CHAPTER XXVII
MARSHALL HANEY'S SENTENCE
After Alice Heath's carriage had driven away, Haney returned to hischair, and with eyes fixed upon the distant peaks gave himself up to areview of all that the sick woman had said, and entered also upon aforecast of the game.
He was not entirely unprepared for her revelation. He was, indeed, toowise not to know that Bertha must sometime surely find in another andyounger man her heart's hunger, but his wish had set that dark day faraway in the future. Moreover, he had relied on her promise to confide inhim, and it hurt him to think that she had not fulfilled her pledge; yeteven in this he sought excuses for her.
"She may love him without knowing it. Anyhow, he's a fine young lad, farbetter for her than an old shoulder-shot cayuse like meself." His senseof unworthiness became the solvent of other and sweeter emotions. Hiswealth no longer seemed capable of bridging the deep chasm wideningbetween them.
This day had shown a black sky to him, even before Alice Heath'sdisturbing call, for Bertha had been darkly brooding at breakfast, andsilent at lunch, and immediately after rising from the table had goneaway alone, without a word of explanation to any member of herhousehold. She had not even taken her dogs with her, and her face wasset and almost sullen as she passed out of the door and down the walk.All this was so unlike her that Mart was greatly troubled. It gaveweight and significance to every word of Alice Heath's warning.
Bertha was gone till nearly six o'clock, and her mood seemed no whitlightened as she entered the gate and came slowly up the walk. To Mart'shumbly spoken query, "What troubles ye, darlin'?" she made no reply, butwent at once to her room.
The old gambler seemed pitiably helpless and forlorn as he sat there inhis accustomed chair waiting her return. The bees and birds were busyamong the vines, and all the well-oiled machinery of his splendid homewas going forward to the end that his sweet girl-wife should be served.If she were unhappy, of what value were these soft rugs, these savorydishes, this shining silver? There was, in truth, something mocking andterrifying in the swift, well-trained action of the servants, who wentabout their tasks unmoved and apparently unacquainted with any change inthe mind of their young mistress.
In the kitchen the cook was carefully compounding the soup whilewatching the roast. Lucius, deft and absorbed, was preparing the table,arranging the coffee service and deciding upon the china. On the seatunder the pear-trees Miss Franklin was chatting with Mrs. Gilman, and inthe barn the coachman could be heard giving the horses their eveningtaste of green grass--"and yet how empty, aimless, and foolish it all isif Bertha is unhappy," thought the master.
He grew alarmed for fear she would not come down; but at last he heardher light step on the stairs, and when she came in view his dim eyeswere startled by the transformation in her. She had put on the plainestof her gowns, and she wore no jewels. By other ways which he felt butcould not analyze she expressed some portentous shift of mood. He couldnot define why, but her step scared him, so measured and resolute itseemed.
She called to her mother and Miss Franklin and then asked, "Has dinnerbeen announced?"
Her tone was quiet and natural, and Mart was relieved. He answered withattempt at jocularity, "Lucius is this minute winkin' at me over thesoup-tureen."
As they took seats at the table Mrs. Gilman exclaimed, "Why, dearie,where did you dig up that old waist?"
"Will it do to visit Sibley in?"
"No indeed! I should say not. When you go back there I want you to wearthe best you've got. They'll consider it an insult if you don't."
A faint smile lighted Bertha's pale face. "I don't think they'll take itso hard as all that."
"Are you goin' to Sibley?" asked Mart, an anxious tone in his voice.
"I thought of it. Mother is going over to-night, and I rather guess I'llrun over with her. I've never been back, you see, since that night."
There was something ominous in her restraint, in her abstraction ofglance, and especially in her lack of appetite. She took little accountof her guests and seemed profoundly engaged upon some inwardcalculation. The beautifully spread table, which would have thrilled hera few short weeks ago, was powerless to even hold her gaze, and it wasLucius (deft and watchful) who brought the meal to a successfulconclusion--for the mother was awed and helpless in the presence of thequeenly daughter whom wealth had translated into something almost toohigh and shining for her to lay hand upon.
Miss Franklin did her best, but she was not a person of light anddancing intellectual feet, and she had never understood Haney, anyhow.Altogether it was a dismal and difficult half-hour.
When the coffee came on Bertha rose abruptly, saying, "Come out into thegarden, Mart, I've got something to say to you."
He obeyed with a sense of being called to account, and as they walkedslowly across the grass, which the light of a vivid orange sunset hadmade transcendently green, he glanced to the west with foreboding thatthis was the last time he should look upon the kingly peak at sunsettime. A flaming helmet of cloud shone upon the chief, and all the lesserheights were a deep, purple bank out of which each serrate summit rosewithout perspective, sharply set against the other like a monstroussilhouette of cardboard.
