Ben Blair

  CHAPTER XXVI

  LOVE'S SURRENDER

  Scotty Baker was not an adept at concealing his emotions, and he staredin unqualified surprise at the long figure in brown which of a suddenintruded into his range of vision. The morning paper upon his kneesfluttered unnoticed to the floor of the porch.

  "Ben Blair, by all that's good and proper!" he exclaimed to the man who,without a look to either side, turned up the short walk. "Where inheaven's name did you come from? I supposed you'd gone home a week ago."

  Blair stopped at the steps, and deliberately wiped the perspiration fromhis face.

  "You were misinformed about my going," he explained. "I changed hotels,that was all."

  Scotty stared harder than before.

  "But why?" he groped. "I inquired of the clerk, and he said you had goneby an afternoon train. I don't see--"

  Ben mounted the steps and took a chair opposite the Englishman.

  "If you will excuse me," he said, "I would rather not go into details.The fact's enough--I am still here. Besides--pardon me--I did not callto be questioned, but to question. You remember the last time I sawyou?"

  Scotty nodded an affirmative. He had a premonition that the unexpectedwas about to happen.

  "Yes," he said.

  Ben lit a cigar. "You remember, then, that you made me a certainpromise?"

  Scotty threw one leg over the other restlessly. "Yes, I remember," herepeated.

  The visitor eyed him keenly. "I would like to know if you kept it," hesaid.

  Scotty felt the seat of his chair growing even more uncomfortable thanbefore, and he cast about for an avenue of escape. One presented itself.

  "Is that what you stayed to find out?" he questioned in his turn.

  Ben blew out a cloud of smoke, and then another.

  "No, not the main reason. But that has nothing to do with the subject. Ihave a right to ask the question. Did you or did you not keep yourpromise?"

  The Englishman's first impulse was to refuse point-blank to answer;then, on second thought, he decided that such a course would be unwise.The other really did have a right to ask.

  "I--" he hesitated, "decided--"

  But interrupting, Ben raised his hand, palm outward.

  "Don't dodge the question. Yes or no?"

  Scotty hesitated again, and his face grew red.

  "No," he said.

  The visitor's hand, fingers outspread, returned to his knee.

  "Thank you. I have one more question to ask. Do you intend, withouttrying to prevent it, to let your daughter throw away her every chanceof future happiness? Are you, Florence's father, going to let her marrySidwell?"

  With one motion Scotty was on his feet. The eyes behind the thick lensesfairly flashed.

  "You are insulting, sir," he blazed. "I can stand much from you, BenBlair, but this interference in my family affairs I cannot overlook. Irequest you to leave my premises!"

  Blair did not stir. His face remained as impassive as before.

  "Your pardon again," he said steadily, "but I refuse. I did not come toquarrel with you, and I won't; but we will have an understanding--now.Sit down, please."

  The Englishman stared, almost with open mouth. Had any one told him hewould be coerced in this way within his own home he would have calledthat person mad; nevertheless, the first flash of anger over, he said nomore.

  "Sit down, please," repeated Ben; and this time, without a word or aprotest, he was obeyed.

  Ben straightened in his seat, then leaned forward. "Mr. Baker," he said,"you do not doubt that I love Florence--that I wish nothing but hergood?"

  Scotty nodded a reluctant assent.

  "No; I don't doubt you, Ben," he said.

  The thin face of the younger man leaned forward and grew more intense.

  "You know what Sidwell is--what the result will be if Florence marrieshim?"

  Scotty's head dropped into his hands. He knew what was coming.

  "Yes, I know," he admitted.

  Ben paused, and had the other been looking he would have seen that hisordinarily passive face was working in a way which no one would havethought possible.

  "In heaven's name, then," he said, slowly, "why do you allow it? Haveyou forgotten that it is only three days until the date set? God! man,you must be sleeping! It is ghastly--even the thought of it!"

  Surprised out of himself, Scotty looked up. The intensity of the appealwas a thing to put life into a figure of clay. For an instant he feltthe stimulant, felt his blood quicken at the suggestion of action; thenhis impotence returned.

  "I have tried, Ben," he explained weakly, "but I can do nothing. If Iattempted to interfere it would only make matters worse. Florence is ascompletely out of my control as--" he paused for a simile--"as thesunshine. I missed my opportunity with her when she was young. She hasalways had her own way, and she will have it now. It is the same as whenshe decided to come to town. She controls me, not I her."

  Blair settled back in his chair. The mask of impassivity dropped backover his face, not again to lift. He was again in command of himself.

  "You expect to do nothing more, then?" he asked finally.

