CHAPTER I
_The Closed Door Opens_
In his aimless wanderings around Boston that night Wilson passed thegirl twice, and each time, though he caught only a glimpse of herlithe form bent against the whipping rain, the merest sketch of hersomber features, he was distinctly conscious of the impress of herpersonality. As she was absorbed by the voracious horde which shuffledinterminably and inexplicably up and down the street, he felt a senseof loss. The path before him seemed a bit less bright, the night a bitmore barren. And although in the excitement of the eager life abouthim he quickly reacted, he did not turn a corner but he found himselfpeering beneath the lowered umbrellas with a piquant sense of hope.
Wilson's position was an unusual one for a theological student. He waswandering at large in a strange city, homeless and penniless, and yethe was not unhappy in this vagabondage. Every prowler in the dark is,consciously or unconsciously, a mystic. He is in touch with theunknown; he is a member of a universal cabal. The unexpected, theimpossible lurk at every corner. He brushes shoulders with strangethings, though often he feels only the lightest breath of theirpassing, and hears only a rustle like that of an overturned leaf. Buthe knows, either with a little shudder and a startled glance about orwith quickened pulse and eager waiting.
This he felt, and something, too, of that fellowship which existsbetween those who have no doors to close behind them. For such standshoulder to shoulder facing the barrier Law, which bars them from thefood and warmth behind the doors. To those in a house the Law isscarcely more than an abstraction; to those without it is a tyrannicalreality. The Law will not even allow a man outside to walk up and downin the gray mist enjoying his own dreams without looking upon him withsuspicion. The Law is a shatterer of dreams. The Law is as eager as agossip to misinterpret; and this puts one, however innocent, in anaggressive mood.
Looking up at the sodden sky from beneath a dripping slouch hat,Wilson was keenly alive to this. Each rubber-coated officer he passedaffected him like an insolent intrusion. He brought home all themediocrity of the night, all the shrilling gray, all the hunger, allthe ache. These fellows took the color out of the picture, leavingonly the cold details of a photograph. They were the men who swungopen the street doors at the close of a matinee, admitting the stalesounds of the road, the sober light of the late afternoon.
This was distinctly a novel viewpoint for Wilson. As a student he hadmost sincerely approved of the Law; as a citizen of the world behindthe closed doors he had forgotten it. Now with a trace of uneasinesshe found himself resenting it.
A month ago Wilson had thought his life mapped out beyond thepossibility of change, except in its details; he would finish hiscourse at the school, receive a church, and pursue with moderatesuccess his task of holding a parish up to certain ideals. The deathof the uncle who was paying his way, following his bankruptcy, broughtWilson to a halt from even this slow pace. At first he had beenstunned by this sudden order of Fate. His house-bleached fellows hadgathered around in the small, whitewashed room where he had had somany tough struggles with Greek roots and his Hebrew grammar. Theyoffered him sympathy and such slight aid as was theirs. Minorscholarships and certain drudging jobs had been open to him,--theopportunity to shoulder his way to the goal of what he had thought hismanifest destiny. But that night after they had gone he locked thedoor, threw wide his window, and wandered among the stars. There wassomething in the unpathed purple between the spear points which calledto him. He breathed a fresher air and thrilled to keener dreams.Strange faces came to him, smiling at him, speaking dumbly to him,stirring unknown depths within him. He was left breathless, strainingtowards them.
The day after the school term closed he had packed his extensionvalise, bade good-bye to his pitying classmates, and taken the trainto Boston. He had only an indefinite object in his mind: he had oncemet a friend of his uncle's who was in the publishing business; and hedetermined to seek him on the chance of securing through him work ofsome sort. He learned that the man had sold out and moved to the West.Then followed a week of hopeless search for work until his small hoardhad dwindled away to nothing. To-day he found himself without a cent.
He had answered the last advertisement just as the thousand windowssprang to renewed life. It was a position as shipping clerk in a largedepartment store. After waiting an hour to see the manager, adouble-chinned ghoul with the eyes of a pig, he had been dismissedwith a glance.
"Thank you," said Wilson.
"For what?" growled the man.
"For closing this door," answered Wilson, with a smile.
The fellow shifted the cigar stub which he gripped with yellow teethbetween loose lips.
"What you mean?"
"Oh, you wouldn't understand--not in a thousand years. Good-day."
The store was dry and warm. He had wandered about it gazing at thepretty colored garments, entranced by the life and movement about him,until the big iron gates were closed. Then he went out upon thethoroughfare, glad to brush shoulders with the home-goers, glad tofeel one with them in the brilliant pageant of the living. And alwayshe searched for the face he had met twice that day.
The lights glowed mellow in the mist and struck out shimmering goldenbars on the asphalt. The song of shuffling feet and the accompanimentof the clattering hansoms rang excitedly in his ears. He felt that hewas touching the points of a thousand quick romances. The flash of asmile, a quick step, were enough to make him press on eagerly in thepossibility that it was here, perhaps, the loose end of his own lifewas to be taken up.
