Diane of the Green Van

  CHAPTER XLVI

  IN THE FOREST

  With the darkening of the night a wind sprang up over the bleak, blackexpanse of lake and swept with a sigh through the forest on the shore.It was a wind from the east which drove a film of cloud across thestars and bore a hint of rain in its freshness. The rain itselfpattering presently through the forest fell upon the huddled figure ofa girl who lay face downward upon the ground among the trees.

  She lay inert, her head pillowed upon her arm, face to face with theunspeakable shadow that had haunted Carl. Not married. Aunt Agathahad said, but just a mother! Now the pitiful fragments of a hallowedshrine lay mockingly at her feet. How scornfully she had flashed atCarl!

  Diane quivered and lay very still, torn by the bitter irony of it.

  And the Indian mother! Carl had known and Ronador. She had caught astartled look in the eyes of each at the Sherrill _fete_. Every wildinstinct, if she had but heeded the warning, had pointed the way; thechildhood escapade in the forest, the tomboy pranks of riding andrunning and swimming that had horrified Aunt Agatha to the point oftears, and later the persistent call of the open country.

  What wonder if the soft, musical tongue of the Seminole had comelightly to her lips? What wonder if Indian instincts had driven herforth to the wild? What wonder if the nameless stir of atavism beneatha Seminole wigwam had frightened her into flight. Indian instincts,Indian grace, Indian stoicism and courage, Indian keenness andhearing--all of these had come to her from the Indian mother with theblood of white men in her veins.

  But the stain of illegitimacy--

  That brought the girl's proud head down again with a strangled sob ofgrief. Shaking pitifully, she fell forward unconscious upon the ground.

  Some one was calling. There was rain and a lantern.

  Diane stirred.

  "Diane! Diane!" called the voice of Philip.

  At the memory of Philip and Arcadia, Diane choked and lay very still.

  "Diane!" The lantern shone now in her face and Philip was kneelingbeside her, his face whiter than her own.

  "Great God!" said Philip and stared into her haunted eyes with infinitecompassion.

  But Philip, as he frequently said, was preeminently a "practician,"wherefore he gently covered the girl with his coat, busied himself withthe lantern and, for various reasons, sought to create a generalatmosphere of commonplace reality.

  "Your aunt sent me," he said at length. "She's awfully upset."

  "She told you?"

  "Yes."

  "Of--of the Indian mother?"

  "I knew," said Philip. "Carl told me. I withheld it this morningpurposely. Why fuss about it, Diane? Lord Almighty!" added thisexceedingly practical and democratic young man, "I shouldn't worrymyself if my grandfather was a salamander! . . . And, besides, yourtrue Indian is an awfully good sport. He's proud and fearless andinherently truthful--"

  "I know," said Diane. "It isn't that I mind--so much. It--it's theother."

  "Of course!" said Philip gently, "but, somehow, I can't believe it'strue, Diane. There's logic against it. Why, Great Scott!" he addedcheerfully, for all there was a lump in his throat at the wistfultragedy in the girl's eyes, "there's Theodomir's own statement in thecandlestick--have you forgotten?"

  "It spoke of--of marriage?"

  "It said that Theodomir had gone into the Glades hunting and had comeupon the Indian village. There he met and married your mother andlater divorced her."

  "If I could only be sure!" faltered Diane.

  "You can," said Philip, "for I am going back to the Glades to-morrow tohunt this thing to earth. The old chief will know."

  "But the trail, Philip?"

  "There are ways of finding it," said Philip reassuringly.

  He was so cool and matter-of-fact, so entirely cheerful andresourceful, that Diane found his comfortable air of confidencecontagious. Only for a time, however. A little later she glancedmutely into his face, met his eyes, flushed scarlet and fell to shakingagain.

  "Philip!" she whispered.

  "Yes?" There was a wonderful gentleness in Philip's voice.

  "I--I can't go back to camp yet, for all it's raining."

  "Well," said Philip comfortably, "rain be hanged. We'll wait a bit."

  Diane gave a sigh of relief and lay very quiet.

  Philip wisely said nothing. He shifted the lantern so his own facemight be in the shadow and for some reason of his own, fell to speakingof Carl. He told of Mic-co, of the quiet hours of healing by the pool,of another night of storm and stress when Carl had gone forth into thewilds with the Indian girl.

  For the first time now he felt that he had pierced the girl's shell oftragic introspection and caught her interest. Though the rain camefaster and the lantern flickered, Philip went on with his quiet story.

  He spoke of the forces that had fired Carl to drunken resentment, thedefection of his comrades, his conviction of injustice in theapportionment of the Westfall estate, the climax of his sensitiverebellion against Diane's attitude toward his mother, the morose andmorbid loneliness which had driven him relentlessly to ruin.

