The Last Woman

by Ross Beeckman

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE REASON WHY

  Roderick Duncan traveled westward in a special train made up of hisown private car, a regular Pullman, and a diner. With his valet forcompany, Duncan constituted the personnel of the first of these; thesecond was occupied by the Reverend Doctor Moreley, his wife and twodaughters. The reverend gentleman was aware of a part of the purposeof that trip; the members of his family were yet to be told of it. Alavish use of the magician, Money, had prepared everything in advancefor Duncan, and he had now only to carry out the arrangements he hadmade. There was a slight delay in making the start, but after that allthings moved as smoothly as possible. Ultimately, the special trainwas sidetracked at a point that was within a few miles of the houseand outbuildings of Three-Star ranch.

  The state of Montana held no finer ranch and range, no better or moreup-to-date buildings, no better outfit in all respects, thanThree-Star. The house, set well up along the side of a hill, facedtoward the south, and commanded a view which had been the pride of itsformer owners, before Richard Morton bought up all the rangeland inthat locality and converted it into one huge estate of his own. Abroad veranda extended from end to end, at the front, and from thatvantage point miles upon miles of rich pasture could be seen, dottedwith grazing thousands of cattle. Trees, set out with a view to thefuture, by the creators of the ranch, imparted an aspect of homelycomfort, of seclusion, peace and contentment to it all.

  Just at sundown when Patricia Langdon came through the wide door andstepped out upon the veranda toward the broad flight of steps whichled down to the flowered inclosure in front of the house, she stoppedsuddenly, her right hand flew toward her throat, and her face, flushedand angry until that instant, went as pale as death itself. She gaspedand caught her breath, swayed a second where she stood, and then drewherself upright again; and she stood straight and tall and brave, faceto face with Roderick Duncan who appeared at the top step at theinstant when Patricia advanced toward it.

  For a space, neither one uttered a word, or made another gesture,save that, in the first instant, Roderick raised his hat in silentsalutation, and now stood with it held in his hand.

  Patricia's first act was to cast a half-furtive and whollyapprehensive glance over her shoulder, toward the doorway throughwhich she had just passed. Then, she sprang forward like a young fawnand darted down the steps toward the pathway.

  "Come with me," she threw back at him. "There must be an interview,but it cannot be held here. Follow me."

  Duncan obeyed her, but without haste; and she led him into a pathwayamong the trees, soon emerging upon an open space in the center ofwhich a rustic pavilion had been erected. It was overgrown by a riotof climbing vines; an inclosure with windows at every side of it,occupied the center of the space beneath the roof, and inside theinclosure were all the evidences of feminine occupancy. Wicker chairsand chairs of willow, rugs, hassocks, cushions, pillows withembroidered covers, littered the place. One could discern at a glancethat it was a place of retreat and rest for a woman of taste. Inreality, it was Patricia Langdon's place of refuge--at least, she soregarded it.

  She did not speak again until she had mounted the steps which led upto it; nor did the man who followed her. But then, when they werebeneath the roof of the pavilion, she turned about and faced him.

  "Now," she said, "why are you here? Why have you dared to come to thisplace, in search of me?" She spoke without emphasis, but the veryabsence of all emotion gave her words the more weight and power.

  Duncan stood tall and straight before her, calmly facing her. If herface showed no emotion, now that she had regained control overherself, neither did his. Before he replied to her question, he took afolded paper from the breast-pocket of his coat, and held it in hishand.

  "I have a document here, which bears your signature, and mine," hesaid, then. "It recites the terms of a certain contract which you haveagreed to fulfill. I am here to insist that you carry out the terms ofthis agreement. It is time now, for action on your part."

  Patricia gasped. She took a single step backward, and rested one handupon the top of a willow armchair. Her composure seemed about toforsake her utterly, but by a great effort she controlled herself,lifting her free hand to her throat as if something were choking her.

  "It--is--impossible--now," she muttered, at last; and she swayed whereshe stood, as if she might fall.

