TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER

  CHARTER AND STOCK ARE CALLED TO THE PRIEST'S HOUSE IN THE NIGHT, AND THEWYNDAM WOMAN STAYS AT THE _PALMS_

  Peter Stock was abroad in the _Palms_ shortly after Charter left for thewine-shop to join Jacques, for the day's trip. The absence of theyounger man reminded him of the project Charter had twice mentioned inthe wine-shop.

  "I can't quite understand it," he said to Miss Wyndam as he started forthe city, "if he really has gone to the craters. He had me thinking itover--about going along. Why should he rush off alone? I tell you, it'snot like him. The boy's troubled--got some of the groan-stuff of Peleein his vitals."

  The day began badly for Paula. Her mind assumed the old dreadreceptivity which the occultist had found to his advantage; terrorsflocked in as the hours drew on. One pays for being responsive to thefiner textures of life. Under the stimulus of heat, good steel becomesradiant with an activity destructive to itself, but quite as marvellousin its way as the starry heavens. What a superior and admirableendowment, this, though it consumes, compared to the deadasbestos-fabric which will not warm. Paula felt the city in her breastthat day--the restless, fevered cries of children and the answeringmaternal anguish, the terror everywhere, even in bird-cries and limpinganimals--that cosmic sympathy.

  She knew that Charter would not have rushed away to the mountain withouta "good morning" for her, had she told him yesterday. She saw him turnupon the _Morne_, look steadily at her window, almost as if he saw theoutline of her figure there--as the call went to him from her innerheart.... She had reconstructed his last week in New York, from theletter of Selma Cross and his own; and in her sight he had achieved afiner thing than any warrior who ever broadened the borders of hisqueen. Not a word from her; encountering a mysterious suspicion fromReifferscheid; avoiding Selma Cross by his word and her own;vanquishing, who may know how many devils of his own past; and thensummoning the courage and gentleness to write such a letter as she hadreceived--a letter sent out into the dark--this was loyalty and courageto woo the soul. With such a spirit, she could tramp the world's highwaywith bruised feet, but a singing heart.... And only such a spirit couldbe true to Skylark; for she knew as "Wyndam" she had quickened him forall time, though he ran from her--to commune with Pelee. She felt hisstrength--strength of man such as maidens dream of, and, maturing, puttheir dreams away.

  "... as I sat by my study window, facing the East!" Well she knew thosewords from his letters; and they came to her now, from the talk ofyesterday in the high light of an angelic visitation. Always in memorythe dining-room at the _Palms_ would have an occult fragrance, forshe saw his great love for Skylark there, as he spoke of "facing theEast." How soon could she have told him after that, but for the evil oldFrench face that drew him away.... "You deserve to suffer, PaulaLinster," she whispered. "You let him go away,--without a tithe of yoursecret, or a morsel of your mercy."

  Inevitable before such a conception of manhood--Paula feared herunworthiness. She saw herself back in New York, faltering under thepower of Bellingham; swayed by those specialists, Reifferscheid inbooks, Madame Nestor in occultism; and, above all blame-worthily, bySelma Cross of the passions. She seemed always to have been listening.Selma Cross had been strong enough to destroy her Tower; and this, whenthe actress herself had been so little sure of her statements that shemust needs call Charter to prove them. Nothing that she had done seemedto carry the stamina of decision.... So the self-arraignment thickenedand tightened about her, until she cried out:

  "But I would have told him yesterday--had not that old man called himaway!"

  Peter Stock returned at noon, imploring her to go out to the ship, foreven on the _Morne_, Pelee had become a plague. He pointed out that shewas practically alone in the _Palms_; that nearly all of FatherFontanel's parishioners had taken his word and left for Fort de Franceor Morne Rouge, at least; that he, Peter Stock, was a very old man whohad earned the right to be fond of whom he pleased, and that itseriously injured an old man's health when he couldn't have his way.

  "There are big reasons for me to stay here to-day--big only to me," shetold him. "If I had known you for years, I couldn't be more assured ofyour kindness, nor more willing to avail myself of it, but please trustme to know best to-day. Possibly to-morrow."

