The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE CHASE

  Peter had discovered the means of providing for Beth's musicaleducation. Upon inquiry he had found that McGuire hardly knew Bethexcept as a dependent relative of Mrs. Bergen, who came in sometimes tohelp her aunt with the cleaning--usually before McGuire came down fromNew York. Their little home was not on his visiting list.

  He delayed telling McGuire. There was plenty of time and there was nodoubt of his employer's doing the right thing by the daughter of themurdered man. Meanwhile, having completed his plans for the estate, hehad suggested that McGuire go off for a trip somewhere to rest andrecover his poise. Peter had promised his allegiance to McGuire whenHawk Kennedy returned, but he knew that he would have to fight fire withfire. For Hawk had proved himself both skillful and dangerous, and wouldstruggle desperately to get what he thought was his own. It was his lastchance to make a big stake--to be independent for the rest of his life.He was tasting luxury now and wouldn't give up without a fight to thedeath. Something must be thought of--some plan to outwit him, tocircumvent the schemes which would come out of his visit ofinvestigation to the copper country.

  Peter had said nothing to Beth or to Mrs. Cameron of what he haddiscovered. He was under no oath of secrecy to the old man, but herealized that while Hawk Kennedy held the "confession" McGuire was in apredicament which would only be made more difficult if the facts gotabroad. And so Peter had gone about his work silently, aware that theburden of McGuire's troubles had been suddenly shifted to his ownshoulders. He spent most of his days at the lumber camp and now hadevery detail of the business at his fingers' ends. Timbers had beenhauled to the appointed sites and under his direction the fire towerswere now half way to completion.

  He had found Shad Wells down at the mills, morose, sullen and disposedto question his authority, but McGuire had visited the bunk-house onenight before he went away, and it was soon discovered that Peter and noother was the boss of the job. Peter for reasons of his own retainedShad, much to that gentleman's surprise, as foreman of the lumberinggang, but Peter wasn't at all satisfied with conditions as he had foundthem at the lumber camp and mills and, as he discovered later, thecontinuance of Shad in the foreman's job was a mistake. If Peter hadhoped by this act of conciliation to heal Shad's wounds and bring abouta spirit of useful cooeperation with the man, he soon found that the veryreverse of this had been accomplished. The lumbermen were anunregenerate lot, some of them "pineys," a few Italians, but most ofthem the refuse of the factories and shipyards, spoiled by the fatal"cost plus" contracts of war time. All of these facts Peter learnedslowly, aware of an undercurrent moving against him and yet entirelydependent upon this labor--which was the best, indeed the only labor, tobe had. He made some improvements in the bunk-house for their comfort,increased the supply of food and posted notices that all complaints ofwhatever nature would be promptly investigated. But day after day newstories came to him of shirking, of dissatisfaction and continuedtrouble-making.

  This labor trouble was no new thing at Black Rock, and had existedpractically since the beginning of the work on the lumber contract sixmonths before Peter had been employed. But it was not long before Peterdiscovered through Jesse Brown, whose confidence he had gained, thatthere were agitators in the camp, undoubtedly receiving theirinspiration and pay from sources inimical to all capital in the abstractand to all order and decency at Black Rock in the concrete, who werefomenting the unrest and dissatisfaction among the men. In order toinvestigate the difficulties personally Peter went down to the camp andlived there for a time, bunking with the men and listening to theirstories, winning some of them to his side and tracing as far as he couldthe troubles to their sources, two men named Flynn and Jacobi. Hedischarged these two men and sent them out of the camp over Wells'sprotest. But even then he had a sense of failure. The trouble was deeperthan was manifest upon the surface. No mere raise in wages would clearit away. It was born of the world's sickness, with which the men fromthe cities had been inoculated.

