Droom stood for a few moments in the hurtling snowstorm, abstractedlygazing toward Longacre Square. The chill in his marrow was not fromthe blizzard that swept down upon him; the gaunt grey look in hisface was not that of hunger or want. There was fever in his brainand chill in his heart. He had forgotten Jane's trivial tragedy;his one overwhelming thought was of James Bansemer.
The heavy ulster was unbuttoned and the snowflakes pelted in againsthis neglected shirt front. A doorman called his attention to theoversight. He came to himself, drew the coat close about his longframe, and hurried off down Fifth Avenue. The storm was so viciousthat he boarded a crosstown car at Forty-second Street. A manelbowed him in the narrow vestibule. He looked up and gasped aloudin sudden terror. An instant later he laughed at his fears; the manwas not James Bansemer. A cold perspiration started out over hisbody, however. Through his brain there went racing the ever-revolvingcry:
"He'll come straight to me-straight to me!"
The hour was not late, but the blizzard had driven the crowds fromthe streets. Eighth avenue sidewalks were deserted except for thepeople who were obliged to brave the storm. As Droom hurried southto his lodgings he became possessed of a racking belief that someonewas following close upon his heels--someone who was rushing up todeal him a murderous blow in the back. The old man actually brokeinto a frantic run in covering the last half block.
It was not until he was in his rooms, with the door bolted thathe could rid himself of the dread. The fire had gone out and thelight was low. His teeth chattered and his hand shook as he raisedthe wick in the lamp. The palsy of inexplicable fear was upon him.Kneeling before the stove he began to rebuild the fire. His backwas toward the door and he turned an anxious face in that directionfrom time to time. Footsteps on the stairway sent a new chill throughhis gaunt frame. They passed on up the next flight, but he waitedbreathlessly until he heard the door of the apartment above slamnoisily.
For half an hour he sat huddled in front of the stove withoutremoving his hat and ulster.
"Curse the luck," he was saying over and over again to himself,sometimes aloud. "Why should he have a pardon? What are the lawsfor? Curse that meddling old fool Clegg! They'll set him free, andhe'll hunt me out, I know he will. He won't forgive me for thatday's work. He may be free now-it may have been he who followed me.But no! That's a silly thing to think. It takes weeks and monthsto get a pardon. Maybe--maybe they won't get it, after all."
He tried to throw off his desperate feeling of apprehension,chattering all sorts of comforting reasons and excuses to himselfas he scurried about the rooms with aimless haste. Try as he would,however, when the time came, he could not read--not even of hiscourage-inspiring Napoleon. The howl of the wind annoyed and appalledhim; he caught himself listening intently for sounds above and notof the storm. A nervous, intermittent laugh broke from his lipsas he went on cursing himself for a fool to be so disturbed byGraydon's report.
"What have I to fear from him? Why should I let that look of hisunnerve me so? Why can't I forget it? It--it didn't mean anything.I'm a fool to think of it. Nearly two years ago, that was. Why,he may be--" A new thought chased the old one out before it wasformed. His eyes caught sight of one of his completed models,standing in the corner. It was the model for the guillotine.
For a long time he sat staring at the thing, a hundred impressionsforming and reforming in his brain.
"I wonder if I'll really die before he is liberated," he was sayingdumbly to himself. "I wonder if I will. There's no sign of it now.I'm strong and well enough to live for years. Suppose he is freedinside of a month or two, what then? By Heaven, I'd be losing thedearest hope of my whole life. My last sight of him--that beautifulvision behind the bars--would be spoiled, undone, wiped out. He'dbe as free as I. I won't die inside of a month, I'm sure. He'd comehere and laugh at me and he'd kill me in the end. God! I know hewould. He'd have the joy of seeing my pain and terror and defeat--he'dsee me LAST! I'd be bloody and crushed and--"
He checked himself in the midst of these dire forebodings to risesuddenly and cross to the ghastly looking frame with the cords, thehinges, and the great broadaxe that lay harmlessly in the groovesat the top. For many minutes he stood and gazed at the axe, hisflesh as cold as ice. Then he tested the cords. The axe droppedheavily to the block below. He smiled with cunning triumph at hisown skill.
