The Forbidden Way

  *CHAPTER XXIII*

  *THE INTRUDER*

  Meanwhile, in Parlor A, next door, a lady in a pink kimono, who seemedunusually diminutive and childish in her low-heeled bedroom slippers,pottered about uneasily, walking from window to window, jerking at theshades to peer out of doors, and then pulling the shades noisily downagain; opening the hall door, looking down the corridor, walking out afew steps and then coming rapidly back again, to light a cigarette whichshe almost immediately put out and threw into the stove; coughing,dropping things--and then standing tense and alert to listen, actingaltogether in a surprising and unusual manner. But the sound of voicesin the adjoining room persevered, now loud--now less loud, but alwaysperfectly audible through the thin, paper-like partition. At last, asthough in sudden desperation, without removing her clothes, or even herslippers, she crawled quickly into the bed and pulled the covers andpillow over her head, lying still as a mouse, but tense and alert inspite of herself and--in spite of herself--listening. She emerged againin a while, half smothered, like a diver coming to the surface,listening again, and then with an exclamation quickly got out of bed,her fingers at her ears, to open the hall door presently and flee downthe corridor.

  From her vantage point--in an empty room--she heard Jeff's rapidfootsteps go past, and only when she heard them no longer did she goback to Parlor A. She closed the outer door and locked it, sat down inan armchair, leaning forward, her head in her hands, staring at a pinkrose in the ornate carpet, deep in thought. In the room next door allwas quiet again. Once she thought she heard the sound of a sob, but shecould not be sure of it, and after a while the light which had shonethrough the wide crack under the door disappeared. For a long time shesat there, immovable except for the slight, quick tapping of one smallfoot upon the floor.

  At last she rose with an air of resolution and touched the bell. To theclerk, who answered it in person, she asked for telegraph blanks and amessenger. He looked at his watch.

  "The telegraph office is closed."

  "Well, it will have to be opened. This is a matter which can't waituntil morning. The operator must be found."

  "We _might_ get a message through." He looked at the bill she had putin his hand. "Yes, I'm sure we can."

  "And you might send me up some tea and toast." She shut the door, wentto her trunk, took out her writing pad, put it on the table, turned upthe wick of the lamp, and began writing. She finished a letter andsealed it carefully. When the telegraph blanks came she wrote tworather lengthy messages. One of the telegrams was addressed to thecashier of the Tenth National Bank of Denver--the other telegram and theletter were addressed to Lawrence Berkely at the Brown Palace Hotel inthe same city. When she had given the messenger his instructions, shesank in her chair again with a sigh, and, with a tea cup in one hand anda piece of buttered toast in the other, sat facing the door into ParlorB. Her face wore a curious expression, partly mischievous, partlysolemn, but there was at times a momentary trace of trouble in it, too,and when the tea cup was set aside she stretched her arms wearily andthen brought them down, lacing her fingers behind her neck, putting herhead back and closing her eyes as though in utter, soul-rackingweariness. Suddenly she rose, passing the back of one wrist abruptlyacross her brows, and prepared to go to bed.

  * * * * *

  Camilla awoke late and ordered breakfast in her room. It was not bodilyfatigue which she felt now. That seemed to have passed. It was mentalinertia, which, like muscular stiffness, follows the carrying of tooheavy a burden. A part of her burden she still carried, and even thebrightness of the Colorado sun, which dappled the tinsel wall paperbeside her, failed to rekindle the embers of old delights. From one ofher windows she could see the fine sweep of the Saguache range as itextended its great half-moon toward the northern end of the valley,where it joined the main ridge of the Continental Divide; from the otherwindow the roofs of the town below her, Mulrennan's, the schoolhouse,and Jeff's "Watch Us Grow" sign, now dwarfed by the brick officebuilding which had risen behind it. It seemed a hundred years since shehad lived in Mesa City, and to her eyes, accustomed to elegantdistances, the town seemed to have grown suddenly smaller, more ugly,garish, and squalid. And yet it was here that she had lived for fiveyears--five long years of youth and hope and boundless ambition. Inthose days the place had oppressed her with its emptiness, and she hadsuffered for the lack of opportunity to live her life in accordance withthe dreams of her school-days; but to-day, when she seemed to haveneither hope nor further ambition, she knew that the early days weredays of real happiness. What did it matter if it had been the bliss ofignorance, since she was now aware of the folly of wisdom? She couldnever be happy anywhere now--not even here. She lay back on her pillowsand closed her eyes, but even then the vision of Rita Cheyne intruded--avision of Jeff and Rita Cheyne riding together over the mountain trails.

  She was indeed unpleasantly surprised when, a few moments later, therewas a knock upon the door at the foot of her bed; and when she had puton a dressing gown the door opened suddenly, and there stood Rita Cheyneherself, smiling confidently and asking admittance.