  One night while he sat in the bunk-house smoking a pipe and talking withJesse Brown, Shad Wells suddenly appeared in the doorway, framed againstthe darkness. Shad's gaze and Peter's met--then Peter's glance turned toShad's companion. As this man saw Peter he turned his head and went downthe length of the bunk-house. Peter got up at once, followed him andfaced him. The man now wore a dark beard, but there was no mistake. Itwas the fellow of the black mustache--the stranger whom Peter had seenin the Pennsylvania Station in New York, the same man he had caughtprowling some weeks ago around his cabin in the darkness.

  Peter stared at him for a moment but the man would not meet his gaze.

  "Who are you?" asked Peter at last. And then, as he made no reply,"What were you doing prowling around my cabin up by the creek?"

  The stranger shook his head from side to side.

  "No understan'," he muttered.

  At this point, Shad Wells, who had followed with Jesse Brown, came inbetween them.

  "That's right, Nichols," he growled. "No understan'--He's a 'guinea.'"To Wells all men were "guineas" who didn't speak his own language.

  "Italian? Are you? French? Spanish? Slovak?"

  Each time the man shook his head. And then, with an inspiration, Petershot at him a quick phrase in Russian. But the man gave no sign ofcomprehension.

  "Who put this man on?" asked Peter, turning to Wells.

  "I did," said the native sullenly.

  "Why?" said Peter, growing warmer. "Didn't I tell you that in future Iwould hire all the men myself?"

  "We're short-handed, since you fired two of the best axmen we got----"

  "You disobeyed orders----"

  "_Orders_--Hell!"

  "All right. We'll see who's running this camp, you or me. To-morrowmorning Jesse Brown starts as foreman here. Understand?"

  Shad's eyes shot fire, then smoldered and went out as he turned with asneering laugh and walked away.

  "As for you," said Peter to the stranger, who stood uncertainly, "you goto the office in the morning and get your envelope." Then repeated thesentence in Russian. "If you don't understand--find somebody who does."

  That the stranger had understood Peter's demeanor if not his languagewas evident, for in the morning he had vanished.

  After that clearing of the air things went somewhat better at the camp.Jesse Brown, though not aggressive, was steady and honest and had acertain weight with the Jerseymen. As to the others, there was doubt asto whether anything would have satisfied them. For the present, atleast, it was a question of getting on as well as possible with themeans at hand. There was a limit to Peter's weekly pay roll and othermen were not to be had. Besides, Peter had promised McGuire to keep thesawmills busy. He knew that when he had come to Black Rock the work onthe lumber contract had already fallen behind the schedule, and thatonly by the greatest perseverance could he make up the time alreadylost.

  As he rode back to his cabin on the afternoon after his encounter withShad Wells and the stranger with the black mustache, he found himselfquite satisfied with regard to his summary dismissal of them both. OnBeth's account he had hesitated to depose Shad. He knew that before hehad come to Black Rock they had been friends as well as distantrelatives, and Beth in her frequent meetings with Peter had expressedthe hope that Shad would "come around." Peter had given him everychance, even while he had known that the Jerseyman was working againstboth McGuire's and Peter's interests. Flynn and Jacobi, the men Peterhad sent away, were radicals and agitators. Flynn had a police recordthat did not bear close inspection, and Jacobi was an anarchist out andout. Before Peter had come to Black Rock they had abused Shad'scredulity and after the fight at the Cabin, he had been their willingtool in interrupting the completion of the contract. For of course Shadhad hoped that if Peter couldn't get the lumber out when promised,McGuire would put the blame on the new superintendent and let him go.That was Shad's idea. If he had ever been decent enough to warrantBeth's friendship, his jealousy had warped his judgment. Peter was nolonger
sorry for Shad Wells. He had brought all his troubles onhimself.