The odour of geranium leaves assailed his nostrils. With an uglyimpulse he turned and swept the pots from the window box, scatteringthem over the floor.
"I'm in a devil of a humour," he laughed as he surveyed the wreck."Something's gone wrong with me. I've never mistreated my flowersbefore." He lifted the broadaxe to its place, tenderly, almostlovingly. "By my soul, it's a beautiful piece of work. It's as sureas the grave itself."
Again he stood off and looked at the infernal bit of his ownhandiwork, his eyes glistening with dread of the thing. He turnedand fled to the opposite side of the room, keeping his back towardthe silent guillotine which seemed to be calling to him withmocking yet fascinating persistency.
"Curse the thing," he groaned. "Damn it, I didn't make it for myown use. What is the matter with me?" He glanced slyly, fearfullyover his shoulder and then faced the thing deliberately, his jawsset, his eyes staring.
"It is a quick way--a sure way," he muttered. "I haven't anythingto live for and but a few years at most. Nobody cares whether Ilive or die--not even I. James Bansemer could not batter me down,as he surely will, if I--"
He crossed to an old chest and unlocked its lid with feverish haste.A bundle of papers came up in the grasp of his tense fingers.Casting dreadful glances at the insistent axe, he seated himselfat the table and began looking over the papers.
"He won't take his father's rotten money, but he'll take mine.It's honest. It represents wages honestly, bitterly earned. There'smore than twenty thousand to give him. He'll be surprised. Twentythousand." He laid the first paper, his will drawn in favour ofGraydon Bansemer, signed and addressed; upon the table, and thencarelessly tossed the other documents into the chest. "By the LordHarry, I'll have the best of James Bansemer yet. His boy will takemy money even though he spurns his. God, I wish I could see himwhen he knows all this. It would be glorious."
He fingered the document for a tense moment, and then arose toremove his coat and vest. These he hung away in his closet with allhis customary carefulness. In the middle of the room he stopped,his quivering face turned toward the gaunt thing of execution. Hisfeet seemed nailed to the floor; his brain was urging him to go onwith the horrid deed, his body was rebelling. The torture of terrorwas overpowering him.
Suddenly he found his strength of limb. With a guttural howl heclasped his hands to his eyes and fled blindly into his bedroom.Hurling his long, shivering frame upon the bed, he tried to shutout the enticing call of the thing of death. How long he quiveredthere, shuddering and struggling, he could not have told. In theend--and as suddenly as he had fled--he leaped up and with a shrilllaugh dashed back into the other room.
There was no hesitation in his body now. With a maniacal glee herushed upon the devilish contrivance in the corner, tearing the axefrom its place with ruthless hands. Throughout the building rangthe sounds of smashing wood, furious blows of steel upon wood, andhigh above the din arose the laugh of Elias Droom. In two minutes,the guillotine lay in chips and splinters about the room--destroyedeven as it was on the point of destroying him.
Dropping back against the wall, wet with perspiration, a triumphantgrin upon his face, Elias surveyed the wreckage. His muscles relaxedand his eyes lost the dread that had filled them. The smile actuallygrew into an expression of sweetness and peace that his face hadnever known before.
As he staggered to a chair close by, a great sigh of relief brokefrom his lips.
"There!" he gasped. "It's over! it's over! My head is onmy shoulders--it really is after all! It is not rolling into thecorner--no! no! By my head--my own head, too--it was a close callfor you, Elias Droom. Now, I'll take what comes. I'll wait forJames B
ansemer! I'll stick it out to the end. If he comes, he'llfind me here. I've conquered the infernal death that stood waitingso long for me in that corner--and I never suspected it, either.God, how near it was to me! It stood there and waited for me tocome. It knew that I would come sooner or later! But I've smashedit--it's gone! It's not there!"
