, didn't I, Mr.
Rawn--down there in New York? I married you, didn't I? Very well,
what you did, I have done. No more, and not without equal cause. I
love him. I'm going to marry him. You and I are going to be
divorced--if we were not I'd go to him anyhow. I hate you, I loathe
you! My God! how I detest and loathe the sight of you! Go away--go
away from us! You're not any part of a man!"
XI
"It's true!" gasped John Rawn to himself; "My God, it's true! She said
that--I heard her--to me? What have I done to deserve this? ... I
ought to kill you," said he to Halsey slowly.
"Of course you ought," said Halsey. "If you were any portion of a man
you would. But you've tried that, and you know where you ended."
"But Halsey--Charley!--you don't stop to think!" began Rawn pitifully.
"You will go back--you will go back to the factory, in the morning?
You will help me pull it together, won't you?"
"No, not one step back to the factory--never in the world! I'm done
with that. I'm going away somewhere, and she's going with me, I don't
know where. Let some one else work out what you thought we could do,
and let some one else take the consequences--it's not for me. You've
got what you earned--I suppose I'll get what I've earned, too. I don't
care about that any more."
Rawn could not answer the young man as he went on, slowly, dully,
bitterly. "If I've been traitor to any of my own creed I reckon God'll
punish me. Very well; I will take my punishment on my shoulders. I've
no apologies to make in a place like this.
"Haven't you gone up--oughtn't we to go up now--up-stairs?" he added at
last. He put down Virginia's arms from his shoulders; for once more
she had come to him.
Rawn sighed. "I suppose I must go up there," he said vaguely.
He turned and walked away, heavy, stumbling.