  As to the stranger with the black mustache, that was a more seriousmatter. Every circumstance--the recognition in New York, the skill withwhich the man had traced him to Black Rock, the craft with which he hadwatched Peter and his success in finally getting into the camp andgaining Shad's confidence, made a certainty in Peter's mind that thestranger had some object in remaining near Peter and keeping him underobservation. And what other object than a political one? The trail hehad followed had begun with the look of recognition in the PennsylvaniaStation in New York. And where could that look of recognition havesprung from unless he had identified Peter Nichols as the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch? It seemed incredible, but there could be no otherexplanation. The man had seen him somewhere--perhaps in Russia--perhapsin Paris or London, or perhaps had only identified him by his portraitswhich had been published frequently in the Continental magazines andnewspapers. But that he had really identified him there could not be theslightest doubt and Peter's hope that he would have been able to losehis identity in the continent of America and become merged into adifferent civilization where he could work out the personal problem ofexistence in his own time, by his own efforts and in his own way, seemeddestined to failure.

  If the stranger knew that Peter was in New Jersey there was no doubtthat there were others who knew it also, those who employed him--thosein whose interests he was working. Who? The same madmen who had doneNicholas to death and had killed one by one the misguided Empress, Olga,Tania, the poor little Czarevitch and the rest.... Did they considerhim, Peter Nichols, lumber-jack extraordinary, as a possible futureclaimant to the throne of Russia? Peter smiled grimly. They were"straining at a gnat while swallowing the camel." And if they fearedhim, why didn't they strike? The stranger had already had ampleopportunity to murder him if he had been so disposed, could still do itduring Peter's daily rides back and forth from the Cabin to the camp andto the Upper Reserve.

  All of these thoughts percolated slowly, as a result of the suddeninspiration at the bunk-house which had liberated a new train of ideas,beginning with the identification of the Russian characteristics of thenew lumberman, which were more clearly defined under the beard andworkman's shirt than under the rather modish gray slouch hat andAmerican clothing in which Peter had seen him earlier. And Peter hadmerely let the man go. He had no proof of the fellow's purposes, and ifhe had even discovered exactly what those purposes were, there was norecourse for Peter but to ask for the protection of Washington, and thishe had no desire to do.

  If the man suspected from the quickly spoken Russian sentence that Peternow guessed his mission, he had given no sign of it. But that meantnothing. The fellow was clever. He was doubtless awaiting instructions.And unless Peter took his case to the Department of Justice he couldneither expect any protection nor hope for any security other than hisown alertness.

  At the Cabin Beth was waiting for him. These hours of music and Bethwere now as much a part of Peter's day as his breakfast or his dinner.And he had only failed her when the pressure of his responsibilities wastoo great to permit of his return to the Cabin. The hour most convenientfor him was that at the close of the day, and though weary ordiscouraged, Peter always came to the end of this agreeable hour restedand refreshed, and with a sense of something definitely achieved. Forwhatever the days brought forth of trouble and disappointment, down atthe logging camp or the mills, here was Beth waiting for him, full ofenthusiasm and self-confidence, a tangible evidence of success.

  The diligence with which she applied his instructions, the ease withwhich she advanced from one step to another, showed her endowed with anintelligence even beyond his early expectations. She was singing simpleballads now, English and French, and already evinced a sense ofinterpretation which showed the dormant artist. He tried at first, ofcourse, to eliminate all striving for effect, content to gain the purityof tone for which he was striving, but she soared beyond him sometimes,her soul defying limitations, liberated into an empyrean of song. Ifanything, she advanced too rapidly, and Peter's greatest task was torestrain her optimism and self-confidence by imposing the drudgery offundamental principles. And when he found that she was practicing toolong, he set her limits of half-hour periods beyond which she must notgo. But she was young and strong and only once had he noted theslightest symptom of wear and tear on her vocal chords, when he hadclosed the piano and prohibited the home work for forty-eight hours.