  So the American left her, complaining that she was quite as inscrutableas Charter.... An hour or more later, as she was watching the mountainfrom her room, a little black carriage stopped before the gate of the_Palms_, and Father Fontanel stepped slowly out. She hurrieddownstairs, met him at the door, and saw the rare old face in its greatweariness.

  "You have given too much strength to your work, Father," she said,putting her arm about him and helping him toward the sitting-room.

  "I am quite well," he panted. "I was among my people in the city, whenour amazing friend suddenly appeared with a carriage, bustled me in andsent me here, saying there were enough people in Saint Pierre whorefused to obey him, and that he didn't propose that I should be one."

  "I think he did very well," she answered, laughing. "What must it bedown in the city--when we suffer so here? We cannot do without you----"

  "But there is great work for me--the great work I have always asked for.Believe me, I do not suffer."

  "One must not labor until he falls and dies, Father."

  "If it be the will of the good God, I ask nothing fairer than to fall inHis service. Death is only terrible from afar off in youth, my dearchild. When we are old and perceive the glories of the Reality, we areprone to forget the illusion here. In remembering immortality, we forgetthe cares and ills of flesh.... I am only troubled for my people,stifling in the gray curse of the city, and for my brave young friend.My mind was clouded when he asked me certain questions last night; andto-day, they say he has gone to the craters of the mountain."

  "What for?" she whispered quickly.

  "Ah, how should I know? But he tells me of people who make pilgrimagesof sanctification to strange cities of the East--to Mecca andBenares----"

  "But they go to Benares to die, Father!"

  "I did not know, my daughter," he assured her, drawing his hand acrosshis brow in a troubled fashion. "He has not gone to the mountain forthat, though I see storms gathering about him, storms of the mountainand hatreds of men. But I see you with him afterward--as I saw him withyou--when you first spoke to me."

  She told him all, and found healing in the old man's smile.

  "It is well, and it is wonderful," he whispered at last. "Much that mylife has misunderstood is made clear to me--by this love of yours andhis----"

  "'And his,' Father?"

  "Yes."

  There was silence. She would not ask if Quentin Charter had also toldhis story. Father Fontanel arose and said he must go back, but he tookthe girl's hands, looked deeply into her eyes, saying with memorablegentleness:

  "Listen, child,--the man who cannot forget a vision that is lost, willbe a brave mate for the envisioned reality that he finds."

  At intervals all that afternoon she felt the influence of Bellingham. Itwas not desire. Dull and impersonal, it appealed, as one might hear achild in another house repeatedly calling to its mother. Within herthere was no response, save that of loathing for a spectre that risesuntimely from a past long since expiated. She did not ask herselfwhether she was lifted beyond him, or whether he was debased andweakened, or if he really called with the old intensity. Glimpses of thestrange place in which he lodged occasionally flashed before her innermind, but it was all far and indefinite, easily to be banished. To her,he had become inextricable from the reptiles. There was so much ofliving fear and greater glory in her mind that afternoon, that thesewere but evil shadows of slight account.

  The torturing hours crawled by, until the day turned to a deeper gray,and the North was reddened by Pelee's cone which the thick vapor dimmedand blurred. Paula was suffered to fight out her battle alone. She couldnot have asked more than this. A thousand times she paced across herroom; again and again straining her eyes nor
thward, along the road, overthe city into the darkness, and the end of all things--the mountain....There was a moment in the half-light before the day was spent, in whichshe seemed to see Quentin Charter, as Father Fontanel had told her,hemmed in by all the storms and hates of the world. Over the surface ofher brain was a vivid track for flying futile agonies.

  The rumbling that had been incessant was punctuated at intervals now byan awesome and deeper vibration. Altogether, the sound was like a steadystream of vehicles, certain ones heavier and moving more swiftly thanothers, pounding over a wooden bridge. To her, there was a pang in eachphase of the volcano's activity, since Quentin Charter had gone up intothat red roar.... She did not go down for dinner. When it was eight byher watch, she felt that she could not live, if he did not return beforeanother hour. Several minutes had passed when there was a tapping at herdoor, and Paula answering, was confronted by a sumptuous figure ofnative womanhood. It was Soronia.