  Scotty did not look up. "No," he responded. "I can do nothing more. Shewill have to find out her mistake for herself."

  Ben regarded the older man steadily. It would have been difficult toexpress that look in words.

  "You'd be willing to help, would you," he suggested, "if you saw a way?"

  The Englishman's eyes lifted. Even the incredible took on an air ofpossibility in the hands of this strong-willed ranchman.

  "Yes," he repeated. "I will gladly do anything I can."

  For half a minute Ben Blair did not speak. Not a nerve twitched or amuscle stirred in his long body; then he stood up, the broad sinewyshoulders squared, the masterful chin lifted.

  "Very well," he said. "Call a carriage, and be ready to leave town inhalf an hour."

  Scotty blinked helplessly. The necessity of sudden action always threwhim into confusion. His mind needed not minutes but days to adjustitself to the unpremeditated.

  "Why?" he queried. "What do you intend doing?"

  But Ben did not stop to explain. Already he was at the door of thevestibule. "Don't ask me now. Do as I say, and you'll see!" And hestepped inside.

  Within the entrance, he paused for a moment. He had never been in anyroom of the house except the library adjoining; and after a fewseconds, walking over, he tapped twice on the door.

  There was no answer, and he stepped inside. The place was empty, but,listening from the dining-room on the left he heard the low intermittentmurmur of voices in conversation and the occasional click of china.Sliding doors connected the rooms, and again for an instant hehesitated. Then, pulling them apart, he stood fairly in the aperture.

  As he had expected, Florence and her mother were at breakfast. The doorshad slid noiselessly, and for an instant neither observed him. Florencewas nearest, half-facing him, and she was the first to glance up. As shedid so, the coffee-cup in her hand shook spasmodically and a great brownblotch spread over the white tablecloth. Simultaneously her eyeswidened, her cheeks blanched, and she stared as at a ghost. Her mother,too, turned at the spectacle, and her color shifted to an ashen gray.

  For some seconds not one of the three spoke or stirred. It was Mrs.Baker who first arose and advanced toward the intruder, as threateninglyas it was possible for her to do.

  "Who, if I might ask, invited you to come this way?" she challenged.

  Ben took one step inside the room and folded his arms.

  "I came without being asked," he explained evenly.

  Mollie's weak oval face stiffened. She felt instinctively that herchiefest desires were in supreme menace. But one defense suggesteditself--to be rid of the intruder at once.

  "I trust, then, you are enough of a gentleman to return the way youcame," she said icily.

  Ben did not even glance at her. He was looking at the dainty littlefigure still motionless at the table.
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  "If that is the mark of a gentleman, I am not one," he answered.

  The mother's face flamed. Like Scotty, her brain moved slowly, and onthe spur of the moment inadequate insult alone answered her call.

  "I might have expected such a remark from a cowman!" she burst forth.

  Instantly Florence was upon her feet; but Ben Blair gave no indicationthat he had heard. His arms still folded, he took two steps nearer thegirl, then stopped.

  "Florence," he said steadily, "I have just seen your father. Wethree--he, you, and I--are going back home, back to the prairies. Ourtrain leaves at eleven o'clock. The carriage will be here in half anhour. You have plenty of time if you hurry."

  Again there was silence. Once more it was the mother who spoke first.

  "You must be mad, both of you!" she cried. "Florence is to be married inthree days, and it would take two to go each way. You must be mad!"

  It was the girl's turn to grow pale. She began to understand.

  "You say you and papa evolved this programme?" she said sarcastically."What part, pray, did he take?"

  Blair was as impassive as before.

  "I suggested it, and your father acquiesced."

  "And the third party, myself--" The girl's eyes were very bright.

  "I undertook the task of having you ready when the carriage comes."

  One of Florence's brown hands grasped the back of the chair before her.

  "I trust you did not underestimate the difficulty," she commentedironically. "Otherwise you might be disappointed."

  Ben said nothing. He did not even stir.

  Another group of seconds were gathered into the past. The inactivitytugged at the girl's nerves.

  "By the way," she asked, "where are we going to stay when we arrive, andfor how long?"

  "You are to be my guests," answered Blair. "As to the length of time,nothing has been arranged."

  Florence made one more effort to consider the affair lightly.

  "You speak with a good deal of assurance," she commented. "Did it neveroccur to you that at this particular time I might decide not to go?"

  Ben returned her look.

  "No," he said.

  Beneath the trim brown figure one foot was nervously tapping the floor.

  "In other words, you expect to take me against my will,--by physicalforce?"

  "No." Ben again spoke deliberately. "You will come of your own choice."

  "And leave Mr. Sidwell?"