  As to their personal relations, Peter had already noticed a differencein his own conduct toward Beth, and in hers toward him,--a shade ofrestraint in Beth's conversation when not on the topic of music, whichcontrasted rather strangely with the candor of their first meetings.Peter couldn't help smiling at his memories, for now Beth seemed to beupon her good behavior, repaying him for her earlier contempt with akind of awe at his attainments. He caught her sometimes in unguardedmoments looking at him curiously, as though in wonder at a mystery whichcould not be explained. And to tell the truth, Peter wondered a little,too, at his complete absorption in the task he had set himself. He triedto believe that it was only the music that impelled him, only the joy ofan accomplished musician in the discovery of a budding artist, but heknew that it was something more than these. For reducing the theorem todifferent terms, he was obliged to confess that if the girl had been anyone but Beth, no matter how promising her voice, he must have been boredto extinction. No. He had to admit that it was Beth that interested him,Beth the primitive, Beth the mettlesome, Beth the demure. For if nowdemure she was never dull. The peculiarity of their situation--of theirown choosing--lent a spice to the relationship which made each of themaware that the other was young and desirable--and that the world wasvery far away.

  However far Beth's thoughts may have carried her in the contemplation ofthe personal pulchritude of her music master (somewhat enhanced by theextirpation of the Hellion triplet in her own behalf) it was PeterNicholaevitch who made the task of Peter Nichols difficult. It was theGrand Duke Peter who wanted to take this peasant woman in his arms andteach her what other peasant girls had been taught by Grand Dukes sincethe beginning of the autocratic system of which he had been a part--butit was Peter Nichols who restrained him. Peter Nicholaevitch fearednothing, knew no restraint, lived only for the hour--for the moment.Peter Nichols was a coward--or a gentleman--he was not quite certainwhich.

  When Peter entered the Cabin on the evening after the appointment ofJesse Brown as foreman at the lumber camp, Beth could not help noticingthe clouds of worry that hung over Peter's brows.

  "You're tired," she said. "Is anything wrong at the camp?"

  But he only shook his head and sat down at the piano. And when shequestioned him again he evaded her and went on with the lesson. Musicalways rested him, and the sound of her voice soothed. It was the"Elegie" of Massenet that he had given her, foolishly perhaps, adifficult thing at so early a stage, because of its purity andsimplicity, and he had made her learn the words of the French--like aparrot--written them out phonetically, because the French words werebeautiful and the English, as written, abominable. And now she sang itto him softly, as he had taught her, again and again, while he correctedher phrasing, suggesting subtle meanings in his accompaniment which shewas not slow to comprehend.

  "I didn't know that music could mean so much," she sighed as she sankinto a chair with a sense of failure, when the lesson was ended. "Ialways thought that music just meant happiness. But it means sorrowtoo."

  "Not to those who hear you sing, Beth," said Peter with a smile, as helighted and smoked a corncob pipe, a new vice he had discovered at thecamp. Already the clouds were gone from his forehead.

  "No! Do you really think that, Mr. Nichols?" she asked joyously.

  She had never been persuaded to call him by his Christian name, thoughPeter would have liked it. The "Mr." was the tribute of pupil to master,born also of a subtler instinct of which Peter was aware.

  "Yes," he replied generously, "you'll sing that very well in time-
---"

  "When I've suffered?" she asked quickly.

  He glanced up from the music in his hand, surprised at her intuition.

  "I don't like to tell you so----"

  "But I think I understand. Nobody can sing what she doesn't feel--whatshe hasn't felt. Oh, I know," she broke off suddenly. "I can sing songsof the woods--the water--the pretty things like you've been givin' me.But the deep things--sorrow, pain, regret--like this--I'm not 'up' tothem."

  Peter sat beside her, puffing contentedly.

  "Don't worry," he muttered. "Your voice will ripen."

  "And will I ripen too?"

  He laughed. "I don't want you ever to be any different from what youare."

  She was thoughtful a moment, for Peter had always taken pains to besparing in personalities which had nothing to do with her voice.

  "But I don't want always to be what I am," she protested, "just growin'close to the ground like a pumpkin or a squash."

  He laughed. "You might do worse."

  "But not much. Oh, I know. You're teachin' me to think--and to feel--sothat I can make other people do the same--the way you've done to me. Butit don't make me any too happy to think of bein' a--a squash again."

