The Terms of Surrender Part 16

Yet she was neither excited nor hysterical. A great load had been lifted off her heart, and her naturally gay temperament was a.s.serting itself with vital insistence. There was no possibility of drawing back now.

Nothing but death could separate her from her lover. Nothing but death!

Well, that separation must come in the common order of things; but a bright road stretched before her mind's eye through a long vista of years, and her spirit sang within her and rejoiced exceedingly. No shred of doubt or hesitation remained. She had pa.s.sed already through the storm, and though its clouds might roll in sullen thunder among distant hills yet awhile, the particular hilltop on which she stood was bathed in sunlight.

Above all else, despite her complete trust in Power, she thrilled with the consciousness that her love contained a delicious spice of fear, and that is why she climbed the Forty Steps in a sort of panic; so that he marveled at her change of mood, and discovered in it only one more of the enchantments with which his fancy clothed her.

The driver regarded them as a moonstruck couple, since that sort of moon s.h.i.+nes ever on fine evenings by the sea. He was obviously surprised when the lady's address was given, because he expected a return journey to one of Newport's many boarding-houses; but any suspicions he may have entertained were dispelled when he witnessed a polite farewell in the presence of a pompous butler, and heard Nancy say:

"I am going straight to my room now to write that letter to my father.

Then I shall finish packing. What time is the train--nine o'clock.

Goodnight, Derry! Sleep well!"

If he thought at all about the matter, the cabman might well have imagined that no young lady in Newport that night had used words less charged with explosive properties; yet no giant cannon on the wars.h.i.+ps swinging to their moorings in the bay could have rivaled the uproar those few simple sentences might create. Moreover, he heard the gentleman address the butler by name, and witnessed the transference of a tip, accompanied by the plain statement that the giver was leaving Newport early next day. Indeed, once he had deposited his fare at the Ocean House, the man probably gave no further heed to one or other of the pair who had some foolish liking for a prolonged stroll on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, nor, to his knowledge, did he ever again see them, or even hear their names spoken of.

Power was crossing the veranda with his alert, uneven strides when a voice came out of the gloom:

"Hullo, Power, that you? Come and join me in a parting drink."

It was Dacre, the one person in the hotel from whom such an invitation was not an insufferable nuisance at the moment.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry," said Power, "as I am off tomorrow morning; but I'm glad to find you here. You've received my note?"

"Yes. Sit down. I'm just going to light a cigar, and the match will help you to mix your own poison. Had a pleasant evening?"

It was a natural though curiously pertinent question; but Power was at no loss for an answer.

"I have really been arranging certain details as a preliminary to my departure," he said.

"Where are you bound for, New York?"

"After some days, or weeks, perhaps. I hardly know yet."

"You've changed your plans, it seems?"

Power remembered then that he had invited the Englishman to visit Colorado. It was practically settled that Dacre should come West within three weeks or a month.

"By Jove!" he cried, "you must accept my apologies. Of course, I would have recalled our fixture in good time, and have written postponing your trip to Bison. Circ.u.mstances beyond my control will prevent my return home for an indefinite period. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"Same here," said the other, with John Bull directness.

"But neither of us is likely to shuffle off the map yet awhile,"

continued Power. "You have my address, both in Colorado and at my New York bank, and I have yours. Keep me posted as to your movements, and we shall come together again later in the year."

He was eager to dissipate a certain starchiness, not wholly unjustifiable, which he thought he could detect in his companion's manner; but the discovery of its true cause disconcerted him more than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. Enlightenment was not long delayed. Dacre's evident lack of ease arose from circ.u.mstances vastly more important than the disruption of his own plans; he hesitated only because he was searching for the right way to express himself.

"You and I have cultivated quite a friends.h.i.+p since we forgathered here nearly three weeks ago," he began, after a pause which Power again interpreted mistakenly.

"Yes, indeed. Won't you let me explain----"

"Not just yet. You are on the wrong tack, Power. You believe I'm rather cut up about the postponement of your invitation. Not a bit of it. This little globe cannot hold two men like you and me, and keep us apart during the remainder of our naturals. No, mine is a different sort of grouch. Now, I'm a good deal older than you. You won't take amiss anything I tell you, providing I make it clear that I mean well?"

