Castle Craneycrow

  XVI. THE COURAGE OF A COWARD

  "Tell Mr. Quentin I cannot see him," was Miss Garrison's responsewhen his card was sent to her late that afternoon. The man whowaited nervously in the hall was stunned by this brief, summarydismissal. If he was hurt, bewildered by the stinging rebuff, hiswounds would have been healed instantly had he seen the sender ofthat cruel message. She sat, weak, pale and distressed, before herescritoire, striving to put her mind and her heart to the note shewas writing to him whose card, by strange coincidence, had just comeup. An hour ago he was in her thoughts so differently and he was inher heart, how deeply she had not realized, until there came thecrash which shattered the ideal. He was a coward!

  Prince Ugo had been out of her presence not more than ten minutes,leaving her stunned, horrified, crushed by the story he laughinglytold, when Quentin was announced. What she heard from Ugooverwhelmed her. She had worshiped, unknown to herself, the verything in Philip Quentin that had been destroyed almost before hereyes--his manliness, his courage, his strength. Ugo deliberatelytold of the duel in his rooms, of Savage's heroism in taking up thebattles of his timorous friend, of his own challenge in the morning,and of Quentin's abject, cringing refusal to fight. How deliciouslyhe painted the portrait of the coward without exposing his truemotive in doing so, can only be appreciated when it is said thatDorothy Garrison came to despise the object of his ridicule.

  She forgot his encounter with the porch visitor a fortnightprevious; she forgot that the wound inflicted on that occasion wasscarcely healed; she forgot all but his disgraceful behavior in thepresence of that company of nobles and his cowardice when called toaccount by one brave man. And he an American, a man from her ownland, from the side of the world on which, she had boasted, therelived none but the valorous. This man was the one to whom, a weekago, she had personally addressed an invitation to the wedding inSt. Gudule--the envelope was doubtless in his pocket now, perhapsabove his heart--and the writing of his name at that time hadbrought to her the deadly, sinking realization that he was more toher than she had thought.

  "Tell Miss Garrison that, if it is at all possible, I must see herat once," said Quentin to the bearer of the message. He was coldwith apprehension, hot with humiliation.

  "Miss Garrison cannot see you," said the man, returning from hissecond visit to the room above. Even the servant spoke with acurtness that could not be mistaken. It meant dismissal, cold anddecisive, with no explanation, no excuse.

  He left the house with his ears burning, his nerves tingling, hisbrain whirling. What had caused this astonishing change? Why had sheturned against him so suddenly, so strangely? Prince Ugo! The truthflashed into his mind with startling force, dispelling alluncertainty, all doubt. Her lover had forstalled him, had requestedor demanded his banishment and she had acquiesced, with aheartlessness that was beyond belief. He had been mistaken as to theextent of her regard for him; he had misjudged the progress of hiswooing; he awoke to the truth that her heart was impregnable andthat he had not so much as approached the citadel of her love.

  Dickey was pacing their rooms excitedly when Quentin entered. Turkstared gloomily from the open window, and there was a sort ofsavageness in his silent, sturdy back that bespoke volumes ofrestraint.

  "Good Lord, Phil, everybody knows you have refused to fight theprince. The newspaper men have been here and they have tried to pumpme dry. Turk says one of the men downstairs is telling everybodythat you are afraid of Ravorelli. What are we going to do?" Hestopped before the newcomer and there was reproach in his manner.Quentin dejectedly threw himself into a chair and stared at thefloor in silence.

  "Turk!" he called at last. "I want you to carry a note to MissGarrison, and I want you to make sure that she reads it. I don'tknow how the devil you are to do it, but you must. Don't bother me,Dickey. I don't care a continental what the fellow downstairs says;I've got something else to think about." He threw open the lid toone of his trunks and ruthlessly grabbed up some stationery. In aminute he was at the table, writing.

  "Is Kapolski dead?" asked Dickey.

  "I don't know and don't care. I'll explain in a minute. Sit downsomewhere and don't stare, Dickey--for the Lord's sake, don't starelike a scared baby." He completed the feverishly written note,sealed the envelope, and thrust it into Turk's hands. "Now, get thatnote to her, or don't come back to me. Be quick about it, too."

  Turk was off, full of fresh wonder and the importance of hismission. Quentin took a few turns up and down the room before heremembered that he owed some sort of an explanation to hiscompanion.

  "She wouldn't see me," he said, briefly.

  "What's the matter? Sick?"

  "No explanation. Just wouldn't see me, that's all."

  "Which means it's all off, eh? The prince got there first and spikedyour guns. Well? What have you written to her?"

  "That I am going to see her to-night if I have to break into thehouse."