  "Perhaps you won't have to be," said Peter quietly.

  "And the factory--I've got to make some money next winter. I can't useany of Aunt Tillie's savin's. But when I know what I _might_ be doin',it's not any too easy to think of goin' back _there_!"

  "Perhaps you won't have to go," said Peter again.

  Her eyes glanced at him quickly, looked away, then returned to his facecuriously.

  "I don't just understand what you mean."

  "I mean," said Peter, "that we'll try to find the means to keep you outof the glass factory--to keep on with the music."

  "But how----? I can't be dependent on----" She paused with a glance athim. And then quickly, with her characteristic frankness that alwaysprobed straight to her point, "You mean that _you_ will pay my way?"

  "Merely that I'm going to find the money--somehow."

  But she shook her head violently. "Oh, no, I couldn't let you do that,Mr. Nichols. I couldn't think of it."

  "But you've got to go on, Beth. I've made up my mind to that. You'll gopretty fast. It won't be long before you'll know all that I can teachyou. And then I'm going to put you under the best teacher of this methodin New York. In a year or so you'll be earning your own way----"

  "But I can't let you do this for me. You're doin' too much as it is--toomuch that I can't pay back."

  "We won't talk of money. You've given me a lot of enjoyment. That's mypay."

  "But this other--this studyin' in New York. No, I couldn't let you dothat. I couldn't--I can't take a cent from you or from any man--womaneither, for that matter. I'll find some way--workin' nights. But I'm notgoin' back," she added almost fiercely between her teeth, "not to theway I was before. I won't. I can't."

  "Good. That's the way great careers are made. I don't intend that youshall. I'm going to make a great singer of you, Beth."

  She colored with joy.

  "Are you, Mr. Nichols? Are you? Oh, I want to make good--indeed I do--tolearn French and Italian----" And then, with a sharp sigh, "O Lord, ifwishes were horses----!" She was silent again, regarding him wistfully."Don't think I'm not grateful. I'm afraid you might. I _am_ grateful.But--sometimes I wonder what you're doin' it all for, Mr. Nichols. Andwhether----"

  As she paused again Peter finished for her.

  "Whether it wouldn't have been better if I hadn't let you justremain--er," he grinned, "a peach, let's say? Well, I'll tell you,Beth," he went on, laying his pipe aside, "I came here, without afriend, to a strange job in a strange country. I found you. Or rather_you_ found _me_--lost like a babe in the woods. You made fun of me.Nobody had ever done that before in my life, but I rather liked it. Iliked your voice too. You were worth helping, you see. And then alongcame Shad. I couldn't have him ordering you about, you know--not the wayhe did it--if he hadn't any claim on you. So you see, I had a sense ofresponsibility for you after that----About you, too----," he added, asthough thinking aloud.

  His words trailed off into silence while Beth waited for him to explainabout his sense of responsibility. She wasn't altogether accustomed tohave anybody responsible for her. But as he didn't go on, she spoke.

  "You mean that you--that I--that Shad forced me on you?"

  "Bless your heart, child--no."

  "Then what _did_ you mean?" she insisted.

  Peter thought he had a definite idea in his mind about what he felt asto their relationship. It was altruistic he knew, gentle he was sure,educational he was positive. But half sleepily he spoke, unaware thatwhat he said might sound differently to one of Beth's independent mind.

  "I mean," he said, "that I wanted to look after you--that I wanted ourfriendship to be what it has proved to be--without the flaw ofsentiment. I wouldn't spoil a single hour by any thought of yours ormine that led us away from the music."

  And then, while her brain worked rapidly over this calm negation of his,"But you can't be unaware, Beth, that you're very lovely."

  Now "sentiment" is a word over which woman has a monopoly. It is herproperty. She understands its many uses as no mere man can ever hope todo. The man who tosses it carelessly into the midst of a delicatesituation is courting trouble. Beth perked up her head like a startledfawn. What did he mean? All that was feminine in her was up in arms, nordid she lay them down in surrender at his last phrase, spoken with suchan unflattering air of commonplace.