It should have been indeed a very sweet and odorous and peaceful hour.The murmur of the water from the fountain had the lulling sound of ahive of bees as they settle to rest, and to the suffering man it seemedimpossible that this, his cherished world, could change to the blackchaos which the loss of his adorable wife would bring upon it.
The settee was of wire, and curved so that when they had taken seatsthey faced each other, and the sight of her, so slender, so graceful, sowomanly, filled him with a fury of hate against the assassin who hadtorn him to pieces, making him old before his time, a cripple, impotent,inert, and scarred.
Bertha did not wait for him to begin, and her first words smote likebullets. "Mart, I'm going back to Sibley."
He looked at her with startled eyes--his brow wrinkling into sorrowfullines. "For how long?"
"I don't know--it may be a good while. I'm going away to think thingsover." Then she added, firmly, "I may not come back at all, Mart."
"For God's sake, don't say that, girlie! You don't mean that!" His voicewas husky with the agony that filled his throat. "I can't live withoutye now. Don't go--that way."
"I've _got_ to go, Mart. My mind ain't made up to this proposition. Idon't know about living with you any more."
"Why not? What's the matter, darlin'? Can't ye put up with me a littlelonger? I know I'm only a piece of a man--but tell me the truth. Can'tyou stay with me--as we are?"
She met him with the truth, but not the whole truth. "Everybody thinks Imarried you for your money, Mart--it ain't true--but the evidence is allagainst me. The only way to prove it a lie is to just naturally pull outand go back to work. I hate to leave, so long as you--feel about me asyou do--but, Mart, I'm 'bleeged' to do it. My mind is so stirred up--Idon't enjoy anything any more. I used to like everything in thehouse--all my nice things--the dresses and trinkets you gave me. It wasfun to run the kitchen--now it all goes against the grain some way. Factis, none of it seems mine."
His eyes were wet with tears as he said: "It's all my fault. It's allbecause of what I said last night--"
She stopped him. "No, it ain't that--it ain't your fault, it's mine.Something's gone wrong with _me_. I love this home, and my dogs andhorses and all--and yet I can't enjoy 'em any more. They don't belong tome--now that's the fact, Mart."
"I'll make 'em yours, darlin', I'll deed 'em all over to you."
"No, no, that won't do it. My mind has got to change. It's all in mymind. Don't you see? I've got to get away from the whole outfit andthink it all out. If I can come back I will, but you mustn't bank on myreturn, Mart. You mustn't be surprised if I settle on the other side ofthe range."
"I know," he said, sadly. "I know your reason and I don't blame you.'Tis not for an old derelict like me to hold you--but you must let megive you some of me money--'
tis of no value to me now. If ye do not letme share it with you me heart will break entirely."
"I haven't a right to a cent of it, Mart--I owe you more than I can everpay. No, I can't afford to take another cent."
In the pause which followed his face took on a look of new resolution."Bertie, I've had something happen to me to-day. I've learned somethingI should have known long since."
Her look of surprise deepened into dismay as he went on: "I know what'sthe matter with you, girlie. 'Tis after seeing Ben your face alwaysshines. You love him, Bertie--and I don't blame you--"
A carriage driving up to the gate brought diversion, and she sprang up,her face flushed, her eyes big and scared. "There comes Dr. Steele! I'dplumb forgot about his call."
"So had I," he answered, as he rose to meet his visitor.
Dr. Steele, a gray-haired, vigorous man, entered the gate and camehurriedly up the path, something fateful in his stride. He greeted themboth casually, smilelessly. "I've got to get that next train," heannounced, mechanically looking at his watch, "and that leaves me justtwenty minutes in which to thump you."
Bertha was in awe of this blunt, tactless man of science, and as theymoved towards the house listened in chilled silence while he continued:"Brent writes me that you were doing pretty well down by the lake. Whydidn't you stay? He says he advised you not to come back."
"This is me home," answered Haney, simply.
Lucius took Bertha's place at Mart's shoulder and the three men wentinto the library, leaving her to wait outside in anxious solitude. Therewas something in the doctor's manner which awed her, filled her with newconceptions, new duties.
Steele was one of these cold-blooded practitioners who do not believe inthe old-fashioned manner. "Cheery suggestion" was nonsense to him. Hisexamination was to Bertha, as to Haney, a dreaded ordeal. However, Brenthad advised it, and they had agreed to submit to it, and now here hewas, and upon his judgment she must rest.
