Part 32 (1/2)
”You did not,” said Geoffrey. ”Jake's quite trustworthy, but watch the stranger well. No doubt he's honest, but I'm getting nervous now we're so near the end.”
The foreman answered rea.s.suringly, and Geoffrey, who turned away, rode beneath the snow-sprinkled firs to Savine's ranch. It was late when he reached it, but his partner and Helen were expecting him. Savine sighed with satisfaction when Geoffrey said:
”In all probability we shall fire the decisive shot a fortnight from to-day.”
”It is great news,” replied Julius Savine. ”As I have said already, it was a lucky day for me--and mine--when I first fell in with you. Two more anxious weeks and then the suspense will be over and I can contentedly close my career. Lord! it will be well worth the living for--the consummation of the most daring scheme ever carried out in the Mountain Province. I won't see your next triumph, Geoffrey, but it can hardly be greater than this you have won for me.”
”You exaggerate, sir,” said Geoffrey. ”It was you who won the concession and overcame all the initial difficulties, while we would never have gone so far without your a.s.sistance. Such a task would have been far beyond me alone.”
”No--though it is good of you to say so. There were times when I tried to fancy I was running the contract, but that was just a sick man's craze. You have played out the game well and bravely, Geoffrey, as only a true man could. Perhaps Helen will thank you--just now I don't feel quite equal to it.”
Savine's voice broke a little, and he glanced at Helen, who sat very still with downcast eyes. Geoffrey also looked at her for a second, and his elation was tinged with bitterness. He could see that she was troubled, and, with a pang of sudden misgiving, he watched her anxiously. Without the one prize he had striven for, the victory would be barren to him. Still, he desired to save her embarra.s.sment, and when she raised her head to obey her father, he broke in:
”Miss Savine can place me under an obligation by firing the fateful charge instead. It was her first commission which brought good luck to me, and it is only fitting she should complete the result of it by turning the firing key.”
Helen's eyes expressed her grat.i.tude, as, consenting, she turned them upon the speaker. Geoffrey rising to the occasion, said:
”Did you ever hear the story of the first contract I undertook in British Columbia, sir? May I tell it to your father, Miss Savine?”
Helen was quick to appreciate his motive, and allowed him to see it.
While, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, Geoffrey told the story whimsically. Humor was not his strong point, but he was capable of brilliancy just then. Julius Savine laughed heartily, and when the tale was finished all had settled down to their normal manner. When Geoffrey took his leave, however, Helen followed him to the veranda, and held out her hand. She stood close to him with the moonlight full upon her, and it was only by an effort that the man who gripped the slender fingers, conquered his desire to draw her towards him. Helen never had looked so desirable. Then he dropped her hand, and stood impa.s.sively still, waiting for what she had to say.
”I could not thank you before my father, but neither could I let you go without a word,” she said, with a quiet composure which, because she must have guessed at the struggle within him, was the badge of courage.
”You have won my undying grat.i.tude, and----”
”That is a great deal, very well worth the winning,” he responded. ”It will be one pleasant memory to carry away with me.”
”To carry with you! You are not going away?” asked Helen, with an illogical sense of dismay, which was not, however, in the least apparent. She knew that any sign of feeling would provoke the crisis from which she shrank.
”Yes,” declared Geoffrey. ”Once this work is completed, I shall seek another field.”
”You must not!” Though her voice was strained, Helen, who dared not do otherwise, looked him steadily in the eyes. ”You must not go. Now, when, if you stay in the Province, fame and prosperity lie within your grasp you will not overwhelm me by adding to the knowledge of all I have robbed you of. It is hard for me to express myself plainly--but I dare not take this from you, too.”
”Can you not guess how hard it all is for me?” He strode a few paces apart from her while the words fell from his lips. Then he halted again and turned towards her.
”I had not meant to distress you--but how can I go on seeing you so near me, hearing your voice, when every word and smile stir up a longing that at times almost maddens me? What I have done I did for you, and did it gladly, but this new command I cannot obey. Fame and prosperity! What are either worth to me when the one thing I would sell my life for is, you have told me, not to be attained?”
”I am sorry,” faltered Helen, whose breath came faster. ”More sorry than I can well express. I dare not ruin a bright future for you. Is there nothing I can say that will prevent you?”
”Only one thing,” Geoffrey moving nearer looked down upon her until his gaze impelled Helen to lift her eyes. There was no longer any trace of pa.s.sion in his face, which in spite of its firm lines had grown gentle.
”Only one thing,” he repeated. ”Please listen--it is necessary, even if it hurts you. I cannot blame you for my own folly, but my love is incurable. You are a dutiful daughter, with an almost exaggerated idea of justice, and I know the power circ.u.mstances give me. Still, I am so covetous that I must have all or nothing; I love you so that I dare not use the advantage chance has given me. Nevertheless, I will not despair even yet, and some day when, perhaps, absence has hidden some of my many shortcomings, I will come back and beg speech with you.”
”You are very generous.” The words vibrated with sincerity.
”Once--always--I have cruelly wronged you----” but here Geoffrey raised his hand and looked at the girl with a wry smile that had no mirth in it.
”You have never wronged me, Miss Savine. Once you spoke with a marvelous accuracy, and I am not generous, only so unusually wise that you must have inspired me. I cannot be content with less than the best, and what that is--again, if I am brutal you must remember I cannot help my nature--I will tell you.”
He stooped, and, before she realized his intentions, deftly caught Helen's hands in each of his own, tightening his grip on them masterfully, until he forced her to look up at him. Helen trembled as she met his eyes. The man had spoken no more than the truth when he said he could not help his nature, and, suddenly transformed, it was the former Geoffrey Thurston she had shrunk from who held her fast.
”Yes, I am wise. I know I could bend you to my will now, and that afterwards you would hate me for it,” he told her. ”I--I would not take you so, not if you came to me. Further, for we have dropped all disguises, and face the naked truth, I have striven, and starved, and suffered for you, risked my life often--and you shall not cheat me of my due, which alone is why, because my time is not come yet, I shall go away. The one reward that will satisfy me is this, that of your own will you will once more hold my hands and say, 'I love you, Geoffrey Thurston,' and I can wait with patience--for you will come to me thus some day.”