The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER II*

  *CAMILLA*

  Her pupils had all been dismissed for the day and the schoolmistress satat her desk, a half-written letter before her, gazing out through theopen doorway over the squalid roofs of the "residence section" of MesaCity. The "Watch Us Grow" sign on the false front over Jeff Wray'soffice was just visible over the flat roof of the brick bank building."Watch Us Grow!" The shadow in her eyes deepened. For two long yearsshe had seen that sign from doorway and window of the school, and, evenwhen she went home to Mrs. Brennan's bungalow up above, she must see itagain from the veranda. Jeff's business card was the most prominentobject in town, except perhaps Jeff himself. It was so much larger thanit had any right to be, out of scale, so vulgar, so insistent, so--solike Jeff. Jeff had stood in the doorway of the schoolhouse while theywere building his office, and, in his masterful way, had told her of thetrade-mark he had adopted for his business; he wanted it in plain sightof her desk so that she could see it every day and watch Mesa City (andhimself) fulfil the prophecy.

  That seemed ages ago now. It was before the "Jeff Wray" had beenpainted out and "Wray and Berkely" put in its place, before Larry cameout, or Cortland Bent, in the days when Jeff was a new kind of animal toher, when she had arrived fresh from her boarding school in Kansas."Watch Us Grow!" How could any one grow in a place like this--growanything, at least, but wrinkled and stale and ugly. The sign had beena continual mockery to her, a travesty on the deeper possibilities oflife which Fate had so far denied her. She shut her eyes and resolutelyturned her head away, but she could not get Jeff Wray out of her mind.She was thoroughly frightened. His air of proprietorship so suddenlyassumed yesterday and the brutality of his kiss had brought her ownfeelings to a crisis--for she had learned in that moment that theirrelationship was impossible. But her fingers tingled still--at thememory of the blow she had given him. She _had_ promised to marry himwhen he "made good." But in Mesa City that had seemed like no promiseat all. How could any one succeed in anything here?

  She leaned forward on the desk and buried her face in her hands. Whatchance had she? Where was the fairy prince who would rescue her fromher hut and broth kettle?

  She raised her head at the sound of a voice and saw Cortland Bent'sbroad shoulders at the open window.

  "Morning!" he said, cheerfully. "You look like Ariadne deserted. May Icome in?"

  She nodded assent, and, thrusting her school books and unfinished letterin the desk, turned the key viciously in its lock.

  "Aren't you riding to-day?" he asked from the doorway.

  "No."

  He came forward, sat on the top of one of the small desks facing her,and examined her at his ease.

  "You're peevish--no? What?"

  "Yes. I'm in a frightful mood. You'd better not stay."

  He only laughed up at the sunflower dangling from the water pitcher."Oh, I don't mind. I've a heavenly disposition."

  "How do you show it?" she broke in impetuously. "Every man thinks theone way to get on with a woman is to make love to her----"

  "No--not altogether," he reproached her. "You and I have had othertopics, you know--Swinburne and Shakespeare and the musical glasses."

  "Oh, yes, but you always drifted back again."

  "How can you blame me? If I've made love to you, it was----"

  "Oh, I know. I'm a rustic, and it's a good game."

  "You're the least rustic person I've ever known," he said seriously."It's not a game. I can't think of it as a game. It is something moreserious than that." He took a few paces up and down the aisle beforeher and then went on.

  "I know you've never been willing to give me credit for anything I'vesaid when I've tried to show you how much you were to me--and yet, Ithink you cared--you've showed it sometimes. But I've tried to go aboutmy work and forget you, because I thought it was best for us both. ButI can't, Camilla, I tell you I can't get you out of my head. I think ofsomething else, and then, in a moment, there you are again--elusive,mocking, scornful, tender, all in a breath. And then, when I findyou're there to stay, I don't try any more. I don't want to think ofanything else." He leaned across the desk and seized one of her handswith an ardor which took her by storm. "You've got into my blood likewine, Camilla. To be near you means to reach forward and take you--thesound of your voice, the response of your eyes, the appeal of your mindto mine in this wilderness of spirit--I can't deny them--I don't want todeny them."

  Her head sank, but she withdrew her hands. "And my sanity?" she askedclearly. "That does not appeal to you."