  "Mr. Charter is at the wine-shop of Pere Rabeaut in _Rue Rivoli_," shesaid swiftly, hatefully, as though she had been forced to carry themessage, and would not utter a word more than necessary. "He has beenhurt--we do not think seriously--but he wants you to come to him atonce."

  "Thank you. I will go to him at once," Paula said, turning to get herhat. "Pere Rabeaut's wine-shop in the _Rue Rivoli_?... You say he is notseriously hurt----"

  She had not turned five seconds from the door, but the woman was gone.There was much that was strange in this; many thoughts occurred apartfrom the central idea of glad obedience, and the fullness of gratitudein that Pelee had not murdered him.... The _Rue Rivoli_ was a street ofthe terraces, she ascertained on the lower floor; also that it would beimpossible to procure a carriage. Mr. Stock had been forced to buy oneoutright, her informer added, and to use one of his sailors for adriver.... So she set out alone and on foot, hurrying along the sea-roadtoward the slope where _Rue Victor Hugo_ began. The strangeness of itall persistently imposed upon her mind, but was unreckonable, comparedto the thought that Quentin Charter would not have called for her, hadhe been able to come. From this, the fear of a more serious wound thanthe woman had said, was inevitable.

  Paula had suffered enough from doubting; none should mar her performancenow. Unerringly, the processes of mind throughout the day had borne herto such an action. She would have gone to any red-lit door of the torridcity.... Vivid terrors of some dreadful crippling accident hurried hersteps into running....

  Pelee, a baleful changing jewel in the black North, reminded her thatCharter would not have gone up to that sink of chaos, had she spoken theword yesterday. The thought of that wonderful hour brought back thebrooding romance in tints almost ethereal. Higher in her heart than hehad reached in any moment of the day's fluctuations, the image ofCharter wounded, was upraised now and sustained, as she turned from _RueVictor Hugo_ into the smothering climb to the terraces. All she couldfeel was a prayer that he might live; all the trials and conflicts andhopes of the past six months hovered afar from this, like naviescrippled in the roadstead....

  She must be near the _Rue Rivoli_, she thought, suddenly facing an emptycliff. It was at this moment that she heard the soft foot-falls of alittle native mule, and encountered Quentin Charter....

  Quickly out of the great gladness of the meeting arose the frightfulpossibilities from which she had just escaped. They were still tooimminent to be banished from mind at once. Again Charter had saved herfrom the Destroyer. She would have wept, had she ventured to speak as helifted her into the saddle. Charter was silent, too, for the time,trying to adjust and measure and proportion.

  Constantly she kept her eyes upon him as he walked slightly ahead, forshe needed this steady assurance that he was there and well. She felther arms where his stiffened fingers had been, as he lifted her soeasily upon the mule. She wanted to reach forward and touch his helmet.They had descended almost to _Rue Victor Hugo_, when he said:

  "As I looked down the fiery throat of that dragon up there to-day,everything grew black and still for a minute, like a vacuum.... Will youplease tell me if I came back all right, or are we 'two hurrying shapesin twilight land--in no man's land?'"

  His amusing appeal righted her. "I have not heard of donkey shapes intwilight-land," she answered.... And then in the new silence she triedto bring her thoughts to the point of revelation, but she needed lightfor that--light in which to watch his face. Moreover, revelationscontained Bellingham, and she was not quite ready to speak of this. Itwas dreadful to be forced to think of the occultist, when her heartcried out for another moment such as that of yesterday, in which shecould watch his eyes and whisper, "I am very proud to be the Skylark youtreasure so...."

  "Do you think it kind to frighten your friends?" she asked finally."When they told me you had gone to the craters--it seemed such areckless thing to do----"

  "You see, I rode around behind the mountain. It's very different toapproach from the north. I wished you were there with me in the cleanair. Pelee's muzzle is turned toward the city----"

  "I sent you many cheers and high hopes--did they come?"