  "Be seated, Patricia," he said, using her name for the first time;and, when she had complied, he passed around the chair until he stoodbehind her. It was a delicate act on his part--a consideration for herfeelings which might not have been expected, under all thecircumstances. He thought he understood how terrible this interviewmust be to her, and he did not wish to compel her to face him, whileit endured. Patricia shivered when he passed her; otherwise she gaveno sign. "It is not impossible," he went on, without perceptiblepause. "It has never been impossible; it can never be so. On thecontrary, it is imperative; more than ever imperative, now."

  She shivered again, and did not reply when he paused. He continued:

  "Patricia Langdon, you are not one to refuse the terms of a writtencontract which you have signed and sealed with a full knowledge of itsmeaning, particularly when the other party to it insists upon itsfulfillment. I am the other party to this contract, and I do insistupon its complete fulfillment. You are the last woman in the worldto--"

  "I am the last woman in the world--the very last!" she interruptedhim, vehemently, but she did not turn her head toward him. Hecontinued as if he had not heard her:

  "--to repudiate the distinct terms of an agreement you have knowinglymade."

  "I have already repudiated them."

  "No, you have not. And you shall not."

  "Shall not?"

  "No."

  "Do--do you mean that you would force me to a compliance with theconditions of that agreement you hold in your hand?"

  "Yes--if such a course is necessary."

  "But you cannot! You cannot!"

  "Yes, I can; and I will, Patricia."

  "Don't speak my name!" she cried out, hotly. "Don't utter it again!Don't you dare to do so! Don't you dare!"

  "Very well."

  "How will you force me? You cannot do it."

  "There is a penalty attached to all legally drawn contracts," he lied,glibly enough; and, realizing that she was startled by what he hadalready said, he did not hesitate to add more to it. "I have comehere prepared to insist that you fulfill your obligation. You knowthat I am not one to relent, once I have set my course. There areofficers of the law in this county and state, as well as within thecounty and state where you made the contract." He stopped a momentwhen she shrank visibly in her chair, for he was about to say a reallycruel thing. He would not have said it, had he not deemed it entirelynecessary, in order to coerce her to his will; but he went on,relentlessly: "If you make it needful to do so, I shall not hesitateto send officers here, to take you before a court, there to relate whyyou will not carry out the conditions of your contract."

  Duncan expected that Patricia would fly into a rage, at this; hethought she would leap to her feet, confront him, and defy him. Helooked for a tirade of rage, of abuse, or of despair; or, failingthese, for an outburst of pleading on her part that he would relent.

  There was no evidence of any of these emotions. Indeed, for a momentit seemed as if she had not heard him, so still did she sit in herchair, so utterly unmoved did she appear to be by the statement he hadmade.

  If, at that moment he had stepped around in front of her and lookedinto her face, he would have been amazed by what he saw. He would haveseen great tears welling in her eyes, held in check by her longlashes; he would have seen a near approach to a smile behind thosetears, although she was unconscious of that, herself; he would havenoticed that she caught her breath again, but not in the same manner,nor from the same cause that had led to the like effort, earlier intheir interview. When, at last, she did reply to him, it was in afar-away, uncertain voice, so soft, and so like
the Patricia of quietand sympathetic moods, that Roderick was startled, and he foundhimself compelled to hold his own spirit in check, lest he shouldforget the studied deportment he had determined upon for the occasion.

  "Why do you insist upon it?" she asked him. He replied, withouthesitation--and coldly:

  "Because I love you."

  "Because ... you ... love ... me," she said, slowly, and so softlythat he barely heard the words. They did not form a question; theycomprised a statement, like his own.

  "Yes," he said.

  "But"--she hesitated--"there is another reason."

  "Yes. We need not dwell upon that."

  "Nevertheless, I should like to hear it."

  "No."

  "You will not tell me what it is?"

  "It is not necessary. It is begging the question."

  "You wish to give me the protection of your name. I think Iunderstand."

  "Have it so, if you wish."

  "You wish to make me your wife. I am beginning to comprehend you,Roderick." The name slipped out, unconsciously, on her part, althoughhe was tragically aware of it. "Have you remembered--have you thoughtof--are you quite aware of what you are doing?"

