II
When Magdalena returned home she spread her new garments on the bed andregarded them with much satisfaction. Helena had expended no lessthought on these than on her own, and none whatever on the meagreness ofDon Roberto's check. There was a brown tweed with a dash of scarlet, acalling-frock of fawn-coloured camel's hair and silk, a dinner-gown ofpale blue with bunches of scarlet poppies, and a miraculous coming-outgown of ivory gauze, the deepest shade that could be called white. Andbesides two charming hats there was a large box of presents: fans, silkstockings, gloves, handkerchiefs, and soft indescribable things for thehouse toilette. And her trousseau was also to come from Paris! DonRoberto, in his delight at having secured Trennahan, had informed hisdaughter that she should have a trousseau fit for a princess; or, onsecond thoughts, for a Yorba.
Magdalena opened a drawer and took out another of Helena's presents,--ajewelled dagger. While Colonel Belmont and his daughter were in Madridthere was a sale of a spendthrift noble's treasures. They had gone tosee the famous collection, and among other things the dagger was shownthem.
"It belonged to a lady of the great house of Yorba," they were told."She always wore it in her hair, and all men worshipped her. The oldwomen said it was the dagger that made men love her, that it wasbewitched; there were other women as beautiful. But men died for thisone and no other. One day she lost the dagger, and after that men lovedher no longer. They ran and threw themselves at the feet of the womenthat had hated her. She laughed in scorn and said that she wanted nosuch love, and that when one returned--he had gone as Ambassador to theCourt of France--he would show the world that his love did not skulk inthe hilt of a dagger. People marvelled at this because she had floutedher very skirts in his face, had not thrown him so much as the humblestflower of hope. When they heard he was coming, they held their breath tosee if the magnet had been in the dagger for him too. He arrived in thenight, and in the morning she was found in her bed with the dagger tothe hilt in her heart. They accused him, and he would not say yes or no,but they could prove nothing and let him go. And when he died the daggerwas found among his possessions. No one could ever say how he got it.But it has remained in his family until to-day--and now it goes where?"
"To a Yorba!" announced Helena to Magdalena, as she repeated this yarn."I made up my mind to that, double quick! It may or may not be true, andshe may or may not have been your ancestress; but it would make a jollypresent all the same, so I ordered papa to buy it if all Madrid bidagainst him. Of course he did what I told him, and I want you to wear itthe night of the party."
Magdalena regarded it with great awe. She was by no means withoutsuperstition. Would it bring men to her feet? Not that she wanted themnow, but she would like one evening of intoxicating success, just forthe sake of her old ambitions: they had been little less than entitiesat one time; for old friendship's sake she would like to give them theirdue. She did wish that she felt a thrill as she touched it,--a vibrationof the attenuated thread which connected one of her soul's particleswith that other soul which, perhaps, had contributed its quota to hermaking. But she felt nothing, and replaced the dagger with some chagrin.
She put away the clothes and sat down before the fire to think ofTrennahan. He had gone East at the summons of his mother, who hadinvested a large sum of money unwisely,--a habit she had. He might bedetained some weeks. Magdalena, on the whole, was glad to have him gonefor a while. She wanted to think about him undisturbed, and she wantedto get used to Helena and her exactions while his demands were abstract:she loved so hard that she must rub the edge off her delight in havingHelena again, or the two would tear her in twain.
She found the sadness of missing him very pleasurable,--feeling sure ofhis return; also the painful thrill every morning when the postmanknocked. And to sit in retrospect of the summer was delicious. There mayhave been flaws in its present; there were none in its past. Herambition to write was dormant. A woman's brain in love is like a gardenplanted with one flower. There may be room for a weed or two, but fornone other of the floral kingdom.
Trennahan had given her more than one glimpse of his past, and it hadappalled without horrifying or repulsing her. Her sympathy had beenswift and unerring. She realised that Trennahan had come to Californiaat a critical point in his moral life, and that his completeregeneration depended on his future happiness. He had pointed this outas a weakness, but the fact was all that concerned her. Whatever miststhere might be between her perceptions and the great abstractions oflife, love had sharpened all that love demanded and pointed themstraight at all in Trennahan that he wished her to know. She was awed bythe tremendous responsibility, but confident that she was equal to it;for did she not love him wholly, and had he not chosen her, by the lightof his great experience, out of all women? She would walk barefooted onArctic snows or accept any other ordeal that came her way, but she wouldmake him happy.
Suddenly she remembered that she had received a brief dictated note fromher aunt that morning, asking her to pack and send to Santa Barbara apainting of the Virgin which hung in her old apartments: she wished topresent it to the Mission. Mr. Polk had closed his house a year beforeand taken up his permanent abode with the Yorbas, but his Chinesemajor-domo was in charge. Magdalena reflected that it was not necessaryto bother her uncle, who had seemed ill and restless of late; theChinaman could attend to the matter.
She went downstairs and through the gardens to the adjoining house. Theweeds grew high behind it; the windows were dusty; the side door atwhich she rang needed painting. The Chinaman answered in his own goodtime. He looked a little sodden; doubtless he employed much of his largeleisure with the opium pipe. Magdalena bade him follow her to her aunt'sapartments. As she ascended the imposing staircase she withdrew her handhastily from the banister.
"Why do you not keep things clean?" she asked disgustedly.
"Whattee difflence? Nobody come," he replied with the philosophy of hiskind.
The very air was musty and dusty. The black walnut doors, closed andlocked, looked like the sealed entrances to so many vaults. The sound ofa rat gnawing echoed through the hollow house. It seemed what it was,this house,--the sarcophagus of a beautiful woman's youth and hopes.
For a year or two after the house was built Mrs. Polk had givenmagnificent entertainments, scattering her husband's dollars in a mannerthat made his thin nostrils twitch, and without the formality of hisconsent. Magdalena paused at a bend of the stair and tried to conjure upa brilliant throng in the dark hall below, the great doors of theparlours rolled back, the rooms flooded with the soft light of manycandles; her aunt, long, willowy, of matchless grace, her marvellouseyes shooting scorn at the Americans crowding about her, standingagainst the gold-coloured walls in the blood-red satin she had shownonce to her small admirers. But the vision would not rise. There wasonly a black well below, a rat crunching above.
She reached the door of her aunt's private apartments on the secondfloor and entered. She stepped back amazed. There was no dust here, nomusty air, no dimness of window. A fire burned on the hearth. The gaswas lit and softly shaded. The vases on the mantel were full of flowers.On one table was a basket of fruit; on another were the illustratedperiodicals.
"Mrs. Polk is here?" she said to Ah Sin.
"No, missee."
"She is expected, then? How odd--"
"Donno, missee. Evey day, plenty days, one, two, thlee weeks, me fixeerooms all same this."
"But why?"
"Kin sabbee, missee. Mr. Polk tellee me, and me do allee same whattee hesay."
Magdalena's lips parted, and her breath came short.
She gave the necessary instructions about the picture. The Chinamanfollowed her down the stairs and opened the door. As she was passingout, she turned suddenly and said to him,--
"It is not necessary to tell Mr. Polk about this, nor that I have beenhere. He does not like to be bothered about little things."
"Allight, missee."
The Californians Page 32