  "Perhaps it does--most of all. It maddens me, too--that I can't makeyou care for me enough to forget yourself."

  She looked up at him, smiling gently now. "It is easy to say forgetmyself, that _you_ may have one more frail woman to remember. Am I soprovincial, Cortland Bent? Am I really so rustic? Two days ago youwere telling me I had all the _savoir faire_ of the great lady."

  He did not reply to that, but, while she watched him, he got up andwalked slowly over to the map of the United States which hung betweenthe windows.

  "I don't suppose it will mean anything to you when I tell you I'mgoing," he said bitterly.

  "Going--where?"

  "East."

  "For long?"

  "For good. I've leased the mine."

  She started up from her chair, breathless, and stood poised on the edgeof the platform, the slender fingers of one hand grasping the projectingedge of the desk.

  "You're--going--East to--to stay?"

  He did not turn, and, if he noticed any change in her intonation, hegave no sign of it.

  "I've finished here. The mine is leased. I'm going back to New York."

  "I can't believe--you never told me. It's curious you shouldn't havesaid something before."

  "Why should I? No man likes to admit that he's a failure."

  "You've leased the 'Lone Tree'? To whom?"

  "To Wray. He made me a proposition yesterday. I've accepted it. Infact, I'm out of the thing altogether."

  "Jeff? I don't understand. Why, only yesterday he----"

  Was it loyalty to Jeff that made her pause? He turned quickly.

  "What--did he say anything?"

  "Oh, nothing--only that the mine was a failure. That seems curious if hehad decided to lease it."

  "Oh!" he said smiling, "it's only Wray's way of doing business. Whenanything is hanging fire he always says exactly what he doesn't mean. Hedoesn't worry me. I've gone over that hole with a fine-tooth comb, andI'm glad to get out of it."

  "And out of Mesa City?" Then, with an attempt at carelessness, "Ofcourse we'll all miss you," she said dully.

  "Don't! You mustn't speak to me in that way. I've always been prettydecent to you. You've never believed in me, but that's because you'venever believed in any man. I've tried to show you how differently Ifelt----"

  "By kissing me?" she mocked scornfully.

  Bent changed his tone. "See here, Camilla," he said, "I'm not in a moodto be trifled with. I can't go away from here and leave you in thisGod-forsaken hole. There isn't a person here fit for you to associatewith. It will drive you mad in another year. Do you ever try topicture what your future out here is going to be?"

  "Haven't I?" bitterly.

  "You've seen them out on the ranches, haven't you? Slabsided, ginghamscarecrows in sunbonnets, brown and wrinkled like dried peaches, movingall day from kitchen to bedroom, from bedroom to barn, and backagain----"

  "Yes, yes," said Camilla, her head in her hands. "I've seen them."

  "Without one thought in life but the successes of their husbands--thehay crop, the price of cattle; without other diversion than the visit toKinney, the new hat and frock once a year (a year behind the fashion);their only companions women like themselves, with the same tastes, thesame thoughts, the same habits----"

  "O God!" whispered the girl, laying a restraining hand on his arm,"don't go o
n! I can't stand it."

  He clasped her hands in both of his own.

  "Don't you see it's impossible?" he whispered. "You weren't made forthat kind of thing. Your bloom would fade like theirs, only soonerbecause of your fineness. You'd never grow like those women, because itisn't in you to be ugly. But you'd fade early."

  "Yes," she said, "I know it."

  "You can't stay. I know, just as you know, that you were never meantfor a life like that--you weren't meant for a life like this. Do youcare what becomes of these kids? No matter how much chance you givethem to get up in the world, they'll seek their own level in the end."

  "No, I can't stay here." She repeated the phrase mechanically, her gazeafar.

  "I've watched you, Camilla. I know. For all your warm blood, you're nohardy plant to be nourished in a soil like this. You need environment,culture, the sun of flattery, of wealth--without them you'll wither----"

  "And die. Yes, I will. I could not stand this much longer. Perhaps itwould be better to die than to become the dull, sodden things thesewomen are."

