Part 28 (1/2)

”Aw, wot's de use!” he blurted out, as though his mind, suddenly made up, brought him unbounded relief. ”Youse'll find it out anyhow. Say, she went off wid Thornton in de buzz-wagon yesterday, an' I put de Patriarch to bed last night 'cause she wasn't back, an' dat's wot's de matter wid him, she ain't showed up since an' he's near off his chump, an'--fer G.o.d's sake let go my arm, Doc, youse're breakin' it!”

A sort of cold frenzy seemed to seize Madison. He was perfectly calm, he felt himself perfectly calm and composed. Off all night with Thornton--eh? Funny, wasn't it? She'd gone pretty far at last--gone the limit.

”Why didn't you send me word this morning?”--was that his own voice speaking? Well, he wouldn't have recognized it--but he was perfectly calm nevertheless.

”Fer G.o.d's sake let go my arm,” whimpered the Flopper. ”I--I ain't no squealer, dat's why.”

Madison's arm fell away--to his side. He felt a whiteness creeping to his face and lips, felt his lips twitch, felt the fingers of his hands curl in and the nails begin to press into the palms.

”Mabbe,” suggested the Flopper timidly, ”mabbe dere was an accident.”

Madison made no answer.

The Flopper s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot and licked his lips, stealing frightened glances at Madison's face.

”Wot--wot'll I do wid de Patriarch?” he stammered out miserably.

And then Madison smiled at him--not happily, but eloquently.

”Swipe me!” mumbled the Flopper, as he backed out from the trellis. ”Dis love game's fierce--an' mabbe _I_ don't know! 'Sposin' she'd been Mamie an' me the Doc--'sposin' it had!” He gulped hastily. ”Swipe me!”

said the Flopper with emotion.

Madison, motionless, watched the Flopper disappear. He wasn't quite so calm now, not so cool and collected and composed. He must go somewhere and think this out--somewhere where it would be quiet and he wouldn't be disturbed.

A step sounded on the path--Madison looked through the trellis. A man, with yellow, unhealthy skin and sunken cheeks, his head bowed, was pa.s.sing in through the porch. It caught Madison with fierce, exquisite irony. Why not go there himself if he wanted quiet--the shrine-room--the place of meditation! Well, he wanted to _meditate_! He laughed jarringly. The shrine-room--for him! Great! Immense! Magnificent! Why not? That's what he had created it for, wasn't it--to meditate in!

He stepped inside. The woman, whom he had seen enter a short while before, was sitting in a sort of rigid, strained att.i.tude in the far corner; the man, who had just preceded him, had taken the chair by the fireplace--they were the only occupants of the room. There was no sound save his own footsteps--neither of the others looked at him. There was quiet, a profound stillness--and the softened light from the shuttered window fell mellow all about, fell like a benediction upon the simplicity of the few plain articles that the room contained--the round rag mats upon the white-scrubbed floor; the hickory chairs, severe, uncus.h.i.+oned; the table, with its little j.a.panned box and book.

Madison's eyes fixed upon the j.a.panned box, as he leaned now, arms folded, against the wall--a jewel, even in the subdued light, glowed crimson-warm where it nested on a crumpled bed of bank-notes--a ruby ring--the last contribution--it must have been the woman who had placed it there. Madison glanced at her involuntarily--but his thoughts were far away again in a moment.

Anger and a blind rage of jealousy were gripping him now. _Accident!_ The thought only fanned his fury. Accident! Yes; it was likely--as an excuse! There would have been an accident all right--leave that to them!

Thornton perhaps wasn't the stamp of man to seek an adventure of that kind deliberately--perhaps he wasn't--and perhaps he was--you never could tell--but what difference did that make! _Helena was that kind of a woman_--though he'd always thought her true to him since he'd known her--and Thornton, whatever kind of a man he was, wouldn't run away from her arms, would he?

The red glow from the ruby ring had vanished--the man had risen from his seat and was placing something in the box on top of the ring--Madison's mind subconsciously absorbed the fact that it was a little sheaf of yellow-backed bills. And now the man bent to the table and was writing in the book.

Yellow-backs and rubies! Rubies and yellowbacks! Madison's lips thinned and curled downward at the corners. Oh, it was coming all right, money, jewels, pelf, rolling in merrily every day, there wasn't any stopping it, but he was paying for it, and paying for it at a price he didn't like--Helena. Helena! She wanted Thornton, did she--with his money!

Wanted to dangle a millionaire on her string--eh? She'd throw him over--would she! And she thought she had him where he couldn't lift a finger to stop it--just sit back and grin like a poor, sick fool!

The red crept up the knotted cords of Madison's neck, suffused the set jaws, and, as though suddenly liberated to run its course where it would, swept in a tide over cheeks and temples.

He couldn't do a thing--_couldn't he!_ Well, he'd see the game in Gehenna before Thornton or any other man got her away from him. She belonged to him--to _him!_ And he'd have her, hold her, own her--she was his--_his!_ And he'd settle with Thornton too, by Heaven!

A laugh, low, unpleasant, purled to his lips--and he checked it with a sort of strange mechanical realization that he must not laugh aloud. His eyes swept the room--the man had returned to his seat, the woman had not moved, both were silent, motionless--that ghastly, hallowed, sanctimonious hush--that subdued, d.a.m.nable light--meditation!

”For G.o.d's sake let me get out of here,” he muttered, ”or I'll go mad.”

He turned--and stopped. Came a cry spontaneously from the man and the woman--they were on their feet--no, on their knees. The doorway at the further end of the room was framing a majestic figure, tall and stately--and a sun-gleam struggling suddenly through the lattice seemed to leap in a golden ray to caress in homage the snow-white hair, the silver beard that fell upon the breast, the saintly face of the Patriarch.

Then into the room advanced the Patriarch, and his hands were outstretched before him, and he moved them a little to and fro--and the gesture, the poise, the mien, as, touching nothing he seemed to feel his way through s.p.a.ce itself, was as one invoking a blessing of peace ineffable.