  Camilla was perturbed--so much so, in fact, that no words occurred toher. The door had opened outward toward Rita Cheyne, who held its knob.It was, therefore, obviously impossible for Camilla to close it withoutMrs. Cheyne's assistance. This, it seemed, the visitor had no intentionof giving, for she came forward on the door-sill and held out her hand.

  "Mrs. Wray," she said gently, "I want to come in and talk to you. MayI?"

  "This is--rather surprising," Camilla began.

  "Yes," she admitted, "it is. Perhaps I'm a little surprised, too. I--Iwanted to talk to you. There are some things--important things----"

  By this time Camilla had managed to collect her scattered resources."I'm not sure," she said coolly, "that our friendship has ever beenintimate enough to warrant----"

  Rita put one hand up before her. "Don't, Mrs. Wray! It hasn't. Butyou'll understand in a moment, if you'll let me come in and talk toyou."

  Camilla drew her laces around her throat and with a shrug stood aside."I hope you'll be brief," she said coldly. "Will you sit down?"

  But Mrs. Cheyne had already sat in a chair with her back to one of thewindows, where her face was partially obscured by the shadows of herhair. She pulled her kimono about her figure, clasped her fingers overher knees, and leaned forward, eagerly examining her companion, who hadseated herself uneasily upon the side of the bed. "You _are_ handsome!"she said candidly, as if settling a point in her own mind which had longbeen debatable. "I don't think I ever saw you handsomer than you are atthe present moment. Trouble becomes you, it gives a meaning to theshadows of your face which they never had before."

  Camilla started up angrily. "Did you come here to comment upon myappearance?"

  "No," said Rita suavely. "I can't help it--that's all. Did you knowthat you have been the means of destroying one of my most treasuredideals? You have, you know. I've always scoffed at personalbeauty--now I remain to pray. It's a definite living force--likepolitics--or like religion."

  "Really, Mrs. Cheyne----!"

  "Please let me talk--you would if you only knew what I'm going to say.My remarks may seem irrelevant, but they're not. They're a confessionof weakness on my part--an acknowledgment of strength on yours. Younever liked me from the first, and I don't think I really was very fondof you. We seemed to have been run in different moulds. There's noreason why we shouldn't have got along because--well, you know I'm nothalf bad when one really knows me; and you!--you have everything thatmost people like--you're beautiful, cultured, clever and--and quitehuman."

  Camilla made a gesture of impatience, but Rita went on imperturbably."You're handsome, gentle and human--but you--you're a dreadful fool!"

  And then, with a laugh, "Please sit down and don't look so tragic. It'strue, dear, perfectly true, and you'll be quite sure
of it in a moment."

  Anger seemed so futile, Camilla was reduced to a smile of contempt."I'm sure I can't be anything but flattered at your opinions, Mrs.Cheyne." But, in spite of herself, she was conscious of a mildcuriosity as to whither this remarkable conversation was leading.

  "Thanks," said Rita with mock humility. "There's only one thing in theworld more blind than hatred, and that's love. Because you think youhate me, you'd be willing to let slip forever your only chance ofhappiness in this world."

  "I don't hate you," said Camilla icily, "and luckily my happiness is notin any way dependent on what you may say or do."

  "Oh, yes, it is," said Rita quickly. "I'm going to prevent you frommaking a mistake. You've already made too many of them. You'replanning to go away to Kansas when your husband positively adores thevery ground you walk on."

  Having shot her bolt, like the skillful archer she put her head on oneside and eagerly watched its flight. Camilla started up, one hand onthe bed-post, her color vanishing.

  "You--you heard?"

  "I--I know."

  "_He_ told you."

  "Who? Jeff?" She leaned back in her chair and laughed up at theceiling. "Well, hardly. I don't mind people telling me they adore theground _I_ walk on, but----"

  "How did you know?" Camilla glanced toward the door and into Mrs.Cheyne's room, a new expression of dismay coming into her eyes. "Youheard what passed in here--last night?"

  "Yes--something--I couldn't help it."

  "How could you--have listened?" Camilla gasped.

  "I tried not to--I tried to make you stop--by dropping things and makinga noise, but I couldn't. You didn't or wouldn't hear--either of you.Finally I had to go out of the room." She rose with a sudden impulse ofsympathy and put her hand on Camilla's shoulder.

  "Oh, don't think everything bad about me! Can't you understand? Won'tyou realize that at this moment I'm the best friend you have in theworld? Even if you don't admit that, try to believe that what I say toyou is true. Why should I risk a rebuff in coming in here to you if itwasn't with a motive more important than any hurt you can do to me?What I say to you is true. Your husband loves you. He's mad about you.Don't you understand?" Camilla lowered her eyes, one of her handsfingering at the bed-cover, suddenly aware of the friendly pat on hershoulder. At last she slowly raised her head and found Rita Cheyne'seyes with the searching, intrusive look that one woman has for another.