"I can guarantee that, at any rate."

Power's reply was straightforward enough; but his tone was cold and guarded. The chill of premonition had fallen on him. A man whom he liked and respected was about to fire the first shot on behalf of unctuous rect.i.tude and the conventions.

"I may as well open with a broadside," said Dacre, unwittingly adopting the simile of social warfare which had occurred to his hearer. "I was out with a yachting party this afternoon, and we were becalmed. Three of us came away from the New York Yacht Club's boathouse about half-past eight, and took a street-car in preference to one of those rickety old cabs. Luckily, by the accident of position, I was the only one of the three who saw a lady and gentleman come out of an Italian restaurant.

The presence of two such people in that locality was unusual, to say the least; but, as the man was a friend of mine, and the lady one whom I admire and respect, I said nothing to the other fellows."

"That was thoughtful of you," broke in Power, half in sarcasm; for he was vastly irritated that he had not contrived affairs more discreetly, and half in genuine recognition of Dacre's tact.

"The thinking came later," said the Englishman slowly. "When all is said and done, a little dinner _a l'Italienne_ might pa.s.s by way of a joke--a harmless escapade at the best, or worst. But, when I reach my hotel and find a note announcing that the man is leaving Newport unexpectedly, and when I hear at the Casino that the woman also is arranging to meet her father in New York, with equal unexpectedness, I am inclined to ask the man, he being something more than a mere acquaintance, if there is not a very reasonable probability that he is making a d.a.m.ned fool of himself. Now, are we going to discuss this thing rationally, or do you want to hit me with a heavy siphon? If the latter, kindly change your mind, and let's talk about the next race for the America's Cup."

Here no solemn diapason of wave and s.h.i.+ngle relieved an unnerving silence. Not even the distant rumble of a vehicle broke the tension. The hour was late for ordinary traffic, early for diners and dancers. A deep hush lay on the hotel and its garden. It was so dark that the street lamps, twinkling few and far between the trees, appeared to diffuse no larger area of light than so many fireflies.

"Are we alone here?" said Power, speaking only when an uneasy movement on Dacre's part bestirred him.

"Yes. I saw to that when I heard your cab. I timed you to a nicety."

"You must be experienced in these matters."

"I have been most sorts of an idiot in my time."

"You are quite sure we are not overheard?"

"As sure as a man can be of anything."

"Then I recognize your right to question me. Tonight you, tomorrow all Newport, will know what has happened----"

"Pardon an interruption. Women are invariably careful of the hour, howsoever heedless they may be of next week. Newport knows nothing, will know nothing, except that a popular lady is meeting her father in New York, the said father having written to say he is coming East. His letter is Exhibit A, yours to me Exhibit B, or it would be if it weren't burnt."

"A legal jargon is not out of place. When the lady in question has secured a divorce she will become my wife. Now you have the true explanation of my seeming discourtesy. When I am married, I shall entertain you at Bison if I have to escort you from Tokio, or even from Sing Sing."

"But----"

"There are no 'buts.' She was stolen from me, decoyed away by the tricks of the pickpocket and the forger. I am merely regaining possession of my own. It was not I who cleared up the theft. That was her doing. There can be no s.h.i.+rking the consequences. If my mother, whom I love and venerate, implored me on her bended knees to draw back now from the course I have mapped out, I would stop my ears to her pleading, because I could not yield to it."

"Oh, it's like that, is it?"

"Just like that."

Dacre struck another match, and relighted the cigar which he had allowed to go out after the first whiff or two. Power noticed that the flare of the match was not used as an excuse for scrutinizing him, because his friend's eyes were studiously averted. Then came the quiet, cultured voice from the darkness:

"If that's the position, old man, I wish you every sort of good luck, and a speedy end to your worries, and I'll come at your call to that ranch of yours, from the other end of the earth, if need be."

Again a little pause. Then Power spoke:

"You ring like true metal all the time, Dacre. May I ask you one thing--are you married?"

"No, nor ever likely to be. I--I lost her, not by fraud, but by my own folly. But she understood--before she died. That is my only consolation.

It must suffice. It has sufficed."