CHAPTER VI.
GABRIEL DISCARDS HIS HOME AND WEALTH.
I am sorry to say that Mrs. Conroy's expression as she fled was notentirely consistent with the grieved and heart-broken manner with whichshe had just closed the interview with Henry Devarges. Something of asmile lurked about the corners of her thin lips as she tripped up thesteps of her house, and stood panting a little with the exertion in theshadow of the porch. But here she suddenly found herself becoming quitefaint, and entering the apparently empty house, passed at once to herboudoir, and threw herself exhaustedly on the lounge with a certainpeevish discontent at her physical weakness. No one had seen her enter;the Chinese servants were congregated in the distant wash-house. Herhousekeeper had taken advantage of her absence to ride to the town. Theunusual heat was felt to be an apology for any domestic negligence.
She was very thoughtful. The shock she had felt on first meetingDevarges was past; she was satisfied she still retained an influenceover him sufficient to keep him her ally against Ramirez, whom she feltshe now had reason to fear. Hitherto his jealousy had only shown itselfin vapouring and bravado; she had been willing to believe him capable ofoffering her physical violence in his insane fury, and had not fearedit, but this deliberately planned treachery made her tremble. She wouldsee Devarges again; she would recite the wrongs she had received fromthe dead brother and husband, and in Henry's weak attempt to still hisown conscience with that excuse, she could trust to him to keep Ramirezin check, and withhold the exposure until she and Gabriel could getaway. Once out of the country, she could laugh at them both; once away,she could devote herself to win the love of Gabriel, without which shehad begun to feel her life and schemes had been in vain. She would hurrytheir departure at once. Since the report had spread affecting the valueof the mine, Gabriel, believing it true, had vaguely felt it his duty tostand by his doubtful claim and accept its fortunes, and had delayed hispreparations. She would make him believe that it was Dumphy's wish thathe should go at once; she would make Dumphy write him to that effect.She smiled as she thought of the power she had lately achieved over thefears of this financial magnate. She would do all this, but for herphysical weakness. She ground her teeth as she thought of it: that atsuch a time she should be--and yet a moment later a sudden fancy flashedacross her mind, and she closed her eyes that she might take in itsdelusive sweetness more completely. It might be that it wanted only thisto touch his heart--some men were so strange--and if it were, OGod!--she stopped.
What was that noise? The house had been very quiet, so still that shehad heard a woodpecker tapping on its roof. But now she heard distinctlythe slow, heavy tread of a man in one of the upper chambers, which hadbeen used as a lumber-room. Mrs. Conroy had none of the nervousapprehension of her sex in regard to probable ghosts or burglars--shehad too much of a man's practical pre-occupation for that, yet shelistened curiously. It came again. There was no mistaking it now. It wasthe tread of the man with whom her thoughts had been busy--her husband.
What was he doing here? In the few months of their married life he hadnever been home before at this hour. The lumber-room contained amongother things the _disjecta membra_ of his old mining life andexperience. He may have wanted something. There was an old bag which sheremembered he said contained some of his mother's dresses. Yet it was soodd that he should go there now. Any other time but this. A terriblesuperstitious dread--a dread that any other time she would have laughedto scorn, began to creep over her. Hark! he was moving. She stoppedbreathing.
The tread recommenced. It passed into the upper hall, and came slowlydown the stairs, each step recording itself in her heart-beats. Itreached the lower hall and seemed to hesitate; then it came slowly alongtoward her door, and again hesitated.
Another moment of suspense, and she felt she would have screamed. Andthen the door slowly opened, and Gabriel stood before her.
In one swift, intuitive, hopeless look she read her fate. He knew all!And yet his eyes, except that they bore less of the usual perplexity andembarrassment with which they had habitually met hers, though grave andsad, had neither indignation nor anger. He had changed his clothes to arough miner's blouse and trousers, and carried in one hand a miner'spack, and in the other a pick and shovel. He laid them down slowly anddeliberately, and seeing her eyes fixed upon them with a nervousintensity, began apologetically--
"They contains, ma'am, on'y a blanket and a few duds ez I allus used tocarry with me. I'll open it ef you say so. But you know me, ma'am, wellenough to allow that I'd take nothin' outer this yer house ez I didn'tbring inter it."
"You are going away," she said, in a voice that was not audible toherself, but seemed to vaguely echo in her mental consciousness.