  "Why should _you_ tell me this?" she asked. Mrs. Cheyne turned asidewith a light laugh.

  "Why _shouldn't_ I? Is happiness so easily to be had in this world thatI'd refuse it--to a friend if it was in my power to give? I can't seeyou throwing it away for a foolish whim. That's what it is--a whim.You've got to stay with Jeff. What right have you to go? What has hedone to deserve it? I flirted with him. I acknowledge it. What isthat? I flirt with every man I like. It's my way of amusing myself."She straightened, and, with a whimsical smile which had in it a touch ofeffrontery, "The fact that he still loves you after that, my dear," shesaid, "is the surest proof of his devotion."

  Camilla looked away--out of the window toward the "Watch Us Grow" sign,the symbol of Jeff's ambition, and her eyes softened. She got up andwalked to the window which faced the mountains.

  "If I could only believe you--if I only could," she said, and then,turning suddenly, "Why did you try to make Jeff fall in love with you?"

  Rita shrugged. "Simply because--because it was impossible. I'm sotired of doing easy things. I've always done everything I wanted to, andit bored me. I owe your husband a debt. I thought all men were thesame. Do you really think there are any more like Jeff?"

  Camilla watched her narrowly, probing shrewdly below the surface fortraces of the vein of feeling she had shown a moment before. What shediscovered was little, but that little seemed to satisfy her, for, aftera pause, in which she twisted the window cord and then untwisted itagain, she came forward slowly, took Rita by both hands and looked deepinto her eyes.

  "Why did you come out here?"

  It was no time for equivocation. Camilla's eyes burned steadily, oh, sosteadily. But Rita did not flinch.

  "I thought Jeff was lonely. I thought he needed some one, and so I cameout in the Bents' private car as far as Denver. I left them there andcame on alone. I wanted to help him--I'm trying to help him still--withmy sympathy, my money--and--and such influence as I can use to make hiswife realize her duty to him and her duty to herself."

  It was an explanation which somehow did not seem to explain, and yetcuriously enough it satisfied Camilla. If it was not the whole truth,there was enough of it that was nothing but the truth. She felt that itwould not have been fair to ask for more. Rita was not slow to followup this advantage. She gave a quick sigh, then took Camilla by bothshoulders. "You mustn't go away to Kansas, I tell you. You've neverloved anybody but Jeff. Cortland knows it, and I know it. I've known itall the while. A woman has a way of learning these things. If youleave him now there's no telling what may happen. He needs you. Hecan't get on without you. They're trying to crush the life out of himin this soulless war for the smelter, and they may succeed. He's pushedto the limit of his resourcefulness and his endurance. Flesh and bloodcan't stand that strain long. He needs all his friends now and everyhelp, moral and physical, that they can give him. There's no one elsewho can take your place now. No one to stand at his side and take thebad with the good. You've had your half of his success--now you musttake your half of his failure. You're his wife, Camilla! Do youunderstand that? His wife!"

  A sob welled up in Camilla's throat and took her unawares. She bent herhead to hide it--and then gave way and fell on the bed in a passion oftears.

  Rita watched her for a moment with a smile, for she knew that the tearswere tears of happiness, then went over and put her arms aroundCamilla's shoulders, murmuring gently:

  "You're not to blame, Camilla--not altogether--and it's not too late tobegin again. He needs you now as he has never needed you before. It'syour opportunity. I hope you see it."

  "I do, I do," came faintly from the coverlid.

  "You must see him at once. Do you understand? Shall I send for him?"

  "Yes, soon." Camilla sat up and smiled through her tears, drew Ritadown alongside of her, put her arm around her and kissed her on thecheek.

  "I understand you now. I'm sorry--for many things. I want to know youbetter, dear. May I?"

  "Yes," said Rita calmly, "if you can. Perhaps then you might explain meto myself. But I'm going to New York again soon--something tells me youare to stay here."

  "I will stay here now," said Camilla proudly, "if Jeff wants me. Areyou sure--sure--he----"

  Rita held her off at arm's length, quizzically--tantalizing herpurposely.

  "No, silly. He loves me, of course--that's why I'm presenting him toyou." Then she leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek, and rosequickly.

  "It's pretty late. I must catch the eleven o'clock train. I have a lotto do. I'm going into my own room."

  There was a knock at the outer door. Camilla answered it and received anote from the clerk.

  "From Mr. Wray's office. There's no answer."

  She opened it hurriedly, while Rita watched.

  "Dear Camilla" (it ran): "I'm leaving suddenly by the early train forDenver on a business matter which to me means either life or death. Forthe love of God don't leave me now. Wait until I return. I'm going tothe Brown Palace Hotel and will write you from there.

  "JEFF."

  She read through the hurried scrawl twice and then silently handed it toher companion.

  "You must follow, Camilla--at once--with me," said Mrs. Cheyne.