For half an hour she waited in the hall, almost without moving, sofar-reaching did this verdict promise to be. Her anxiety deepened intofear as Steele came out of the room and walked rapidly towards her."He's a very sick man," he burst forth, irritably. "Get him away fromhere as quickly as you can--but don't excite him. Don't let him exerthimself at all till you reach a lower altitude. Keep him quiet andpeaceful, and don't let him clog himself up with starchy food--and aboveall, keep liquors away from him. He shouldn't have come back here atall. Brent warned him that he couldn't live up here. Slide him down tosea-level--if he'll go--and take care of him. His heart will run alongall right if he don't overtax it. He'll last for years at sea-level."
"He hates to leave--he says he won't leave," she explained.
The man of science shrugged his shoulders. "All right! He can take hischoice of roads"--he used an expressive gesture--"up or down. One leadsto the New Jerusalem and is short--as he'll find out if he stays here.Good-night! I must get that train."
"Wait a minute!" she called after him. "Is there anything I can do? Didyou leave any medicine?"
He turned and came back. "Yes, a temporary stimulant, but medicine is oflittle use. If you can get away to-morrow, you do it."
She stood a few minutes at the library door listening, waiting, and atlast (hearing no sound), opened the door decisively and went in.
Haney, ghastly pale, in limp dejection, almost in collapse, was seatedin an easy-chair, with Lucius holding a glass to his lips. He wasstripped to his undershirt and looked like a defeated, gray oldgladiator, fallen helpless in the arena, deserted by all the world savehis one faithful servant--and Bertha's heart was wrenched with a deeppang of pity and remorse as she gazed at him. The doctor's warningbecame a command. To desert him in returning health was bad enough, todesert him now was impossible.
Running to him, all her repugnance gone, all her tenderness awake, sheput her arm about his shoulders. "Oh, Mart, did he hurt you? Are youworse?"
He raised dim eyes to her, eyes that seemed already filmed with death'sopaque curtains, but bravely, slowly smiled. "I'm down but not out,darlin'. That brute of a doctor jolted me hard; I nearly took thecount--but I'm--still in the ring. Harness me up, Lucius. I'll show thatsawbones the power of mind over matter--the ould croaker!"
He recovered rapidly and was soon able to stagger to his feet. Then,with a return of his wonted humor, he stretched out his big right arm."I'm not to be put out of business by wan punch from an old puddin' likeSteele. I am not the 'stiff' he thinks. He had me agin the ropes, 'tistrue, but I'll surprise him yet."
"What did he say?" she persisted in demanding.
He shook his head. "That's bechune the two of us," he nodded warninglyat Lucius. "For one thing, he says me heart can't stand the highcountry. 'It's you to the deep valley,' says he."
Her decision was ready. "All right, then _we go_!"
He faced her quickly. "Did ye say WE, Bertie? Did ye say it,sweetheart?"
"I did, Mart--I've changed my mind once more. I'm goin' to stick byyou--till you're settled somewhere. I won't leave till you're better."
The tears blinded his eyes again, and his lips twitched. "You're God'sown angel, Bertie, but I don't deserve it. No, stay you here--I'm notworth your sacrifice. No, no, I can't have it! Stay here with Ben andlook after the mines."
Her face settled in lines that were not girlish as she repeated: "It'sup to me to go, and I'm going, Mart! I didn't realize how bad it was foryou here--I didn't, really!"
"It's all wrong, I'm afraid--all wrong," he answered, "but the Lordknows I need you worse than ever."
"Shut off on all that!" she commanded. "Lucius, help me take him outsidewhere the air is better."
Mart put the man away. "One is enough," he said, brusquely; and so,leaning on his strong, young wife, he went slowly out into the duskwhere the mother and Miss Franklin were sitting, quite unconscious ofthe deep significance of the doctor's visit. "Not a word to them,"warned Haney--"at any rate, not to-night."
They were now both facing the pain of instantly abandoning all thesebeautiful and ministering material conditions which money had calledround them. It seemed so foolish, so incredibly silly--this mandate ofthe physician. Could any place on the earth be more healthful, morehelpful to human life than this wide-porched, cool-halled house, thisgarden, this air? What difference could a few thousand feet make on theheart's action?
The thought of putting away all hope of seeing Ben Fordyce came at lastto overtop all Bertha's other regrets as the lordly peak overrode theclouds--and yet she was determined to go. Very quietly she told hermother that she had decided to put off her visit to Sibley, and at 10:30she drove down to the station and sent her away composedly. At themoment she was glad to get her out of the town, so that she should notshare in the grief of next day's departure. To Miss Franklin she thenconfided the doctor's warning, and together they began to pack.