  "Yes, more than you know----" He checked himself, not wishing tofrighten her further with the story of Jacques, "You said you werelooking for the little wine-shop. Did some one send for you?"

  "Yes."

  "Some one you know?"

  "They told me you were there--hurt. That's why I came, Mr. Charter."

  He drew up the mule and faced her. "I was there this morning, but notsince.... There's something black about this. Pere Rabeaut was ratherofficious in furnishing a guide for me. I'd better find out----"

  "I don't want you to go back there to-night!" she said intensely. "Ithink we are both half-dead. I don't feel coherent at all. It has been alife--this day."

  "I am sorry to have made it harder for you. Certainly I shall not add toyour worry to-night. I was thinking, though, it's rather a serious thingto call you out alone at this hour, through a city disordered likethis--in my name."

  "There's much need of a talk. We shall soon understand it all.... Thatmust be Mr. Stock coming. He has the only carriage moving in SaintPierre, they say."

  Charter pulled the mule up on the walk to let the vehicle pass, but thecapitalist saw them and called to his driver to stop.

  "Well," he said gratefully, "I'm glad to get down to earth again. Youtwo have had me soaring.... Charter, you don't mean to tell me youcalled Miss Wyndam to meet you in the wine-shop?"

  "No. There's a little matter there which must be probed later. I had thegood fortune to meet Miss Wyndam before she reached there."

  Paula watched Charter as he spoke. Light from the carriage-lamp fellupon him. His white clothing was stained from the saddle, his hair andeyebrows whitened with dust. His eyes shone in a face haggard untoghastliness.

  "I'd go there now," Stock declared, after asking one or two questionsfurther, "but I have to report with sorrow that Father Fontanel is in avery weak condition and has asked for you. I just came from the _Palms_,hoping that you had returned, and learned that Miss Wyndam wasmysteriously abroad. My idea is to make the good old man go out to theship to-night. That's his only chance. He just shakes his head andsmiles at me, when I start in to boss him, but I think he'll go for you.The little parish-house is like a shut-oven--literally smells of theburning.... The fact is, I'm getting panicky as an old brood-biddy,among all you wilful chicks.... Miss Wyndam has promised for to-morrow,however."

  Her heart went out to the substantial friend he had proved to every one,though it was all but unthinkable to have Quentin Charter taken from the_Palms_ that night.

  "I'll go with you at once, but we must see Miss Wyndam safely back....She'll be more comfortable in the carriage with you, and we can hurry,"Charter declared.

  He held his arms to her and lifted her down.

  "How I pity you!" she whispered. "You are weary unto death, but I am soglad--so glad you are safely back from the mountain."

  "Thank you.... You, too, are trembling with weariness. It would not do,n
ot to go to Father Fontanel--would it?"

  "No, no!"

  At the hotel, Charter took a few moments to put on fresh clothing. Paulawaited with Peter Stock on the lower floor until he appeared. Thecapitalist did not fail to see that they wanted a word together, andclattered forth to see the "pilot of his deep-sea hack."

  "You'd better go aboard to-morrow morning," Charter said.

  "Yes, to-morrow, possibly,--we shall know then. You will be here in themorning--the first thing in the morning?"

  "Yes." There was a wonder-world of emotion in his word.

  "And you will not go to the wine-shop, before you see me--in themorning?"

  He shook his head. His inner life was facing the East, listening to aSkylark song.

  "There is much to hear and say," she whispered unsteadily. "But go toFather Fontanel--or I--or you will not be in time! He must not diewithout seeing you--and take my love and reverence----"

  They were looking into each other's eyes--without words.... Peter Stockreturned from the veranda. Charter shivered slightly with the return tocommon consciousness, clenched his empty left hand where hers had been.

  "The times are running close here," he whispered huskily. "Sometimes Iforget that we've only just met. Father Fontanel alone could call mefrom here to-night. Somehow, I dread to leave you. You'll have toforgive me for saying it."

  "Yes.... But in the morning--oh, come quickly.... Good-night."

  She turned hastily to the staircase, and Charter's remarks as he rodetownward with the other, were shirred, indeed....

 
Will Levington Comfort's Novels