  "Bravely done! Good! And you'll awake in a dungeon cell to-morrowmorning, clubbed to a pulp by the police. You may break into thehouse, but it will be just your luck to be unable to break out ofjail in time for the wedding on the 16th. What you need is aguardian."

  "I'm in no humor for joking, Dickey."

  "It won't be a joke, my boy. Now, tell me just what you wrote toher. Gad, I never knew what trouble meant until I struck Brussels.The hot water here is scalding me to a creamy consistency."

  "I simply said that she had no right to treat me as she did to-dayand that she shall listen to me. I ended the note by saying I wouldcome to her to-night, and that I would not be driven away until Ihad seen her."

  "You can't see her if she refuses to receive you."

  "But she will see me. She's fair enough to give me a chance."

  "Do you want me to accompany you?"

  "I intend to go alone."

  "You will find Ugo there, you know. It is bound to be rather trying,Phil. Besides, you are not sure that Turk can deliver the note."

  "I'd like to have Ravorelli hear everything I have to say to her,and if he's there he'll hear a few things he will not relish."

  "And he'll laugh at you, too."

  An hour later Turk returned. He was grinning broadly as he enteredthe room.

  "Did you succeed?" demanded Quentin, leaping to his feet. For answerthe little man daintily, gingerly dropped a small envelope into hishand.

  "She says to give th' note to you an' to nobody else," he said,triumphantly. Quentin hesitated an instant before tearing open theenvelope, the contents of which meant so much to him. As he read,the gloom lifted from his face and his figure straightened to itsfull height. The old light came back to his eyes.

  "She says I may come, Dickey. I knew she would," he exclaimed,joyously.

  "When?"

  "At nine to-night."

  "Is that all she says?"

  "Well--er--no. She says she will see me for the last time."

  "Not very comforting, I should say."

  "I'll risk it's being the last time. I tell you, Savage, I'mdesperate. This damnable game has gone far enough. She'll know thetruth about the man she's going to marry. If she wants to marry himafter what I tell her, I'll--I'll--well, I'll give it up, that'sall."

  "If she believes what you tell her, she won't care to marry him."

  "She knows I'm not a liar, Dickey, confound you."

  "Possibly; but she is hardly fool enough to break with the princeunless you produce something more substantial than your ownaccusation. Where is your proof?"

  This led to an argument that lasted until the time came for him togo to her home When he left the hotel in a cab he was thoroughlyunstrung, but more determined than ever. As if by magic, there cameto life the forces of the prince. While Ugo sat calmly in hisapartment, his patient agents were dogging the man he feared,dogging him with the persistence and glee of blood-hounds. Courantand his hirelings, two of them, garbed as city watchmen, were on theAvenue Louise almost as soon as the man they were watching. Byvirtue of fate and the obstinacy of one
Dickey Savage, two ofQuentin's supporters, in direct disobedience of his commands, werewhirling toward the spot on which so many minds were centered. Froma distance Savage and Turk saw him rush from the carriage and up thebroad stone steps that led to the darkened veranda. From otherpoints of view, Jules Courant and his men saw the same and theformer knew that Turk's visit in the afternoon had resulted in thegranting of an interview. No sooner had Quentin entered the housethan a man was despatched swiftly to inform Prince Ugo that he hadnot been denied.

  Mrs. Garrison met him in the hall alone. There was defiance in hermanner, but he had not come thus far to be repulsed by such a trifleas her opposition. With rare cordiality he advanced and extended hishand.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Garrison. I hardly expected to find you andDorothy quite alone at this time of night." She gave him her handinvoluntarily. He had a way about him and she forgot her resolveunder its influence. There was no smile on her cold face, however.

  "We are usually engaged at this hour, Mr. Quentin, but to-night weare at home to no one but you," she said, meaningly.

  "It's very good of you. Perhaps I would better begin by ending yoursuspense. Dorothy refused to see me to-day and I suspect the cause.I am here for an explanation from her because I think it is due me.I came also to tell you that I love her and to ask her if she lovesme. If she does not, I have but to retire, first apologizing forwhat you may call reprehensibility on my part in presuming toaddress her on such a matter when I know she is the promised wife ofanother. If she loves me, I shall have the honor to ask you for herhand, and to ask her to terminate an engagement with a man she doesnot love. I trust my mission here to-night is fully understood."

  "It is very plain to me, Mr. Quentin, and I may be equally frankwith you. It is useless."

  "You will of course permit me to hear that from the one who has theright to decide," he said.

  "My daughter consented to receive you only because I advised her todo so. I will not speak now of your unusual and unwarranted behaviorduring the past month, nor will I undertake to say how muchannoyance and displeasure you have caused. She is the affianced wifeof Prince Ravorelli and she marries him because she loves him. Ihave given you her decision." For a moment their eyes met like theclashing of swords.