  Suddenly she startled Peter with a rippling laugh which made him sit upblinking at her. "Are you apologizin' for not makin' love to me?" shequestioned impertinently. "Say--that's funny." And she went off intoanother disconcerting peal of laughter.

  But it wasn't funny for Peter, who was now made aware that she hadturned his mind inside out upon the table between them, so to speak,that she might throw dust in the wheels. And so he only gasped andstared at her--startlingly convinced that in matters of sentiment thecleverest man is no match for even the dullest woman and Beth couldhardly be considered in this category. At the challenge of his halfexpressed thought the demureness and sobriety of the lesson hour hadfallen from her like a doffed cloak.

  Peter protested blandly.

  "You don't understand what----"

  But she broke in swiftly. "Maybe you were afraid I might be fallin' inlove with _you_," she twitted him, and burst into laughter again.

  "I--I had no such expectation," said Peter, stiffening, sure that hisdignity was a poor thing.

  "Or maybe----," she went on joyfully, "maybe you were afraid _you_ mightbe fallin' in love with _me_." And then as she rose and gathered up hermusic, tantalizingly, "What _did_ you mean, Mr. Nichols?"

  He saw that he was losing ground with every word she uttered, but hissense of humor conquered.

  "You little pixie!" he cried, dashing for her, with a laugh. "Where haveyou hidden this streak of impudence all these weeks?" But she eludedhim nimbly, running around the table and out of the door before he couldcatch up with her.

  He halted at the doorsill and called to her. She emerged cautiously frombehind a bush and made a face at him.

  "Beth! Come back!" he entreated. "I've got something to say to you."

  "What?" she asked, temporizing.

  "I want to talk to you--seriously."

  "Good Lord--seriously! You're not goin' to--to take the risk of--ofhavin' me 'vamp' you, are you?"

  "Yes. I'll risk that," he grinned.

  But she only broke off a leaf and nibbled at it contemplatively. "Maybe_I_ won't risk it. 'I don't want to spoil a single hour,'" she repeated,mocking his dignity, 'by any thought of yours or mine that would lead usaway from the music.' Maybe _I'm_ in danger." And then, "You know_you're_ not so bad lookin' yourself, Mr. Nichols!"

  "Stop teasing, Beth."

  "I won't."

  "I'll make you." He moved a step toward her.

  "Maybe I hadn't better come
any more," she said quizzically.

  "Beth!"

  "Suppose I _was_ learnin' to love you a little," she went on ironically,"with you scared I might be--and not knowin' how to get out of it.Wouldn't that be terrible! For me, I mean. 'She loved and lost, in sevenreels.'"

  She was treading on precarious ground, and she must have seen her dangerin Peter's face, for as he came toward her she turned and ran down thepath, laughing at him. Peter followed in full stride but she ran like adeer and by the time he had reached the creek she was already halfwayover the log-jam below the pool. Her laugh still derided him and now,eager to punish her, he leaped after her. But so intent he was onkeeping her in sight upon the farther bank that his foot slipped on atree trunk and he went into the water. A gay peal of laughter echoed inhis ears. And he caught a last glimpse of her light frock as it vanishedinto the underbrush. But he scrambled up the bank after her and dartedalong the path--lost her in the dusk, and then deep in the woods at oneside saw her flitting from tree to tree away from him. But Peter's bloodwas now warm with the chase--and it was the blood of Peter Nicholaevitchtoo. Forgotten were the studious hours of patience and toil. Here was agirl who challenged his asceticism--a beautiful young female animal whodared to mock at his self-restraint. She thought that she could getaway. But he gained on her. She had stopped laughing at him now.

  "Beth! You little devil!" he cried breathlessly, as he caught her. "Youlittle devil, I'll teach you to laugh at me."

  "Let me go----"

  "No----"

  He held her in his arms while she struggled vainly to release herself.Her flushed face was now a little frightened and her large blue eyesstared in dismay at what she saw in his face.