With eager hands he gathered up the pieces of wood and cast theminto the stove. As the remains of that frightful minister of deathcrackled and spit with defeated venom, Elias Droom calmly pulled onhis worn dressing gown, lighted his pipe and cocked his feet uponthe stove rail, a serene look in his eyes, a chuckle in his throat.
CHAPTER XXXIV
TO-MORROW
Jane Cable, upon entering the cab, offered no resistance whenGraydon drew her head over against his shoulder. His strong righthand clasped her listless fingers and the warmth of his heart camebounding into her veins as if by magic. He did not speak to her, butshe knew that he was claiming her then for all time; she knew thatnothing could stand in the way of his purpose. The sobs grew lessdespairing, her understanding of things less vague and uncertain.A few moments before she had felt that she was no kin to the world;now there was a new appreciation of love and its greatness in hersoul.
This man had loved her, and he would take her up and shield heragainst the hate of the world. There had not been a moment when herown love for him wavered; she worshipped him now as she had in thebeginning. The revelation of Droom, the theatric scenes in the cafe,the crushing of the small hope she had cherished, all conspiredin this secure moment to waken her into a realisation of what anoverbalancing power love is.
Unconsciously her fingers tightened upon his and her body drewcloser; she was arraying herself against the fear that she mightlose this haven of rest and joy, after all--the haven she had beenwilling to scourge and destroy in the bitterness of her heart. Agreat wave of pity for herself came sweeping over her. It grew outof the dread that he might, after all, deny her the place that noone else in the world could give.
Graydon's cold face was suddenly illumined; the incomprehensiblesweetness of pain rushed through his blood. He had given up his hopeas blighted after the harsh hour with Droom; he could not believehis newfound success. Doubt, unbelief, enveloped him as he raisedher head, a kiss crying for its kind. His arm crept behind hershoulders. She did not offer a repulse; her wet cheek touched hisin submission. It was the first time his hungry arms had held herin centuries it seemed to him--and to her; it was the first timetheir lips had met--except in dreams--since that horrid night solong ago.
"Jane, Jane!" he was whispering in her ear; her plans, her purposes,her sacrifices, were running away from her in riotous disorder.She could not hold them in check; they fled like weaklings beforethe older and stronger hopes and desires.
They did not know of the blockade of cabs at the corner of Forty-secondStreet, nor how long they stood there. Shouting cabmen and policeofficers tried to rival the white blizzard in profuseness, but theydid not hear them.
"Oh, Graydon, I cannot, I must not," she was crying, holding hishand with almost frenzied disdain for the words so plaintivelyloyal. "It is out of the question, dearest. You know it is. I loveyou, oh, how I love you. But I--I must not be your wife. I--I--"
"I've had enough of this, Jane," he said so firmly that she stiffenedperceptibly in his arms. "It's all confounded rot. Excuse me, butit is. I know you think you're right, but you're not. Old Eliasgave the best advice in the world. You know what it was. We've justgot to make our own happiness. Nobody else will do it for us, andit's just as easy to be happy as it is to be the other way. I'mtired of pleading. I've waited as long as I intend to. We're goingto be married to-morrow."
"Graydon!"
"Don't refuse! It's no use, dearest. We've lost a year or two. Idon't intend to lose another day. What do I care about your fatherand mother? What did they care about you? You owe all the rest ofyour life to yourself and to me. Come! will you consent willinglyor--" He paused. She was very still in his arms for a long time.