  "Quite. I have remembered everything, thought of all things."

  "And your reason for all this is--what? Tell me again, please."

  "You make my task harder," he said, coldly. "My reason is that I loveyou."

  Again, Patricia was silent for a time. Then:

  "How do you propose to carry out this chivalrous conduct? Who willmarry us, if I agree to your absurd proposal?"

  "It is not absurd. It is the only logical thing for you to do. DoctorMoreley will marry us. He came with me, in my special train." Shecaught at the arms of the chair, and clung to them. "Mrs. Moreley,with Evelyn and Kate, accompany him. It is a short ride to where thecars are sidetracked, waiting. You can ride there in the morning--orgo there with me this evening, if you will."

  "Do ... they ... know--?"

  "They know nothing save the one fact that we are to be married, thatDoctor Moreley is to perform the ceremony, and that the members of hisfamily are to act as witnesses. Nobody knows anything at all, savethat. Nobody ever shall know. Your absence from New York hasoccasioned no suspicion--save only in the mind of one man, Radnor. Thefact of our marriage will be published and broadcast at once, and evenhis suspicions will be stilled."

  "And ... afterward ... after we are married--what?"

  "We will discuss that question after the ceremony."

  "No. We will discuss it now. Afterward--what?"

  "You will be my wife, then. It is right and proper that you shouldreturn to New York, that you should live in my house. I shall take youthere, and install you, properly. I shall insist upon that much.There is no way for you to escape the fulfillment of your contract.When you are my wife, you will have entered upon another contractwhich you will also keep. The contract to honor and obey."

  "To love, honor, and obey," she corrected him.

  "I shall not insist upon the first of those terms. The second one Ishall endeavor to merit. The third one, I shall insist upon. Now, whenwill you--"

  "Wait. You are sure that you do this because you love me?"

  "Yes."

  "And you are ready to sacrifice your name, your life, to a creaturewho, according to your view of conditions, should be the very lastwoman to bear your name--to become your wife? You do this because youlove me? It must be a great love, indeed, Roderick, to compel you tosuch an act--oh it must have been a very great love, indeed."

  "It is a great love; and there will be no sacrifice: there will besatisfaction."

  She arose from the chair, but stood as she was, with her back towardhim.

  "You have forgotten one thing," she said, gently.

  "I have forgotten nothing."

  She raised her right arm, and pointed toward the house, through thetrees.

  "You have forgotten the man, in there," she said, no less gently. Itwas his turn to shudder, but he repeated with doggedness in his tone:

  "I have forgotten nothing."

  "You mean to deal with him--afterward?"

  "Yes."

  "How? If I consent to all that you have asked, will you deal withhim--gently?"

  "Can you plead for him, even now, when--?"

  "Hush! Answer my question, if you please."

  "I will deal with him more gently than he deserves. I promise youthat."

  "I shall be satisfied with that promise." She turned about and facedhim, and there was a smile on her lips, now, although Roderickentirely misunderstood the cause of it. He drew backward, farther awayfrom her. But she followed after him, holding out one hand for him totake, and persisting in the effort when he refused to see it. Therewere tears under her lashes again, but she was smiling through them;and then, while she followed him, and he still sought to avoid her,Patricia lost all control over herself. She half-collapsed, half-threwherself upon the chair again, and buried her face in her hands,sobbing.

  "Don't Patricia; please, don't," he said to her, brokenly. "You makeit much harder for both of us. This has been a terrible scene for youto pass through, I know, but after a little you will realize itswisdom--and the full justice of the cause I plead."

  She controlled herself. She started to her feet.

  "Come with me," she cried out to him; and then, before he could stopher, she darted away out of his reach, flew down the steps, and alongthe pathway, toward the house. He followed. There was nothing else forhim to do. She waited for him at the top of the steps where he hadfirst seen her; and, when he would have detained her, she eluded him asecond time, and fled through the doorway, into the wide hall of thehouse--of Richard Morton's dwelling place.

  "Come," she called after him again; and again he followed.