Part 42 (2/2)
”May I talk to you frankly till Don does come?” the old man asked.
”Certainly.”
”I'll take you at your word!... Mrs. Donaldson, when your husband called on me a year ago last spring, in New York, he said nothing about you. I knew he'd married an English girl of good connections (isn't that what you say on your side?), and why he thought it would be wise to marry. But when he informed me that our a.s.sociation was to be ended, that nothing would induce him to continue it, I read between the lines. I'm sharp at that! I knew as well as if he'd told me that he'd fallen in love with the girl, that she'd unexpectedly become the important factor in his life, and that--she'd found out a secret she'd never been meant to find out: _his_ secret, and maybe mine.
”I realized by his face--the look in the eyes, the tone of the voice, or rather, the tonelessness of the voice--what her finding out meant for Don. I read by all signs that she was making him suffer atrociously and I owed that girl a grudge. She'd taken him from me. For the first time a power stronger than mine was at work; and yet, things being as they were, my hope of getting him back lay in her.”
”What do you mean?” The question spoke itself. Annesley's lips felt cold and stiff. Her hands, nervously clasped in her lap, were cold, too, though the shut-up room had but lately seemed hot as a furnace.
”I mean, if the girl behaved as I thought she would behave--as I think you have behaved--he might grow tired of her and the cast-iron coat of virtue he'd put on to please her. He might grow tired of life on a ranch if his wife made him eat ashes and wear sack-cloth. That was my hope.
Well, I sent a messenger to find out how the land lay a few weeks ago.”
”The Countess de Santiago!” Annesley exclaimed.
”He told you?”
”No, I saw her. I--by accident--(it really was by accident!) I heard things. He doesn't know--I believe he doesn't know--I was there.”
”Perhaps that's just as well. Perhaps not. But if I were you I'd tell him when the right time comes. The Countess wrote me she'd had her journey in vain, and why. She said--spitefully it struck me--that Don was bewitched by his wife, a cold, cruel creature with ice in her veins, who treated him like a dog.”
”She said that to you, too?”
”Yes, she said that. She seemed to gather the impression. But the dog stuck to his kennel. Nothing _she_ could do would tempt him to budge. So I decided to call here myself, on the way back from Mexico. I couldn't delay the trip. A man was waiting for me. And waiting quietly is difficult in Mexico just now. I got what I wanted, and crammed the lot into this bag, which cost me at the outside, if I remember, five dollars.
A good idea of mine for putting thieves off the track. They expect sane men to carry nightgowns and newspapers in such bags. I thought I'd managed so well that I'd put the gang who follow me about, generally on 'spec,' off the track.
”I speak Spanish well. I've been pa.s.sing for a Mexican lawyer from Chihuahua. But to-day I caught a look from a pair of eyes in a train. I fancied I'd seen those eyes before--and the rest of the features. Perhaps I imagined it. But I don't think so. I trust my instinct. I advise you to! It's a tip.
”At El Paso I bought a ticket for Albuquerque. The eyes were behind me.
I got into the train. So did Eyes, and a friend with a long nose. Not into my car, however, so I was able to skip out again as the train was starting. Not a bad feat for a man of my age! I hope Eyes and Nose, and any other features that may have been with them, travelled on unsuspectingly. But I can't be sure. Instinct says they saw my trick and trumped it.
”I oughtn't to have come here, bringing danger to your house, Mrs.
Donaldson. But I want to see Don, and I know he is afraid neither of man nor devil--afraid of nothing in the world except one woman.
”As for her--well, what I'd heard hadn't prepossessed me in her favour.
I sacrificed her for the safety of my golden images and my talk with Don.
But the sound of your voice behind the shut door broke the picture I'd made of that young woman. And when I saw you--well, Mrs. Donaldson, I've already told you I don't intend to exert my influence over your husband, though to do so was my princ.i.p.al object in coming. Even if I did, I believe yours would prove stronger. But if I could count on all my old power over him, I wouldn't use it now I have seen you.
”I adore myself, and--my specialties. But there must be an unselfish streak in me which shows in moments like this. I respect and admire it.
You may treat Don like a dog, but he'd never be happy away from you. And I am fool enough to want him to be happy. This kicked dog of yours, madame, happens to be the finest fellow I ever knew or expect to know.”
”You say I treat him like a dog!” cried Annesley, roused to anger.
”But how ought I to treat him? He came into my life in a way I thought romantic as a fairy tale. It was a trick--a play got up to deceive me!
I knew nothing of his life; but because of the faith he inspired, I believed in him. No one except himself could have broken that belief. I would not have listened to a word against him. But when he thought I'd discovered something, the whole story came out. If I hadn't loved him so much to begin with, and put him on such a high pedestal, the fall wouldn't have been so great--wouldn't have broken my heart in pieces.”
”But Don gave up everything pleasant in his life, and came down here to this G.o.d-forsaken ranch--a man like Michael Donaldson, with a few hundred dollars where he'd had thousands--all for you,” said Van Vreck, ”and he's had no thought except for you and the ranch for more than a year. Yet apparently you haven't changed your opinion. By Jove, madame, you must somehow, through your personality and G.o.d knows what besides, have got a mighty hold on his heart, in the days when you loved him, or he wouldn't have stood this dog's life, this punishment too harsh for human nature to bear. Good Lord, how were you brought up? Evidently not as a Christian.”
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