  "Has she commissioned you to say this to me?" he asked, his eyespenetrating like a knife.

  "I am her mother, not her agent."

  "Then I shall respectfully insist that she speak for herself." If alook could kill a man, hers would have been guilty of murder.

  "She is coming now, Mr. Quentin. You have but a moment of doubtleft. She despises you." For the first time his composure wavered,and his lips parted, as if to exclaim against such an assumption.But Dorothy was already at the foot of the stairs, pale, cold andunfriendly. She was the personification of a tragedy queen as shepaused at the foot of the stairs, her nand on the newell post, thelights from above shining directly into a face so disdainful that hecould hardly believe it was hers. There was no warmth in her voicewhen she spoke to him, who stood immovable, speechless, before her.

  "What have you to say to me, Phil?"

  "I have first to ask if you despise me," he found voice to say.

  "I decline to answer that question.''

  "Your mother has said so."

  "She should not have done so."

  "Then she has misrepresented you?" he cried, taking several stepstoward her.

  "I did not say that she had."

  "Dorothy, what do you mean by this? What right have you to--" hebegan, fiercely.

  "Mr. Quentin!" exclaimed Mrs. Garrison, haughtily.

  "Well," cried he, at bay and doggedly, "I must know the truth. Willyou come to the veranda with me, Dorothy?"

  "No," she replied, without a quaver.

  "I must talk with you alone. What I have to say is of the gravestimportance. It is for your welfare, and I shall leave my ownfeelings out of it, if you like. But I must and will say what I camehere to say."

  "There is nothing that I care to hear from you."

  "By all that's holy, you shall hear it, and alone, too," heexclaimed so commandingly that both women started. He caught a quickflutter in Dorothy's eyes and saw the impulse that moved her lipsalmost to the point of parting. "I demand--yes, demand--to be heard!Come! Dorothy, for God's sake, come!"

  He was at her side and, before she could prevent it, had grasped herhand in his own. All resistance was swept away like chaff before thewhirlwind. The elder woman so far forgot her cold reserve as toblink her austere eyes, while Dorothy caught her breath, lookedstartled and suffered herself to be led to the door without a wordof protest. There he paused and turned to Mrs. Garrison, whosethunderstruck countenance was afterward the subject of more or lessamusement to him, and, if the truth were known, to her daughter.

  "When I have said all that I have to say to her, Mrs. Garrison, I'llbring her back to you."

  Neither he nor Dorothy uttered a word until they stood before eachother in the dark palm-surrounded nook where, on one memorablenight, he had felt the first savage blow of the enemy.

  "Dorothy, there can no longer be any dissembling. I love you. Youhave doubtless known it for weeks and weeks. It will avail younothing to deny that you love me. I have seen--" he was charging,hastily, feverishly.

  "I do deny it. How dare you make such an assertion?" she cried,hotly.

  "I said it would avail you nothing to deny it, but I expected thedenial. You have not forgotten those dear days when we were boy andgirl. We both thought they had gone from us forever, but we weremistaken. To-day I love you as a man loves, only as a man can lovewho has but one woman in his world. Sit here beside me, Dorothy."

  "I will not!" she exclaimed, trembling in every fiber, but hegently, firmly took her arm and drew her to the wicker bench. "Ihate you, Philip Quentin!" she half sobbed, the powerlessness toresist infuriating her beyond expression.

  "Forget that I was rough or harsh, dear. Sit still," he cried, as atthe word of endearment she attempted to rise.

  "You forget yourself! You forget--" was all she could say.

  "Why did you refuse to see me this afternoon?" he asked, heedlessly.

  "Because I believed you to be what I now know you are," she said,turning on him quickly, a look of scorn in her eyes.

  "Your adorer?" he half-whispered.

  "A coward!" she said, slowly, distinctly.

  "Coward?" he gasped, unwilling to believe his ears. "What--I know Imay deserve the word now, but--but this afternoon? What do youmean?"

  "Your memory is very short."

  "Don't speak in riddles, Dorothy," he cried.

  "You know how I loathe a coward, and I thought you were a brave man.When I heard--when I was told--O, it does not seem possible that youcould be so craven."

  "Tell me what you have heard," he said, calmly, divining the truth.

  "Why did you let Dickey Savage fight for you last night? Where wasyour manhood? Why did you slink away from Prince Ravorelli thismorning?" she said, intensely.

  "Who has told you all this?" he demanded.

  "No matter who has told me. You did play the part of a coward. Whatelse can you call it?"