  "What did he hope to gain by writing to Houdania?" asked the girl alittle bitterly.

  "Money!" said Philip firmly. "He fancied he could frighten them andput a heavy price upon his silence. Later when his letter to Houdaniawas ignored he altered his plans. If he could prove that you were thedaughter of Theodomir and not of Norman Westfall--then the great estateof his uncle would revert to him. Before he could act further, thingsbegan to happen. And then," added Philip thoughtfully, "comes anotherdark patch in the mystery. Carl's story must have crossed wires withsomething else--something that frightened them and made his deathimperative. The hysterical desperation of these men was out of allproportion to the cause. Baron Tregar, baffling as he is at times, isnot the man to lend himself to deliberate assassination merely to keepthe succession of Ronador's son free from incumbrances. Later still,Carl planned to sell the secret to the rival province of Galituria, butthe net closed in so rapidly and he fell to drinking so heavily, thatbrain and body revolted and the first shadow of insanity whisperedanother way--"

  "To murder me!" flashed the girl. For the first time there was warmthand color in her face.

  Philip was glad. He had struck fire from her stony calm at last.

  "Yes," he said, and catching her chilled hands, compelled the glance ofher wistful eyes. "Diane," he said deliberately, "let us withhold ourcensure. Carl has a curious and tragic psychology and he has paid infull. Thanks to a habit of wonderful alertness and ingenuity, he hasmade his enemies respect and fear him. But the tangle aroused theblackest instincts of his soul."

  But the girl was very bitter. The old impatience and intoleranceflashed suddenly in her face.

  Philip fell silent for an instant. Then he shot his final barb withdeliberate intention--not so much to reproach--though there was utterhonesty and loyalty to Carl in what he said--but more to touch thegirl's tragedy with something sharp enough to pierce her morbidness.

  "Carl blames no one but himself," he said gently. "But--but if you hadbeen a little kinder, Diane--"

  "Philip!" He had hurt and knew it.

  "Yes, I know!" said Philip quickly, "but you're not going tomisunderstand, I'm sure. Let me say it with all gentleness and withoutreproach. If you could have forgotten his mother's history and madehim feel that he was not quite alone--that there was some one to whomhis careless whims made a difference! But you were a little scornfuland indifferent. I wonder if you'll believe that he can tell you eachseparate moment in his life when you were kind to him."

  "I too was alone and lonely!" defended the girl. "And the call of theforest had made me most unhappy."

  "Yes. But Carl was not mocking any sensitive spot in your life--"

  "No--I was cruel--cruel!"

  "I remember in college," said Philip, "he talked so much of hisbeautiful cousin, and the rest of us were wild to see her. We used tora
g him a lot, but you held aloof and we told him we didn't believe hehad a cousin. We discovered after a while that he was sensitivebecause you didn't come when he asked you, and we quit ragging himabout it. You didn't even come when he took his degree."

  "No. I--Oh, Philip! I am sorry."

  "Your aunt," went on Philip, "was not mentally adapted to inspire hisrespect. He merely laughed and petted her into tearful subjection.You were the only one, Diane, who was his equal in body and brain, andyou failed him at a period when your influence would have beentremendous. I can't forget," added Philip soberly, "that much of thisI knew in college and carelessly enough I ignored it all later. I lethim drift when I might have done much to help him."

  Philip's instinct was right and kindly.

  He had provided a counter wound to dwarf, at saving intervals, thesting of Aunt Agatha's frightened revelation. Thereafter, the memoryof Philip's loyal rebuke was to trouble her sorely, temper a little theold intolerance and arouse her keen remorse. The consciousness thatPhilip disapproved was quite enough.

  With a sudden gesture of solicitude, Diane touched the sleeve of hisshirt. It was very wet.

  "Philip!" she exclaimed, springing to her feet. "We must go back."

  "Lord," said Philip lazily, "that's nothing at all. I'm ahydro-aviator."

  She glanced wistfully up into his face.

  "You're right about Carl," she said. "I'm very sorry."

  Philip felt suddenly that it behooved him to remember a certainresolution.

  Later, as he hurried through the rainy wood to his own camp, where theBaron sat huddled in the Indian wagon in a state of deep disgust aboutthe rain, he halted where the trees were thick and lighted his pipe.

  "There's the Baron's aeroplane at St. Augustine," he said. "We can gothere in the morning. And the old chief will know. His memory's goodfor half a century." Philip flung away his match. "But I can't forthe life of me see which is the lesser of the two evils. If her motherwasn't married, it was bad enough, of course. But with Theodomir acrown prince--it's worse if she was!"

  And a little later with a sigh--

  "A princess! God bless my soul, with my spread-eagle tastes Ishouldn't know in the least what to do with her!"

  Huddled in the Indian wagon, the Baron and his secretary talked untildaybreak.