  "Yes."

  "Without an explanation?"

  "None will be necessary, I think. The fact itself will be enough."

  "And never--marry him?"

  "And never marry him."

  "You think he would not follow?"

  "I know he would not!"

  There was a pause in the swift passage of words. The girl's breath wascoming with difficulty. The spell of this indomitable rancher wassettling upon her.

  "You really imagine I will do such an unheard-of thing?" she askedslowly.

  "I imagine nothing," he answered quickly. "I know."

  It was the crisis, and into it Mollie intruded with clumsy tread."Florence," she urged, "Florence, don't listen to him any longer. Hemust be intoxicated. Come with me!" and she started to drag the girlaway.

  Without a word, Ben Blair walked across to the door leading into theroom beyond, and stood with his hand on the knob.

  "Mrs. Baker," he said slowly, "I thought I would not speak an unkindword to-day, no matter what was said to me; but you have offended toooften." His glance took in the indolently shapeless figure from head totoe, and back again until he met her eye to eye. "You are thepersonification of cowardice, of selfishness and snobbery, that makesone despise his kind. For mere personal vanity you would sacrifice yourown daughter--your own flesh and blood. Probably we shall never meetagain; but if we should, do not dare to speak to me. Do not speak to menow!" He swung open the door, and indicated the passage with a nod ofhis head. "Go," he said, "and if you are a Christian, pray for a betterheart--for forgiveness!"

  The woman hesitated; her lips moved, but she was dumb. She wanted torefuse, but the irresistible power in those relentless blue eyescompelled her to obey. Without a word she left the room and closed thedoor behind her.

  Ben Blair came back. The girl had not moved.

  "Florence," he said, "there are but twenty minutes left. I ask you againto get ready."

  The girl's color rose anew; her blood flowed tumultuously, until shecould feel the beating of the pulses at her wrists.

  "Ben Blair," she challenged, "you are trying to prevent my marryinganother man! Is it not so?"

  The rancher folded his arms again.

  "I am preventing it," he said.

  Florence's brown eyes blazed. She clasped her hands together until thefingers were white.

  "You admit it, then!" she cried, looking at her companion steadily, aworld of scorn in her face. "I never thought such a thing possible--thatyou would let your jealousy get the better of you like this!" Shepaused, and hurled the taunt she knew would hurt him most. "You are thelast person on earth I would have selected to become a dog in themanger!"

  Ben did not stir, although the brown of his sun-tanned face went white.

  "I looked for that," he said simply.

  Florence's brown eyes widened in wonder--and in somethingmore--something she did not understand. Her heart was beating morewildly than before. She felt her self-control slipping from her grasp,like a rope through her hands.

  "There seems nothing more to be said, then," she said, "except that Iwill not go."

  Even yet Blair did not move.

  "You will go. The carriage comes in ten minutes," he reiterated calmly.

  The small figure stiffened, the dainty chin tilted in the air.

  "I defy you to tell me how you can force me to go!"

  It was the supreme moment, but Benjamin Blair showed no trace ofexcitement or of passion. His folded arms remained passive across hischest.

  "Florence Baker, did I ever lie to you?"

  The girl's lip trembled. She knew now what to expect.

  "No," she said.

  "You are quite sure?"

  "Yes, I am quite sure."

  "Did I ever say I would do anything that I did not do?"

  The girl had an all but irrepressible desire to cry out, to cover herface like a child. A flash of anger at her inability to maintain herself-control swept over her.

  "No," she admitted. "I never knew you to break your word."

  "Very well, then," still no haste, no anger,--only the relentless calmwhich was infinitely more terrible than either. "I will tell you why ofyour own choice you will go with me. It is because you value the life ofClarence Sidwell; because, as surely as I have not lied to you or to anyhuman being in the past, there is no power on earth that can otherwisekeep me away from him an hour longer."

  Realization came instantaneously to Florence Baker and blotted outself-consciousness. The nervous tension vanished as fog before the sun.

  "You would not do it," she said, very steadily. "You could not do it!"

  Ben Blair said not a word.

  "You could not," repeated the girl swiftly; "could not, becauseyou--love me!"

  One of the man's hands loosened in an unconscious gesture.

  "Don't repeat that, please, or trust in it," he answered. "You misled meonce, but you can't mislead me again. It is because I love you that Iwill do what I said."

  There was but one weapon in the arsenal adequate to meet the emergency.With a sudden motion, the girl came close to him.

  "Ben, Ben Blair," her arms flashed around the man's neck, the browneyes--moist, sparkling--were turned to his face, "promise me you willnot do it." The dainty throat swelled and receded with her short quickbreaths. "Promise me! Please promise me!"

