The Ragged Edge

  CHAPTER XXV

  Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand,buckling his knees and folding his arms around them--pondering. Washe really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange fatherlacked the essential human touch to make it real. Without astruggle he could give up his flesh and blood like that! "I can nowgive myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttlingin between." The mortal agony behind those eyes! And all the whilehe had probably loved his child. To take Spring and Love out of herlife, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what wasbeing denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as hecame upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's?--a fair picture ofthe mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steeland granite outwardly.

  The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mentalsuffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. Tofind the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy taleRuth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerablethought. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron inthe man!--the iron in this child of his!

  Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Spurlock bent hishead to his knees. He took into his soul some of the father'smisery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Enschede,to have starved his heart as well as Ruth's because, having laid acurse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he mighthave forgotten the unworthy mother in the love of the child! Andthis day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of anathema. PoorRuth: for a father, a madman; for a husband--a thief!

  Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He knew that at this moment Ruthlay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and thereaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would beputting scars on her soul. And he, her lawful husband, dared not goto her and console her! Accursed--all of them--Enschede, Ruth, andhimself.

  "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks atlunch?"

  Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. He waved a handtoward the sea.

  "A sail?" said McClintock. "What about it?"

  "Enschede."

  "Enschede?--her father? What's happened?" McClintock sat down. "Doyou mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devilkind of a father is he?"

  Spurlock shook his head.

  "What's become of Ruth?"

  "Gone to her room."

  "Come, lad; let's have it," said McClintock. "Anything thatconcerns Ruth is of interest to me. What happened between Ruth andher father that made him hurry off without passing ordinarycourtesies with me?"

  "I suppose I ought to tell you," said Spurlock; "but it isunderstood that Ruth shall never know the truth."

  "Not if it will hurt her."

  "Hurt her? It would tear her to pieces; God knows she has hadenough. Her mother.... Do you recall the night she showed you theface in the locket? Do you remember how she said--'If only mymother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender orbeautiful?"

  "I remember. Go on and tell me."

  When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by hisown imagination, McClintock made a negative sign.

  "So that was it? And what the devil are you doing here, mopingalone on the beach? Why aren't you with her in this hour ofbitterness?"

  "What can I do?"

  "You can go to her and take her in your arms."

  "I might have been able to do that if you hadn't told me ... shecared."

  "Man, she's your wife!"

  "And I am a thief."

  "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader.

  "I am as God made me."

  "No. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. You arecaptain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. But I see now. Thatpoor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. Her father forfifteen years, and you now for the rest of her life! Tell heryou're a thief. Get it off your soul."

  "Add that to what she is now suffering? It's too late. She wouldnot forgive me."

  "And why should you care whether she forgave you or not?"

  Spurlock jumped to his feet, the look of the damned upon his face."Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but wastoo big a fool to know it!"

  His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. The latterbegan to heave himself up from the sand.

  "Did I hear you ..." began McClintock.

  "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. "You heard me say it! It wasinevitable. I might have known it. Another labyrinth in hell!"

  A smile broke over the trader's face. It began in the eyes andspread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly.

  "Man, man! You're coming to life. There's something human about younow. Go to her and tell her. Put your arms around her and tell heryou love her. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!"

  The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopelessweariness fell upon him. "I can't make you understand; I can't makeyou see things as I see them. As matters now stand, I'm only athief, not a blackguard. What!--add another drop to her cup? Whoknows? Any day they may find me. So long as matters remain as theyare, and they found me, there would be no shame for Ruth. Can't Imake you see?"

  "But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. And her kind of love forgiveseverything and anything but infidelity."

  "You did not hear her when she spoke to her father; I did."

  "But she would understand you; whereas she will never understandher father. Spurlock: 'tis Roundhead, sure enough. Go to her, Isay, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! Ican't make _you_ see. Man, if you tell her you love her, and laterthey took you away to prison, who would sit at the prison gateuntil your term was up? Ruth. Why am I here--thirty years ofloneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and becauseI could not have the good, I would not take the bad. The woman Iwanted was another man's wife. So here I am, king of all I survey,with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player.But you! Ruth is your lawful wife. Not to go to her is wickeder thanif I had run away with my friend's wife. You're a queer lad. Withyour pencil you see into the hearts of all; and without your pencilyou are dumb and blind. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is allyour own, for better or for worse. Have you thought of the monstrouslie you are adding to your theft?"

  "Lie?" said Spurlock, astounded.

  "Aye--to pretend to her that you don't care. That's a most damnablelie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. She'llhave this hour always with her; and you failed her. Go to her."

  "I can't."

  "Afraid?"

  "Yes."

  This simple admission disarmed McClintock. "Well, well; I havegiven out of my wisdom. I'd like to shake you until your bonesrattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to anypurpose. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. Mountains out ofmolehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself inone direction and shatter yourself in the other. There is strengthin you--misguided. You will torture yourself and torture her allthrough life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faithinto a sound chalice. I would that you were my own."

  "I, a thief?"

  "Aye; thief, Roundhead and all. If a certain kink in your sense ofhonour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as acomrade. Talk to her of the new story; divert her; for this day herheart has been twisted sorely."

  McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; andhalf an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key atwork.

  Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart andmind as well as in the feet. But recently he had asked God to pileit all on him; and God had added this, with a fresh portion forRuth. One thing--he could be thankful for that--the peak of hismisfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end nowand not matter in the least.

  Love ... to take her in his arms and to comfort her: and then toadd to her cup of bitterness the knowledge that her husband was athief! For himself h
e did not care; God could continue to grind andpulverize him; but to add another grain to the evil he had alreadywrought upon Ruth was unthinkable. The future? He dared notspeculate upon that.

  He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was insemi-darkness. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on thefloor.

  "Ruth?"

  Silence for a moment. "Yes. What is it?"

  "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled himwith the craving of laughter. Was there anything he could do!

  "No, Hoddy; nothing."

  "Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender thatsounded!--talk!

  "If you want to."

  Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. The duskyobscurity of the room was twice welcome. He did not want Ruth tosee his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers,ravaged by tears. He knew she had been weeping. He drew a chair tothe side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallownessof his mind. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, anystretch of silence would be dangerous. The fascination of the ideaof throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was inhis heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of herarms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the handclenched tightly.

  "I am very wicked," she said. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy;and I cursed him. But all those empty years!... My heart was hot.I'm sorry. I do forgive him; but he will never know now."

  "Write him," urged Spurlock, finding speech.

  "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them."

  That was true, thought Spurlock. No matter what happened, whetherthe road smoothed out or became still rougher, he would always becarrying this secret with him; and each time he recalled it, therack.

  "Would you rather be alone?"

  "No. It's kind of comforting to have you there. You understand. Isha'n't cry any more. Tell me a story--with apple-blossoms init--about people who are happy."

  Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what heknew she wanted--a love story. Presently he began to weave a tale,sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes.How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. Whenhe reached the happy ending, he waited. But there was no sign fromher. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. Shehad fallen asleep. The hand that had been clenched lay open,relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket.