Quick Action

by Robert W. Chambers

  XXIV

  For a while the baggage master fussed about the car, sorting outpackages for Ormond; then, courteously inquiring whether he could doanything for them, and learning that he could not, he went forward intohis own den, leaving Marie Wiltz and George Z. Green alone in a baggagecar dimly illumined by a small and smoky lamp.

  Being well-bred young people, they broke the tension of the situationgracefully and naturally, pretending to find it amusing to travel in amilk train to a fashionable southern resort.

  And now that the train was actually under way and speeding southwardthrough the night, her relief from anxiety was very plain to him. Hecould see her relax; see the frightened and hunted look in her eyes dieout, the natural and delicious colour return to her cheeks.

  As they conversed with amiable circumspection and pleasant formality, helooked at her whenever he dared without seeming to be impertinent; andhe discovered that the face she had worn since he had first seen her wasnot her natural expression; that her features in repose or in fearlessanimation were winning and almost gay.

  She had a delightful mouth, sweet and humourous; a delicate nose andchin, and two very blue and beautiful eyes that looked at him at momentsso confidently, so engagingly, that the knowledge of what her expressionwould be if she knew who he was smote him at moments, chilling his verymarrow.

  What an astonishing situation! How he would have scorned a short storywith such a situation in it! And he thought of Williams--poor oldWilliams!--and mentally begged his pardon.

  For he understood now that real life was far stranger than fiction. Herealised at last that Romance loitered ever around the corner; thatOpportunity was always gently nudging one's elbow.

  There lay his overcoat on the floor, trailing over her satchel. Helooked at it so fixedly that she noticed the direction of his gaze,glanced down, blushed furiously.

  "It may seem odd to you that I am travelling with a man's overcoat," shesaid, "but it will seem odder yet when I tell you that I don't know howI came by it."

  "That _is_ odd," he admitted smilingly. "To whom does it belong?"

  Her features betrayed the complicated emotions that successivelypossessed her--perplexity, anxiety, bashfulness.

  After a moment she said in a low voice: "You have done so much for mealready--you have been so exceedingly nice to me--that I hesitate to askof you anything more----"

  "Please ask!" he urged. "It will be really a happiness for me to serveyou."

  Surprised at his earnestness and the unembarrassed warmth of his reply,she looked up at him gratefully after a moment.

  "Would you," she said, "take charge of that overcoat for me and send itback to its owner?"

  He laughed nervously: "Is _that_ all? Why, of course I shall! I'llguarantee that it is restored to its rightful owner if you wish."

  "Will you? If you do _that_----" she drew a long, sighing breath, "itwill be a relief to me--such a wonderful relief!" She clasped her glovedhands tightly on her knee, smiled at him breathlessly.

  "I don't suppose you will ever know what you have done for me. I couldnever adequately express my deep, deep gratitude to you----"

  "But--I am doing nothing except shipping back an overcoat----"

  "Ah--if you only knew what you really are doing for me! You are helpingme in the direst hour of need I ever knew. You are aiding me to regaincontrol over my own destiny! You are standing by me in the nick of time,sheltering me, encouraging me, giving me a moment's respite until I canbecome mistress of my own fate once more."

  The girl had ended with a warmth, earnestness and emotion which sheseemed to be unable to control. Evidently she had been very much shaken,and in the blessed relief from the strain the reaction was gatheringintensity.

  They sat in silence for a few moments; then she looked up, nervouslytwisting her gloved fingers.

  "I am sorry," she said in a low voice, "not to exhibit reticence andproper self-control before a--a stranger.... But I--I have been--ratherbadly--frightened."

  "Nothing need frighten you now," he said.

  "I thought so, too. I thought that as soon as I left New York it wouldbe all right. But--but the first thing I saw in my stateroom was _that_overcoat! And the next thing that occurred was--was almost--stupefying.Until I boarded this milk-train, I think I must have been almostirresponsible from sheer fright."

  "What frightened you?" he asked, trembling internally.

  "I--I can't tell you. It would do no good. You could not help me."

  "Yet you say I have already aided you."

  "Yes.... That is true.... And you _will_ send that overcoat back, won'tyou?"

  "Yes," he said. "To remember it, I'd better put it on, I think."

  The southern night had turned chilly, and he was glad to bundle into hisown overcoat again.

  "From where will you ship it?" she asked anxiously.