  "Listen, Camilla," he said madly. He put his arms around her, hispulses leaping at the contact of her body. Her figure drooped away fromhim, but he felt the pressure of her warm fingers in his, and saw theveins throbbing at her throat and temples, and he knew that at last shewas awakened. "You must come with me to the East. I won't go withoutyou. I want you. I want to see you among people of your own sort.I'll be good to you--so gentle, so kind that you'll soon forget thatthere ever was such a place as this."

  His tenderness overpowered her, and she felt herself yielding to thewarmth of his entreaty. "Do you really need me so much?" she askedbrokenly.

  His reply was to draw her closer to him and to raise her lips to his.But she turned her head and would not let him kiss her. Perhaps throughher mind passed the memory of that other kiss only yesterday.

  "No, I'm afraid."

  "Of me? Why?"

  "Of myself. Life is so terrible--so full of meaning. I'm afraid--yes,afraid of you, too. Somewhere deep in me I have a conscience. To-dayyou appeal to me. You have put things so clearly--things I have thoughtbut have never dared speak of. To-day you seem to be the only solutionof my troubles----"

  "Let me solve them then."

  "Wait. To-day you almost seem to be the only man in the world--almost,but not quite. I'm not sure of you--nor sure of myself. You point away to freedom from this--perhaps a worse slavery would await me there.Suppose I married you----"

  "Don't marry me then," he broke in wildly. "What is marriage? A wordfor a social obligation which no one denies. But why insist on it? Thereal obligation is a moral one and needs no rites to make it binding. Ilove you. What does it matter whether----"

  His meaning dawned on her slowly, and she turned in his arms, her eyeswidening with bewilderment as she looked as though fascinated by thehorror she read in his words. He felt her body straighten in his armsand saw that the blood had gone from her face.

  "Do I startle you? Don't look so strangely. You are the only woman inthe world. I am mad about you. You know that? Can't you see? Look upat me, Camilla. There's a girl in the East they want me to marry--of anold line with money--but I swear I'll never marry her. Never!"

  Slowly she disengaged his arms and put the chair between them. Therewas even a smile on her lips. "You mean--that I--that you----" Shepaused, uncertain of her words.

  "That I'll stick to you until Kingdom Come," he assented.

  Her laugh echoed harshly in the bare room. "Whether you marry the othergirl or not?"

  "I'll never marry the other girl," he said savagely, "never see heragain if you say so----"

  He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand as though wardingoff a blow.

  "One moment," she said, a calm taking the place of her forced gayety,her voice ringing with a deep note of scorn. "I didn't understand atfirst. Back here in the valley we're a little dull. We learn to speakwell or ill as we think. At least, we learn to be honest withourselves, and we try to be honest with others. We do not speak fairwords and lie in our hearts. Our men have a rougher bark than yours,but they're sound and strong inside." She drew herself to her fullheight. "A woman is safe in this country--with the men of this country,Mr. Bent. It is only when----"

  "Camilla! Forgive me. I was only trying you. I will do whatever yousay--I----"

  She walked to the door rapidly, then paused uncertainly, leaning againstthe door-jamb and looking down the street.

  "Will you go?" she murmured.

  "I can't--not yet."

  "You must--at once. Jeff Wray is coming here--now!"

  "What have I to do with him?"

  "Nothing--only if he guesses what you've been saying to me, I won'tanswer for him. That's all."

  Bent looked up with a quick smile, and then sat on the nearest desk. "Isuppose I ought to be frightened. What? Jeff is a kind of a 'bad man,'isn't he? But I can't go now, Camilla. Wouldn't be the sporting thing,you know. I think I'll stay. Do you mind if I smoke?"

  She watched the approaching figure of Jeff for a moment irresolutely andthen turned indoors. "Of course, I can't _make_ you go," she said, "butI have always understood that when a woman expressed a wish to be alone,it was the custom of gentlemen----"

  "You made my going impossible," he said coolly. "Don't forget that.I'll go after a while, but I won't run. You've got something to tellJeff Wray. I prefer to be here when you do it."

  "I didn't say I'd tell him," she put in quickly. "I'm not going to tellhim. Now will you go?"

  "No."

  He sat on a desk, swinging one long leg to and fro and looking out ofthe open door, at which the figure of Jeff presently appeared. Thenewcomer took off his hat and shuffled in uneasily, but his wide stareand a nod to Bent showed neither surprise nor ill-humor. Indeed, hisexpression gave every sign of unusual content. He spoke to Bent, thengazed dubiously toward the teacher's desk, where Camilla, apparentlyabsorbed in her letter, looked up with a fine air of abstraction,nodded, and then went on with her writing.

