A Man of Two Countries Part 30

For years Danvers had shunned women. Yet he had not spent his life in melancholy over Eva's defection; known to many, but understood by few, his real nature withdrew from the light. His intuitive att.i.tude toward strangers of either s.e.x was a negative indifference that gave him time to estimate their character or their motives--a habit desirable enough in business, but unsatisfactory in social life.

The growth of his regard for Winifred had been so gradual that he had not thought it might prove to be love. Her unaffected interest in the only life he had enjoyed--the old days at Fort Macleod--had roused him from apathy, and her comprehension of his motives and activities exhilarated him. He delighted in her intelligent comrades.h.i.+p when discussing the real world.

One subject, only, did she avoid, and that but recently. State politics were never mentioned after her brother became the keystone to the situation. Though she had no proof that Charlie's vote was the one vote necessary to Burroughs' election, she had no doubt that it was a fact.

When this shadow of another's crime crept over the brightness of their friends.h.i.+p, Danvers was bewildered--repulsed by her unusual reserve. The doctor's explanation gave him somewhat of courage, and he had the fine perseverance that conquers.

A few days after he had talked with the doctor Danvers saw Miss Blair crossing the street just ahead of him. He hastened to overtake her--he would put an end to her coldness and her repulses. As he dodged a car, he noted in her walk the pride and courage that had recently been added to her bearing. He thought he understood her att.i.tude toward him--toward the whole world; and a flood of loving pity swept over him. Reaching the other side of the street, he found that she had disappeared. He looked up and down in the dusk, but caught no further sight of the elusive Miss Blair; and after lingering on the street for a half hour, he returned to the hotel.

As he ascended the stairs to the first floor he caught a glimpse of Charlie Blair, just entering the Latimers' apartments. His vexation at Winifred's avoidance was a small matter to the anger that now flamed within. Small wonder that Miss Blair wished to meet no one while this folly was unchecked! Yet he felt that he must share her trouble, and resolved to make one more attempt to see her that evening.

She opened the door in response to his firm knock after dinner, hesitating perceptibly when she saw him. But Philip would not be denied, and entered with a determined resolution.

The girl's heart rose high--fluttered, and almost ceased to beat. He was going to speak; she must not allow it.

"Where did you go to-night?" he asked, as he put his hat and stick on the table. "I saw you on Warren street and tried to overtake you, but you disappeared. I prowled around hoping to find you again; and I had my new shoes on, too, and they hurt me."

The whimsical gaiety of the complaint took away Winifred's reserve, and without attempting to explain her disappearance, she smiled a welcome, though she soon fell silent under the burden of her heart.

Philip had called with a set purpose, yet he found no words as he sat before the smouldering fire. He had time, waiting for the moment of speech, to note the pathetic droop of her shoulders and the weariness of her beautiful eyes. Evidently the courage and strength of the day had been exhausted.

She played idly with a book, but laid it aside while she roused the half-burned wood into a shower of sparks.

Philip reached and took up the book abstractedly, and carelessly turned the leaves, wondering how he should say what was in his heart. A loose paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up. It was the newspaper cutting that Winifred had saved, but had forgotten to copy, in the stress of her anxieties.

Danvers was about to replace it when something familiar made him scan it eagerly. Radiant with joy, he glanced at his companion, but Winifred stood at the mantel with averted face. He took out his note-book, found a little, old, yellow sc.r.a.p, and held both slips in his hand as he rose.

He drew the girl to him, startled, resisting.

"Haven't we found each other?" he asked, simply, showing her the twin copies of the legend, old, yet ever new. "This little clipping has been close to my heart for years--waiting for you, dear. Won't you take its place?"

Winifred was silent. She had guarded against all ordinary appeals, but this--how could she answer him? To refuse this tender sympathy, this yearning love, when she most needed it--the thought was bitterness!

Still silent she drew away from him, and lifted a face so drawn with suffering that Danvers was startled at the change.

"You do not love me?" he questioned, more to himself than to the shrinking woman. "You do not understand?"

He stood before her struggling with his disappointment--that she should fail to understand--she who had always felt his thought so subtly; it was this, almost as much as her lack of response to his love, that hurt him.

They stood before each other, separated by a thing which the woman would not put into words, and the man dared not question.

"Mr. Danvers--Philip," said the girl, gently, "I am sorry----" She hesitated at the trite words, her voice faltering as she looked up into his sad face; it had grown thin and tired these last days. She longed to go to him, to tell him that he should find rest at last. "No," she went on, finally, "I am not sorry that you found the clipping," she altered her words; "why should I not be honest with myself--and you?"

She spoke so simply, so easily, that Danvers almost believed that she did not care.

"You saved my life once, dear friend," she said, "and that makes me dare to ask you to be generous now. Do not judge me! Wait a little.

Forget this evening, and let us go back to the old days. Will you?"

She smiled into his face, so sad a little smile in its evident effort at bravery, that he responded to her mood, eager to help her keep the mastery over her heart, that she might fight her battle in her own proud way. Almost, he was reconciled to her woman's judgment; and he sat down and talked of Fort Benton days.

For that hour Winifred was grateful to Danvers all her life; and when he rose to say good-night she was quite herself again.

"You will understand if I tell you that I must go now?" inquired Danvers. "Judge Latimer was to come in on Number Four, and I must see him to-night."

Winifred met his look with comprehension, and gave him her hand.

A faint sound reached them from the Latimer's apartment across the way as Danvers opened the door. He listened, then ran across the hall.

"What's that?" cried Winifred, startled.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Chapter XIII

The Lobbyist

Fate, woman-like, cares not what means she employs to hurt. She takes what comes first to hand. Sometimes the more unlikely the weapon, the more effective is its use.

The same afternoon that Danvers tried to overtake Miss Blair, two talkative drummers boarded the west-bound train at a small Montana station, doubling back to Helena. As they entered the smoking compartment of a sleeper they found it empty save for a slight, weary-looking man who was gazing abstractedly at the wintry plains.

"Here, don't sit that side," said one; "the sun glares on the snow too much."

As the drummer spoke to his friend he gave a pa.s.sing glance at the preoccupied stranger, and chanced to take the seat directly in front of him. The other followed his advice, facing him.

"What's doing in Helena? I've been gone a week, but I see by the paper you haven't elected a senator yet."

"Naw," returned his companion; "hadn't yesterday, when I took the train."

"Pretty stiff contest."

"Pretty slick man bound to win out."

"Wish I was a member, with all the swag there is floating 'round."

"Wish I was a member with a right pretty woman coaxing for my vote!"

"What's that? I hadn't heard of that yet." The speaker leaned forward, scenting scandal.

"Aw! It's no secret in Helena. It's the talk of the town."

"I never heard a word. I thought politics was free from petticoats out here."

"They never are--anywhere. You know Charlie Blair?"