  "From Ormond----"

  "Please don't!"

  "Why?"

  "Because," she said desperately, "the owner of that coat might trace itto Ormond and--and come down there."

  "Where is he?"

  She paled and clasped her hands tighter:

  "I--I thought--I had every reason to believe that he was in New York.B-but he isn't. He is in St. Augustine!"

  "You evidently don't wish to meet him."

  "No--oh, no, I don't wish to meet him--ever!"

  "Oh. Am I to understand that this--this _fellow_," he said fiercely, "is_following_ you?"

  "I don't know--oh, I really don't know," she said, her blue eyes widewith apprehension. "All I know is that I do not desire to see him--or tohave him see me.... He _must_ not see me; it must not be--it _shall_ notbe! I--it's a very terrible thing;--I don't know exactly what I'm--I'mfighting against--because it's--it's simply too dreadful----"

  Emotion checked her, and for a moment she covered her eyes with hergloved hands, sitting in silence.

  "Can't I help you?" he asked gently.

  She dropped her hands and stared at him.

  "I don't know. Do you think you could? It all seems so--like a baddream. I'll have to tell you about it if you are to help me--won't I?"

  "If you think it best," he said with an inward quiver.

  "That's it. I don't know whether it _is_ best to ask your advice. Yet, Idon't know exactly what else to do," she added in a bewildered way,passing one hand slowly over her eyes. "Shall I tell you?"

  "Perhaps you'd better."

  "I think I will!... I--I left New York in a panic at a few moments'notice. I thought I'd go to Ormond and hide there for a while, and then,if--if matters looked threatening, I could go to Miami and take asteamer for the West Indies, and from there--if necessary--I could go toBrazil----"

  "But _why_?" he demanded, secretly terrified at his own question.

  She looked at him blankly a moment: "Oh; I forgot. It--it all beganwithout any warning; and instantly I began to run away."

  "From what?"

  "From--from the owner of that overcoat!"

  "Who is he?"

  "His name," she said resolutely, "is George Z. Green. And I am runningaway from him.... And I am afraid you'll think it very odd when I tellyou that although I am running away from him I do not know him, and Ihave never seen him."

  "Wh-what is the matter with him?" inquired Green, with a sickly attemptat smiling.

  "He wants to marry me!" she exclaimed indignantly. "_That_ is what isthe matter with him."

  "Are you sure?" he asked, astounded.

  "Perfectly. And the oddest thing of all is that I do not think he hasever seen me--or ever even heard of me."

  "But how can----"

  "I'll tell you. I must tell you now, anyway. It began the evening beforeI left New York. I--I live alone--with a companion--having no parents. Igave a dinner dance the evening before I--I ran away;--there was music,too; professional dancers;--a crystal-gazing fortune teller--and a lotof people--loads of them."

  She drew a short, quick breath, and shook her pretty head.

&
nbsp; "Everybody's been talking about the Princess Zimbamzim this winter. So Ihad her there.... She--she is uncanny--positively terrifying. A dozenwomen were scared almost ill when they came out of her curtained corner.

  "And--and then she demanded me.... I had no belief in such things.... Iwent into that curtained corner, never for one moment dreaming that whatshe might say would matter anything to me.... In ten minutes she had mescared and trembling like a leaf.... I didn't want to stay; I wanted togo. I--couldn't, somehow. My limbs were stiff--I couldn't controlthem--I couldn't get up! All my will power--was--was paralysed!"

  The girl's colour had fled; she looked at Green with wide eyes dark withthe memory of fear.

  "She told me to come to her for an hour's crystal gazing the followingafternoon. I--I didn't _want_ to go. But I couldn't seem to keep away.

  "Then a terrible thing happened. I--I looked into that crystal and I sawthere--saw with my own eyes--_myself_ being married to a--a perfectlystrange man! I saw myself as clearly as in a looking glass;--but I couldsee only his back. He--he wore an overcoat--like that one I gave to youto send back. Think of it! Married to a man who was wearing an_overcoat_!

  "And there was a clergyman who looked sleepy, and--and two strangers aswitnesses--and there was I--_I!_--getting married to this man.... Andthe terrible thing about it was that I looked at him as though I--Il-loved him----"

  Her emotions overcame her for a moment, but she swallowed desperately,lifted her head, and forced herself to continue:

  "Then the Princess Zimbamzim began to laugh, very horridly: and I askedher, furiously, who that man was. And she said: 'His name seems to beGeorge Z. Green; he is a banker and broker; and he lives at 1008-1/2Fifth Avenue.'