  "Looks sort of coolish around here," said Jeff. "Hope I haven't buttedinto an Experience Meeting or anything." He laughed, but Bent onlyexamined the ash of his cigarette and smiled. "I thought, Camilla," hewent on, "maybe you'd like to take a ride----"

  Miss Irwin looked up. She knew every modulation of Jeff's voice. Histone was quiet--as it had been yesterday--but in it was the same note ofcommand--or was it triumph? She glanced at Cortland Bent.

  "I'm not riding to-day," she said quietly.

  "Not with Bent, either? That's funny. What will people think aroundhere? We've sort of got used to the idea of seeing you two outtogether--kind of part of the afternoon scenery, so to speak. Nothingwrong, is there?"

  Bent flushed with anger, and Camilla marveled at this new manifestationof Jeff's instinct. It almost seemed as though he knew what hadhappened between them as well as though she had told him. Jeff laughedsoftly and looked from one to the other with his mildest stare, asthough delighted at the discovery.

  Miss Irwin rose and put her letter in the drawer of the desk. "I wishyou'd go--both of you," she said quietly. But Wray had made himselfcomfortable in a chair and showed no disposition to move.

  "I thought you might like to ride out to the 'Lone Tree,'" he said."You know Mr. Bent has leased it to me?"

  "Yes, he told me."

  "What else did he tell you?"

  "Oh, I say, Wray," Bent broke in, "I don't see how that can be anyaffair of yours."

  Jeff Wray wrapped his quirt around one knee and smiled indulgently."Doesn't seem so, does it, Bent?" he said coolly. "But it really is.You see, Camilla--Miss Irwin--and I have been friends a long time--as amatter of fact, we're sort of engaged----"

  "Jeff!" gasped the girl. The calmness of his effrontery almost, if notquite, deprived her of speech. "Even if it were true, you must see thatit can hardly interest----"

  "I thought that he mi
ght like to know. I haven't interfered muchbetween you two, but I've been thinking about you some. I thought itmight be just as well that Mr. Bent understood before he went away."

  Camilla started up, stammered, began to speak, then sank in her chairagain. Bent looked coolly from one to the other.

  "There seems to be a slight difference of opinion," he said.

  "Oh, we're engaged all right," Jeff went on. "That's why I thought I'dbetter tell you it wouldn't be any use for you to try to persuadeCamilla--that is, Miss Irwin--to go to New York with you."

  Jeff made this surprising statement with the same ease with which hemight have dissuaded a client in an unprofitable deal. Miss Irwinbecame a shade paler, Bent a shade darker. Such intuition was rathertoo precise to be pleasant. Neither of them replied. Bent, because hefeared to trust himself to speak--Camilla, because her tongue refusedobedience.

  "Oh, I'm a pretty good guesser. Camilla told you she wasn't going,didn't she? I thought so. You see, that wouldn't have done at all,because I'd have had to go all the way East to bring her back again.When we're married of course----"

  "Jeff!" The girl's voice, found at last, echoed so shrilly in the bareroom that even Wray was startled into silence. He had not seemed awareof any indelicacy in his revelation, but each moment added to thebitterness of Miss Irwin's awakening. Bent's indignity had made herhate herself and despise the man who had offered it. She thought shesaw what kind of wood had been hidden under his handsome veneer--she hadalways known what Jeff was made of. The fibre was there, tough, strong,and ugly as ever, but it was not rotten. And in that hour she learned anew definition of chivalry.

  "Jeff, will you be quiet?" But she went over to him and put her hand onhis shoulder, and her words came slowly and very distinctly, as shelooked over Wray's head into Cortland Bent's eyes. "What Mr. Wray saysis true. I intend to marry him when he asks me to."

  Bent bowed his head, as Jeff rose, the girl's hand in his.

  "I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends around Mesa, don't it,Bent?" said Jeff cheerfully. "When are you leaving town?"

  "'I reckon that about winds up all your loose ends aroundMesa,' said Jeff cheerfully."]

  But Bent by this time had taken up his cap, and was gone.