  "Let me go?" she whispered. "I didn't mean it----"

  But he only held her closer while she struggled, as he kissed her--onthe brows, the chin, the cheeks, and as she relaxed in sheerweakness--full on the lips--again--again.

  "Do you think I haven't been trying to keep my hands off you all theseweeks?" he whispered. "Do you think I haven't wanted you--to teach youwhat women were meant for? It's for this, Beth--and this. Do you thinkI haven't seen how lovely you are? Do you think I'm a saint--ananchorite? Well, I'm not. I'll make you love me--love me----"

  Something in the reckless tones of his voice--in his very words arousedher to new struggles. "Oh, let me go," she gasped. "I don't love you. Iwon't. Let me go."

  "You shall!"

  "No. Let me loose or I--I'll despise you----"

  "Beth!"

  "I mean it. Let me go."

  If a moment ago when she was relaxed in his arms he had thought that hehad won her, he had no such notion now, for with a final effort of herstrong young arms, she thrust away from him and stood panting anddisordered, staring at him as though at one she had never seen before.

  "Oh--how I hate you!"

  "Beth!"

  "I mean it. You--you----," she turned away from him, staring at the tornmusic on the ground as at a symbol of her disillusionment. Peter saw herlook, felt the meaning of it, tried to recall the words he had said toher and failed--but sure that they were a true reflection of what hadbeen in his heart. He had wanted her--then--nothing else hadmattered--not duty or his set resolve....

  "You mocked at me, Beth," he muttered. "I couldn't stand that----"

  "And is _this_ the way you punish me? Ah, if you'd only--if you'donly----"

  And then with another glance at the torn music, she leaned against thetrunk of a tree, sobbing violently.

  "Beth----" he whispered, gently, "don't----"

  "Go away. Oh, go. Go!"

  "I can't. I won't. What did you want me to say to you? That I love you?I do, Beth--I do," he whispered. It was Peter Nichols, not PeterNicholaevitch, who was whispering now.

  "Was this what your teachin' meant?" she flashed at him bitterly. "Wasthis what you meant when you wanted to pay my way in New York? Oh, howyou shame me! Go! Go away from me, please."

  "Please don't," he whispered. "You don't understand. I never meant that.I--I love you, Beth. I can't bear to see you cry."

  She made a valiant effort to control her heaving shoulders. And then,

  "Oh, you--you've spoiled it all. S-spoiled it all, and it was sobeautiful."

  Had he? Her words sobered him. No, that couldn't be. He cursed hismomentary madness, struggling for words to comfort her, but he had knownthat she had seen the look in his eyes, felt the roughness of hisembrace. Love? The love that she had sung to him was not of these. Hewanted now to touch her again--gently, to lift up her flushed face, wetlike a flower with the fresh dew of her tears, and tell her what lovewas. But he didn't dare--he couldn't, after what he had said to her. Andstill she wept over her broken toys--the music--the singing--for theyhad mattered the most. Very childlike she seemed, very tender andpathetic.

  "Beth," he said at last, touching her fingers gently. "Nothing ischanged, Beth. It can't be changed, dear. We've got to go on. It meansso much to--to us both."

  But she paid no attention to the touch of his fingers and turned away,leaving the music at her feet, an act in itself significant.

  "Let me go home. Please. Alone. I--I've got to think."

  She did not look at him, but Peter obeyed her. There was nothing elseto do. There was something in the clear depths of her eyes that haddaunted him. And he had meant her harm. Had he? He didn't know. Hepassed his hand slowly across his eyes and then stood watching her untilshe had disappeared among the trees. When she had gone he picked up thetorn music. It was Massenet's "Elegie."

  O doux printemps d'autrefois.... Tout est fletrie.

  The lines of the torn pieces came together. Spring withered! The joyoussongs of birds--silenced! Beth's song? He smiled. No, that couldn't be.He folded the music up and strode off slowly, muttering to himself.