Haney, with lowering brow and bleeding heart, went to his bed denouncinghimself. "I have no right to her. 'Tis the time for me to step out. Ifthe doctor knows his business, 'tis only a matter of a few weeks,anyhow, when my seat in the game will be empty. Why not stay here in meown home and so end it all comfortably?"
This was so simple--and yet he spent most of the night fighting thedesire to live out those years the doctor had promised him. It was sosweet to sit opposite that dear girl-face of a morning, to feel her handon his hair--now and again. "She's only a child--she can wait ten yearsand still be young." But then came the thought: "'Tis harder for her towait than it is for me to go. 'Tis mere selfishness. What can I do inthe world? I have no interest in the game outside of her. No, Mart, theconsumptive is right, 'tis up to you to slip away, genteel and quiet, sothat your widow will not be troubled by anny gossip."
To use the pistol was easy, the handle fitted his hand, but to die sothat no shock or shame would come to her, that was his problem. "I willnot leave her the widow of a suicide," he resolved. "I must go so sly,so casual-like, that no one will be able to point the finger at her orBen."
&nb
sp; "Can I visit the mine once more?" he had asked Steele. "No," the doctorhad replied. "To go a thousand feet higher than this would be fatal."
As he mused on this he began to feel the wonder of the body in which hedwelt. That a machine so bulky and so gross could be so delicate that achange in the pressure of the atmosphere might be fatal astonished him."I'll soon know," he said, "for I cross the range to-morrow."
The dark shadow of the unseen world, once so dim and far, now roseformidable as a mountain on the horizon of his thought. It was sodifficult to leave the house in which he had found peace and a strangekind of happiness (the happiness of a soldier home on parole,convalescent and content under the apple-trees)--it was very hard--andthe tenderness, the care, to which his little wife had returned andwhich filled his heart with sweetness, added to his irresolution.
He fell into deep sleep at last, still in debate with himself.
He woke quietly next morning, like a child, and as his eyes took in thebig room in which he had slept for a year, surrounded by such luxury ashe had never dreamed of having (even for a day), life seemed very easyof continuance, and Steele a mistaken egotist, a foul destroyer of men'speace; but as he rose to dress and saw himself in the glass, the figurehe presented decided his hand. Was this Mart Haney--this unshaven,haggard, and wrinkled old man?
Leaning close to the mirror, he studied his face as if it were a mask.Deep creases ran down on either side of the nose, giving to his gaze themorose expression of an aged, slavering mastiff. His nerveless cheeksdepended. His neck was stringy. Puffy sacs lay under the eyes, and theashen pallor of his skin told how the heart was laboring to maintainlife's red current in its round.
As he looked his decision was taken. "Mart, the game has run mostly inyour favor for twenty-five years--but 'tis agin ye now. The quiet oldgentleman with the bony grin holds the winning fist. Lay down your cardsand quit the board this day, like a man. Why drag on like this for ayear or two more, a burden to yourself and a curse to her."
And yet, though crippled and gray, death was somehow more dreadful tohim at this moment than when in his remorseless and powerful youngmanhood he had looked again and again into the murderous eyes of thosewho were eager to shed his blood. He shivered at the thought of the darkriver, as those whose limbs having grown pale and thin dread the coldwind of the night.
"I wonder is the mother over there waitin' fer me?" he half whispered."If ye are, your soul will be floating far above me in the light, whileI--burdened by me sins--must wallow below in purgatory. But I go, andthe divil take his toll."
There was not much preparation to be made. His will was written, fullyattested, and filed in a safe place. His small personal belongings hewas willing to leave in Bertha's hands. It was hardest of all to vanishwithout a word of good-bye to any soul, but this was essential to hisplan. "No one must suspect design in me departure," he muttered. "I mustdrop out--_by accident_. I must cut loose during the day, too--no nighttrips for me--in a way that will look natural. If Steele knows hisbusiness, Mart Haney will go out of the game on the summit, if not, 'tiseasy for a cripple to stagger and fall from a rock. Thank God, I leaveher as I found her--small credit to me in that."
Lucius, coming in soon after, found his master unexpectedly cheerful andvigorous.
In answer to his query, the gambler said: "I take me medicine, Lucius,like a Cheyenne. 'Tis all in the game. Some man must lose in order thatanother may win. The wheel rolls and the board is charged in favor ofthe bank. Damn the man that squeals when the cards fall fair."
Money Magic: A Novel Page 27