"I be. Ef ye don't know why, ma'am, I reckon ez you'll hear it from thesame vyce ez I did. It's on'y the squar thing to say afore I go, ez itain't my fault nor hiz'n. I was on the hill this mornin' in the olecabin."
It seemed as if he had told her this before, so old and self-evident thefact appeared.
"I was sayin' I woz on the hill, when I heerd vyces, and lookin' out Iseed you with a stranger. From wot ye know o' me and my ways, ma'am, itain't like me to listen to thet wot ain't allowed for me to hear. And yemight hev stood thar ontel now ef I hadn't seed a chap dodgin' roundbehind the trees, spyin' and list'nin'. When I seed thet man I knowedhim to be a pore Mexican, whose legs I'd tended yer in the Gulch mor'n ayear ago. I went up to him, and when he seed me he'd hev run. But I laidmy hand onto him--and--he stayed!"
There was something so unconsciously large and fine in the slightgesture of this giant's hand as he emphasised his speech, that eventhrough her swiftly rising pride Mrs. Conroy was awed and thrilled byit. But the next moment she found herself saying--whether aloud or notshe could not tell--"If he had loved me, he would have killed him thenand there."
"Wot thet man sed to me--bein' flustered and savage-like, along o' bein'choked hard to keep him from singin' out and breakin' in upon you andthet entire stranger--ain't fur me to say. Knowin' him longer than I do,I reckon you suspect 'bout wot it was. That it ez the truth I read it inyour face now, ma'am, ez I reckon I might hev read it off and on in manyways and vari's styles sens we've been yer together, on'y I waz thetweak and ondecided yer."
He raised his hand to his forehead here, and with his broad palmappeared to wipe away the trouble and perplexity that had overshadowedit. He then drew a paper from his breast.
"I've drawed up a little paper yer ez I'll hand over to Lawyer Maxwell,makin' over back agin all ez I once hed o' you and all ez I ever expectto hev. For I don't agree with that Mexican thet wot was gi'n to Gracebelongs to me. I allow ez she kin settle thet herself, ef she evercomes, and ef I know thet chile, ma'am, she ain't goin' tech it with atwo-foot pole. We've allus bin simple folks, ma'am--though it ain't thesquar thing to take me for a sample--and oneddicated and common, butthar ain't a Conroy ez lived ez was ever pinted for money, or ez evertook more outer the kompany's wages than his grub and his clothes."
It was the first time that he had ever asserted himself in her presence,and even then he did it half apologetically, yet with an unconsciousdignity in his manner that became him well. He reached down as he spokeand took up his pick and his bundle, and turned to go.
"There is nothing then that you are leaving behind you?" she asked.
He raised his eyes squarely to hers.
"No," he said, simply, "nothing."
Oh, if she could have only spoken! Oh, had she but dared to tell himthat he had left behind that which he could not take away, that whichthe mere instincts of his manhood would have stirred him to tendernessand mercy, that which would have appealed to him through its veryhelplessness and youth. But she dared not. That eloquence which an hourbefore had been ready enough to sway the feelings of the man to whom shehad been faithless and did not love, failed her now. In the grasp of herfirst and only hopeless passion this arch-hypocrite had lost even thetact of the simplest of her sex. She did not even assume anindifference! She said noth
ing; when she raised her eyes again he wasgone.
She was wrong. At the front door he stopped, hesitated a moment, andthen returned slowly and diffidently to the room. Her heart beatrapidly, and then was still.
"Ye asked just now," he said, falteringly, "ef thar was anything ez Iwas leavin' behind. Thar is--ef ye'll overlook my sayin' it. When youand me allowed to leave fur furrin parts, I reckoned to leave thethousekeeper behind, and unbeknowed to ye I gin her some money and acharge. I told her thet if ever thet dear child--Sister Grace--camehere, thet she should take her in and do by her ez I would, and let meknow. Et may be a heap to ask, but ef it 'tain't too much--I--Ishouldn't--like--yer--to turn--thet innocent insuspectin' chile awayfrom the house thet she might take to be mine. Ye needn't let onanythin' thet's gone--ye needn't tell her what a fool I've been, butjest take her in and send for me. Lawyer Maxwell will gin ye myaddress."
The sting recalled her benumbed life. She rose with a harsh dissonantlaugh and said, "Your wishes shall be fulfilled--if"--she hesitated amoment--"_I_ am here."
But he did not hear the last sentence, and was gone.