  "'Am _I_ marrying him?' I cried. 'Am _I_ marrying a strange broker whowears an overcoat at the ceremony?'

  "And she laughed her horrid laugh again and said: 'You certainly are,Miss Wiltz. You can not escape it. It is your destiny.'

  "'When am I to do it?' I demanded, trembling with fright andindignation. And she told me that it was certain to occur within eitherthree months or three days.... And--can you imagine my n-naturalfeelings of horror--and repugnance? Can you not now understand the panicthat seized me--when there, all the time in the crystal, I couldactually see myself doing what that dreadful woman prophesied?"

  "I don't blame you for running," he said, stunned.

  "I do not blame myself. I ran. I fled, distracted, from that terriblehouse! I left word for my maid to pack and follow me to Ormond. I caughtthe first train I could catch. For the next three months I propose tocontinue my flight if--if necessary. And I fear it will be necessary."

  "Finding his overcoat in your stateroom must have been a dreadful shockto you," he said, pityingly.

  "Imagine! But when, not an hour ago, I saw his name on the register atthe Hotel Royal Orchid--_directly under my name!_--can you--oh, can youimagine my utter terror?"

  Her voice broke and she leaned up against the side of the car, so white,so quivering, so utterly demoralised by fear, that, alarmed, he took hertrembling hands firmly in his.

  "You mustn't give way," he said. "This won't do. You must show courage."

  "How can I show courage when I'm f-frightened?"

  "You must not be frightened, because--because I am going to stand byyou. I am going to stand by you very firmly. I am going to see thismatter through."

  "Are you? It is so--so kind of you--so good--so generous.... Becauseit's uncanny enough to frighten even a man. You see we don't know whatwe're fighting. We're threatened by--by the occult! By unseenf-forces.... _How_ could that man be in St. Augustine?"

  He drew a long breath. "I am going to tell you something.... May I?"

  She turned in silence to look at him. Something in his eyes disturbedher, and he felt her little, gloved hands tighten spasmodically withinhis own.

  "It isn't anything to frighten you," he said. "It may even relieve you.Shall I tell you?"

  Her lips formed a voiceless word of consent.

  "Then I'll tell you.... I know George Z. Green."

  "W-what?"

  "I know him very well. He is--is an exceedingly--er--nice fellow."

  "But I don't care! I'm not going to marry him!... Am I? Do you think Iam?"

  And she fell a-trembling so violently that, alarmed, he drew her to hisshoulder, soothing her like a child, explaining that in the twentiethcentury no girl was going to marry anybody against her will.

  Like a child she cowered against him, her hands tightening within his.The car swayed and rattled on its clanging trucks; the feeble lampglimmered.

  "If I thought," she said, "that George Z. Green was destined to marry meunder such outrageous and humiliating circumstances, I--I believe Iwould marry the first decent man I encountered--merely to confound thePrincess Zimbamzim--and every wicked crystal-gazer in the world! I--Isimply hate them!"

  He said: "Then you believe in them."

  "How can I help it? Look at me! Look at me here, in full light--askingprotection of you!... And I don't care! I--think I am becoming moreangry than--than frightened. I think it is your kindness that has givenme courage. Somehow, I feel safe with you. I am sure that I can rely onyou; can't I?"

  "Yes," he said miserably.

  "I was very sure I could when I saw you sitting there on the platformbefore the milk-train came in.... I don't know how it was--I was notafraid to speak to you.... Something about you made me confident.... Isaid to myself, 'He is _good_! I _know_ it!' And so I spoke to you."

  Conscience was tearing him inwardly to shreds, as the fox tore theSpartan. How could he pose as the sort of man she believed him to be,and endure the self-contempt now almost overwhelming him?

  "I--I'm not good," he blurted out, miserably.

  She turned and looked at him seriously for a moment. Then, for the firsttime aware of his arm encircling her, and her hands in his, sheflushed brightly and freed herself, straightening up in her littlewooden chair.

  "You need not tell me that," she said. "I _know_ you _are_ good."

  "As a m-matter of f-fact," he stammered. "I'm a scoundrel!"