  For a second the rancher did not stir; then, very gently, he freedhimself and moved a step backward.

  "Florence," he said slowly, "you do not know me even yet." He drew outhis big ol
d-fashioned silver watch, once Rankin's. "You still have fourminutes to get ready--no more, no less."

  Silence like that of a death-chamber fell over the bright littledining-room. From the outside came the sound of Mollie's step as shemoved back and forth, back and forth, but dared not enter. A boy wasclipping the lawn, and the muffled purr of the mower, accompanied by thebit of popular ragtime he was whistling, stole into the room.

  Suddenly a carriage drove up in front of the house, and leaping from hisseat the driver stood waiting. The door of the vestibule opened, andScotty himself stepped uncertainly within. At the library entrance hehalted, but the odor of the black cigar he was smoking was wafted in.

  Through it all, neither of the two in that room had stirred. It wouldhave been impossible to tell what Ben Blair was thinking. His eyes neverleft the watch in his hand. During the first minute the girl had notlooked at her companion. Unappeasable anger seemed personified in her.For half of the next minute she still stood impassive; then she glancedup almost surreptitiously. For the long third minute the eyes held wherethey had lifted, and slowly over the soft brown face, taking the placeof the former expression, came a look that was not of anger or ofhatred, not even of dislike, but of something the reverse, something allbut unbelievable. Her dark eyes softened. A choking lump came into herthroat; and still, in seeming paradox, she was of a sudden happier thanat any time she could remember.

  Before the last minute was up, before Ben Blair had replaced the watch,she was in the adjoining room saying good-bye to Mollie hurriedly;saying something more,--a thing that fairly took the mother's breath.

  "Florence Baker!" she gasped, "you shall not do it! If you do, I willdisown you! I will never forgive you--never! never!"

  But, unheeding, the girl was already back, and looking into Ben's face.Her eyes were very bright, and there was about her a suppressedexcitement that the other did not clearly understand.

  "I am ready," she said, "on one condition."

  Blair's blue eyes looked a question. In any other mood he would haverecognized Florence, but this strange person he hardly seemed to know.

  "I am listening," he said.

  The girl hesitated, the rosy color mounting to her cheeks. Decision ofaction was far easier than expression.

  "I will go with you," she faltered, "but alone."

  A suggestion of the flame on the other's face sprang to the man's also.

  "I think, under the circumstances," he stammered, "it would be better tohave your father go too."

  The dainty brown figure stiffened.

  "Very well, then--I will not go!"

  The man stood for a moment immovable, with unshifting eyes, like afigure in clay; then, turning, without a word, he started to leave theroom. He had almost reached the door, when he heard a voice behind him.

  "Ben Blair," it said insistently, "Ben Blair!"

  He paused, glanced back, and could scarcely believe his eyes. The girlwas coming toward him; but it was a Florence he had not previouslyknown. Her face was rosier than before, red to her very ears and to thewaves of her hair. Her chin was held high, and beneath the thin brownskin of the throat the veins were athrob.

  "Ben Blair," she repeated intensely, "Ben Blair, can't you understandwhat I meant? Must I put it into words?" The soft brown eyes werelooking at him frankly. "Oh, you are blind, blind!"

  For a second, like the lull before the thunderclap, the man did notmove; then of a sudden he grasped the girl by the shoulders, and heldher at arm's length.

  "Florence," he cried, "are you playing with me?"

  She spoke no word, but her gaze held his unfalteringly.

  Minutes passed, but still the man could not believe the testimony of hiseyes. The confession was too unexpected, too incredible. Unconsciouslythe grip of his hands tightened.

  "Am I--mad?" he gasped. "You care for me--you are willing to go--becauseyou love me?"

  Even yet the girl did not answer; but no human being could longerquestion the expression on her face. Ben Blair could not doubt it, andthe reflection of love glowing in the tear-wet eyes flashed into hisown. The past, with all that it had held, vanished like the memory of anunpleasant dream. The present, the vital throbbing present, aloneremained. Suddenly the tense arms relaxed. Another second, and the brownhead was upon his shoulder.

  "Florence," he cried passionately, "Florence, Florence!"

  He could say no more, only repeat over and over her dear name.

  "Ben," sobbed the girl, "Ben! Ben!" An interrupting memory drew her tohim closer and closer. "I loved you all the time!--loved you!--and yet Iso nearly--can you ever forgive me?"

  Wondering at the prolonged silence, Scotty came hesitatingly into thelibrary, peered in at the open doorway, and stood transfixed.

  THE END