"I do so want to be happy," she said at last, reflectively. "No,no! don't say anything yet. I am only wondering how it will beafter we've been married for a few years. When I'm growing old andplain, and you begin to tire of me as most men grow weary of theirwives--what then? Ah, Graydon, I--I have thought about all that,too. You'll never reproach me openly--you couldn't do that, I know.But you may secretly nourish the scorn which--"
"Jane," he said, dropping the tone of confident authority andspeaking very tenderly, "you forget that my father is a convict.You forget that he has done things which will forever keep me abeggar at your feet. I am asking YOU to forget and overlook muchmore than you could ever ask of me. Old Elias, wretch that he is,has pointed out our ways for us; they run together in spite of whatmay conspire to divide them. Jane, I love my soul, but I love youten thousand times better than my soul."
"I did not believe I could ever be so happy again," she murmured,putting her hands to his face.
"To-morrow, dear?"
"Yes."
Graydon, rejoicing in his final victory, hurried to his rooms laterin the evening. As he was about to enter the elevator he noticed agrey-suited boy in brass buttons, who stood near by, an inquiringlook in his face.
"This is Mr. Bansemer," observed the laconic youth who ran thesingle elevator in the apartment building.
"Something for me?" demanded Graydon, turning to the boy in grey.
"Special delivery letter, sir. Sign here."
Graydon took the thick envelope from the boy's hand. With a start,he recognised his father's handwriting. Curiously he turned theletter over in his fingers as he ascended in the car, wonder growingin his brain. He did not wait to remove his overcoat on entering hisrooms, but strode to the light and nervously tore open the envelope.Dread, hope, anxiety, conspired tu make his fingers tremble. Therewere many closely written pages. How well he remembered his father'swriting!
As he read, his eyes grew wide with wonder and unbelief. They racedthrough the pages, wonder giving way to joy and exultation as heneared the end of the astounding message from the far-away prisoner.
A shout forged to his lips; he hugged the letter to his heart;tears came into his eyes, a sob broke in, his throat.
"Thank God!" he cried, throwing himself into a chair to eagerlyread and reread the contents of the letter. Suddenly he sprang tohis feet and dashed across the room to the telephone.
"She will die of joy!" he half sobbed, in the transports ofexhilaration. Five minutes later he was on his way to her hotel,clutching the priceless letter in his bare fingers, deep down inhis overcoat pocket. He had shouted over the 'phone that the goodnews would not keep till morning, and she was waiting up for himwith Mr. and Mrs. Cable, consumed by curiosity.
"This letter"--he gasped, as he entered the room--"from father.He's written, Jane--everything. I knew he would. Elias didn't knowit all. He knew half of the truth, that's all. Good Lord, I--Ican't read it, Mr. Cable. You--please."
David Cable, white-faced and trembling, read aloud the letter fromJames Bansemer. It was to "My beloved son." The first appealingsentences were given to explanation and apology for the determinedsilence he had maintained for so many months. He spoke casually ofhis utter indifference to the success of certain friends who wereworking for his pardon. "If they secure my release," he wrote, "Ishall find happiness if you clasp my hand but once before I leaveAmerica forever." Farther on he said: "I will not accept parole.It is a poor premium on virtue, and, as you know, my stock of thatcommodity has been miserably low."
"I may be required to serve my full term," read David Cable. "Inthat case, we should not see one another for years, my son. Youhave much to forgive and I have much more to forget. We can bestsee our ways to the end if we seek them apart. The dark places won'tseem so black.... My sole purpose in writing this letter to you,my son, is to give back to you as much happiness as I can possiblyextract from this pile of misery. I am not pleading for anything;I am simply surrendering to the good im
pulses that are once morecoming into their own, after all these years of subjection....I am not apologising to the Cables. I am doing this for your sakeand for the girl who has wronged no one and to whom I have actedwith a baseness which amazes me as I reflect upon it inside thesenarrow walls.