  "I did not have the chance to fight last night; your informant'splans went wrong Dickey was my unintentional substitute. As forRavorelli's challenge this morning, I did not refuse to meet him."

  "That is untrue!"

  "I declined to fight the duel with him, but I said I would fight aswe do at home, with my hands. Would you have me meet him with deadlyweapons?"

  "I only know that you refused to do so, and that Brussels calls youa coward."

  "You would have had me accept his challenge? Answer!"

  "You lost every vestige of my respect by refusing to do so."

  "Then you wanted me to meet and to kill him," he said, accusingly.

  "I--I--Oh, it would not have meant that," she gasped.

  "Did you want him to kill me?" he went on, relentlessly.

  "They would have preven
ted the duel! It could not have gone so faras that," she said, trembling and terrified.

  "You know better than that, Dorothy. I would have killed him had wemet. Do you understand? I would have killed the man you expect tomarry. Have you thought of that?" She sank back in the seat andlooked at him dumbly, horror in her face. "That is one reason why Ilaughed at his ridiculous challenge. How could I hope to claim thelove of the woman whose affianced husband I had slain? I can win youwith him alive, but I would have built an insurmountable barrierbetween us had he died by my hand. Could you have gone to the altarwith him if he had killed me?"

  "O, Phil," she whispered.

  "Another reason why I refused to accept his challenge was that Icould not fight a cur."

  "Phil Quentin!" she cried, indignantly,

  "I came here to tell you the truth about the man you have promisedto marry. You shall hear me to the end, too. He is as black acoward, as mean a scoundrel as ever came into the world."

  Despite her protests, despite her angry denials, he told her thestory of Ugo's plotting, from the hour when he received themysterious warning to the moment when he entered her home thatevening. As he proceeded hotly to paint the prince in colors uglyand revolting she grew calmer, colder. At the end she met hisflaming gaze steadily.

  "Do you expect me to believe this?" she asked.

  "I mean that you shall," he said, imperatively. "It is the truth."

  "If you have finished this vile story you may go. I cannot forgivemyself for listening to you. How contemptible you are," she said,arising and facing him with blazing eyes. He came to his feet andmet the look of scorn with one which sent conviction to her soul.

  "I have told you the truth, Dorothy," he said simply. The light inher eyes changed perceptibly. "You know I am not a liar, and youknow I am not a coward. Every drop of blood in my veins sings outits love for you. Rather than see you marry this man I would killhim, as you advise, even though it cost me my happiness. You haveheard me out, and you know in your heart that I have told thetruth."

  "I cannot, I will not believe it! He is the noblest of men, and heloves me. You do not know how he loves me. I will not believe you,"she murmured, and he knew his story had found a home. She sank tothe seat again and put her hand to her throat, as if choking. Hereyes were upon the strong face above her, and her heart raced backto the hour not far gone when it whispered to itself that she lovedthe sweetheart of other days.

  "Dorothy, do you love me?" he whispered, dropping to her side,taking her hand in his. "Have you not loved me all these days andnights?"

  "You must not ask--you must not ask," she whispered.

  "But I do ask. You love me?"

  "No!" she cried, recovering herself with a mighty effort. "Listen! Idid love you--yes, I loved you--until to-day. You filled me withyour old self, you conquered and I was grieving myself to madnessover it all. But, I do not love you now! You must go! I do notbelieve what you have said of him and I despise you! Go!"

  "Dorothy!" he cried, as she sped past him. "Think what you aresaying!"

  "Good-by! Go! I hate you!" she cried, and was gone. For a moment hestood as if turned to stone. Then there came a rush of glad life tohis heart and he could have shouted in his jubilance.

  "God, she loves me! I was not too late! She shall be mine!" Hedashed into the house, but the closing of a door upstairs told himshe was beyond his reach. The hall was empty; Mrs. Garrison wasnowhere to be seen. Filled with the new fire, the new courage, heclutched his hat from the chair on which he had thrown it and rushedforth into the night.

  At the top of the steps he met Prince Ugo. The two men stoppedstockstill, within a yard of each other, and neither spoke for thelongest of minutes.

  "You call rather late, prince," said Phil, a double meaning in hiswords.

  "Dog!" hissed the prince.

  "Permit me to inform you that Miss Garrison has retired. It willsave you the trouble of ringing. Good-night."

  He bowed, laughed sarcastically, and was off down the steps.Ravorelli's hand stole to an inside pocket and a moment later thelight from the window flashed on a shining thing in his fingers. Hedid not shoot, but Quentin never knew how near he was to death atthe hand of the silent statue that stood there and watched him untilhe was lost in the shadows. Then the prince put his hand suddenly tohis eyes, moaned as if in pain, and slowly descended the steps.