  "What?"

  "I can't bear to have you know it--b-but I am!"

  "_How_ can you say that?--when you've been so perfectly sweet to me?"she exclaimed.

  And after a moment's silence she laughed deliciously.

  "Only to look at you is enough," she said, "for a girl to feel absoluteconfidence in you."

  "Do you feel that?"

  "I?... Yes.... Yes, I do. I would trust you without hesitation. I havetrusted you, have I not? And after all, it is not so strange. You arethe sort of man to whom I am accustomed. We are both of the same sort."

  "No," he said gloomily, "I'm really a pariah."

  "You! Why do you say such things, after you have been so--perfectlycharming to a frightened girl?"

  "I'm a pariah," he repeated. "I'm a social outcast! I--I know it, now."And he leaned his head wearily on both palms.

  The girl looked at him in consternation.

  "Are _you_ unhappy?" she asked.

  "Wretched."

  "Oh," she said softly, "I didn't know that.... I am so sorry.... And tothink that you took all _my_ troubles on your shoulders, too,--burdenedwith your own! I--I _knew_ you were that kind of man," she added warmly.

  He only shook his head, face buried in his hands.

  "I am _so_ sorry," she repeated gently. "Would it help you if you toldme?"

  He did not answer.

  "Because," she said sweetly, "it would make me very happy if I could beof even the very slightest use to you!"

  No response.

  "Because you have been so kind."

  No response.

  "--And so p-pleasant and c-cordial and----"

  No response.

  She looked at the young fellow who sat there with head bowed in hishands; and her blue eyes grew wistful.

  "Are you in physical pain?"

  "Mental," he said in a muffled voice.


  "I am sorry. Don't you believe that I am?" she asked pitifully.

  "You would not be sorry if you knew why I am suffering," he muttered.

  "How _can_ you say that?" she exclaimed warmly. "Do you think I amungrateful? Do you think I am insensible to delicate and generousemotions? Do you suppose I could ever forget what you have done for me?"

  "Suppose," he said in a muffled voice, "I turned out to be a--avillain?"

  "You couldn't!"

  "Suppose it were true that I am one?"

  She said, with the warmth of total inexperience with villains, "What youhave been to me is only what concerns me. You have been good, generous,noble! And I--like you."

  "You must not like me."

  "I _do_! I do like you! I shall continue to do so--always----"

  "You can not!"

  "What? Indeed I can! I like you very much. I defy you to prevent me!"

  "I don't want to prevent you--but you mustn't do it."

  She sat silent for a moment. Then her lip trembled.

  "Why may I not like you?" she asked unsteadily.

  "I am not worth it."

  He didn't know it, but he had given her the most fascinating answer thata man can give a young girl.

  "If you are not worth it," she said tremulously, "you can become so."

  "No, I never can."

  "Why do you say that? No matter what a man has done--a young man--suchas you--he can become worthy again of a girl's friendship--if he wishesto."

  "I never could become worthy of yours."

  "Why? What have you done? I don't care anyway. If you--if you wantmy--my friendship you can have it."

  "No," he groaned, "I am sunk too low to even dream of it! You don'tknow--you don't know what you're saying. I am beyond the pale!"

  He clutched his temples and shuddered. For a moment she gazed at himpiteously, then her timid hand touched his arm.

  "I can't bear to see you in despair," she faltered, "--you who have beenso good to me. Please don't be unhappy--because--I want you to behappy----"

  "I can never be that."

  "Why?"

  "Because--I am in love!"

  "What?"

  "With a girl who--hates me."

  "Oh," she said faintly. Then the surprise in her eyes faded vaguely intowistfulness, and into something almost tender as she gazed at his bowedhead.

  "Any girl," she said, scarcely knowing what she was saying, "who couldnot love such a man as you is an absolutely negligible quantity."

  His hands fell from his face and he sat up.

  "Could _you_?"

  "What?" she said, not understanding.

  "Could you do what--what I--mentioned just now?"

  She looked curiously at him for a moment, not comprehending. Suddenly arose flush stained her face.

  "I don't think you mean to say that to me," she said quietly.

  "Yes," he said, "I do mean to say it.... Because, since I first saw you,I have--have dared to--to be in love with you."

  "With _me_! We--you have not known me an hour!"

  "I have known you three days."

  "What?"

  "_I_ am George Z. Green!"