"You will recall that I would have permitted you to marry her--Imean, in the beginning. Perhaps it was spite which interposed lateron. At least, be charitable enough to call it that. Clegg has beenhere to see me. He says you are bound to make Jane Cable your wife.I knew you would. For a long time I have held out, unreasonably, Iadmit, against having her as my daughter. I could not endure thethought of giving you up altogether. Don't you comprehend my thought?I cannot bring myself to look again into her eyes after what shesaw in this accursed prison.... She was born in wedlock.... Thestory is not a long one. Elias Droom knows the names of her fatherand mother, but I am confident that he does not know all of thecircumstances. For once, I was too shrewd for him. The story ofmy dealings in connection with Jane Cable is a shameful one, andI cannot hope for pardon, either from you or from her."
Here he related, as concisely as possible, the incidents attendingMrs. Cable's first visit to his office and the subsequent adoptionof the babe.
"I knew that there was wealth and power behind the mystery. Therewas a profitable scandal in the background. Unknown to Mrs. Cable,I began investigations of my own. She had made little or no effortto discover the parents of the child. She could have had no purposein doing so, I'll admit.... [Here he gave in detail the progress ofhis investigations at the Foundlings' Home, at the health office,at certain unsavory hospitals and in other channels of possibility.]...At last, I found the doctor, and then the nurse. After that, itwas easy to unearth the records of a child's birth and of a mother'sdeath--all in New York City.... Droom can tell you the names ofJane's parents, substantiating the names I have just given to you.He did not know that they had been married nearly two years priorto the birth of the child. It was a clandestine marriage.... I wentstraight to the father of the foundling. He was then but littlemore than twenty-one years of age--a wild, ruthless, overbearing,heartless scoundrel, who had more money but a much smaller consciencethan I.... To-day he is a great and, I believe, respected gentleman,for he comes of good stock.... I had him trembling on his kneesbefore me. He told me the truth. Egad, my son, I am rather proudof that hour with him.
"It seems that this young scion of a wealthy house had lost hisinsecure heart to the daughter of a real aristocrat. I say real,because her father was a pure Knickerbocker of the old school.He was, naturally, as poor as poverty itself. With his beautifuldaughter he was living in lower New York--barely subsisting,I may say, on the meagre income that found its way to him throughthe upstairs lodgers in the old home. Here lived Jane's mother,cherishing the traditions of her blood, while her father, sick andfeeble, brooded over the days when he was a king in Babylon. Thehandsome, wayward lover came into her life when she was nineteen.They were married secretly in the city of Boston.
"The young husband imposed silence until after he had attained hismajority. There was a vast fortune at stake. In plain words, hisfather had forbidden the marriage. He had selected another one tobe the wife of his son.... Jane was born in the second year of theirwedded life. It was, of course, important that the fact should bekept secret. I am inclosing a slip of paper containing the namesof the minister, the doctor and the nurse who afterwards attendedher, together with the record of death. It is more convenient tohandle than this bulky letter--which I trust you will destroy. Youwill also find the name of the hospital in which Jane was born andwhere her mother died, ten days later. I may say, in this connection,that not one of the persons mentioned knew the true name of theyoung mother, nor were they sure of the fact that she was a wife.Her gravestone in the old cemetery bears the name of the maiden,not the wife. Her father never knew the truth....
"What I did in the premises need not be told. That is a part ofmy past. I learned how the cowardly young father, glad to be outof the affair so easily, hired the nurse to leave the baby on thedoorstep. Then I went to the banker whose son he was. I had absoluteproof of the marriage. He paid me well to keep the true story fromreaching the public. The son was whisked abroad and he afterwardsmarried the girl of his father's choice. I do not believe that hehas ever given a thought to the whereabouts or welfare of his child.It was her heritage of caste!
"If Jane cares to claim her rights as this man's lawful daughter,proof is ample and undeniable. I fancy, however, she will findgreater joy as the daughter of David Cable. Her own father has lessof a heart than yours, for, after all, my son, I love you becauseyou are mine. Love me, if you can; I have nothing else left thatI care for. Remember that I am always
Your loving father,
JAMES BANSEMER."
THE END
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