As the crowd thinned away and he became more conspicuous to theprowling eyes which seemed to challenge him, he took a path across thePublic Gardens, and so reached the broader sweep of the avenue wherethe comfortable stone houses snuggle shoulder to shoulder. The lowerwindows were lighted behind drawn shades. Against the stubborn stoneangles the light shone out with appealing warmth. Every window waslike an invitation. Occasionally a door opened, emitting a path ofyellow light to the dripping walk, framing for a second a man or awoman; sometimes a man and a woman. When they vanished the dark alwaysseemed to settle down upon him more stubbornly.
Then as the clock boomed ten he saw her again. Through the mist he sawher making her uncertain way along the walk across the street,stopping every now and then to glance hesitatingly at the lightedwindows, pause, and move on again. Suddenly, from the shadow of thearea way, Wilson saw an officer swoop down upon her like a hawk. Thewoman started back with a little cry as the officer placed his handupon her arm. Wilson saw this through the mist like a shadow pictureand then he crossed the road. As he approached them both looked up,the girl wistfully, the officer with an air of bravado. Wilson facedthe vigorous form in the helmet and rubber overcoat.
"Well," growled the officer, "what you doin' round here?"
"Am I doing anything wrong?"
"That's wot I'm goneter find out. Yer've both been loafin' here fer anhour."
"No," answered Wilson, "I haven't been loafing."
"Wot yer doin' then?"
"Living."
Wilson caught an eager look from the shadowed face of the girl. Hemet the other eyes which peered viciously into his with frankaggressiveness. He never in his life had felt toward any fellow-creatureas he felt towards this man. He could have reached for his throat.He drew his coat collar more closely about his neck and unbuttoned thelower buttons to give his legs freer play. The officer moved back alittle, still retaining his grip on the girl's arm.
"Well," he said, "yer better get outern here now, or I'll run you in,too."
"No," answered Wilson, "you'll not run in either of us."
"I won't, eh? Move on lively----"
"You go to the devil," said Wilson, with quiet deliberation.
He saw the night stick swing for him, and, throwing his full weightagainst the officer, he lifted his arm and swung up under the chin.Then he seized the girl's hand.
"Run," he gasped, "run for all you're worth!"
They ran side by side and darted
down the first turn. They heard thesharp oath, the command, and then the heavy beat of the steps behindthem. Wilson kept the girl slightly ahead of him, pushing andsteadying her, although he soon found that she was quite as fleet ashe himself was. She ran easily, from the hips, like one who has beenmuch out of doors.
Their breath came in gasps, but they still heard the heavy stepsbehind them and pushed on. As they turned another corner to the leftthey caught the sharp bark of a pistol and saw the spat of a bullet onthe walk to the right of them. But this street was much darker, andso, while there was the added danger from stumbling, they felt safer.
"He's getting winded," shouted Wilson to her. "Keep on."
Soon they came to a blank wall, but to the left they discovered analley. A whiff of salt air beat against their faces, and Wilson knewthey were in the market road which led along the water front in therear of the stone houses. He had come here from the park on hot days.There were but few lights, and these could not carry ten yards throughthe mist. Pressing on, he kept at her back until she began to totter,and then he paused.
"A little further," he said. "We'll go on tiptoe."
They stole on, pressing close to the wall which bounded the small backyards, making no more noise than shadows. Finally the girl fell backagainst him.
"You--you go on!" she begged.
Wilson drew her to his side and pressed back against one of the woodendoors, holding his breath to listen. He could barely make out thesodden steps and--they were receding.
The mist beat in damply upon their faces, but they could not feel itin the joy of their new-found freedom. Before them all was black, theroad indistinguishable save just below the pale lights which werescarcely more than pin pricks in black velvet. But the barrier behindseemed to thrust them out aggressively.
Struggling to regain his breath, Wilson found his blood running freerand his senses more alert than for years. The night surrounding himhad suddenly become his friend. It became pregnant with newmeaning,--levelling walls, obliterating beaten man paths, cancellingrusty duties. In the dark nothing existed save souls, and souls wereequal. And the world was an uncharted sea.
Then in the distance he detected the piercing light from a darklantern moving in a circle, searching every nook and cranny. He knewwhat that meant; this road was like a blind alley, with no outlet.They had been trapped. He glanced at the girl huddling at his feetand then straightened himself.
"They sha'n't!" he cried. "They sha'n't!"
He ran his hand along the door to the latch. It was locked; but hedrew back a few steps and threw his full weight against it and felt itgive a trifle.
"They'll hear us," warned the girl.
Though the impact jarred him till he felt dizzy, he stumbled forwardagain; and yet again. The lock gave and, thrusting the girl in, heswung the door to behind them.
They found themselves in a small, paved yard. Fumbling about this,Wilson discovered in the corner several pieces of joist, and these hepropped against the door. Then he sank to the ground exhausted.
In spite of his bruised body, his tired legs, and aching head, he felta flush of joy; he was no longer at bay. A stout barrier stood betweenhim and his pursuers. And when he felt a warm, damp hand seeking hishe closed over it with a new sense of victory. He was now not only afighter, but a protector. He had not yet been able to see enough ofthe girl's features to form more than the vaguest conception of whatshe was. Yet she was not impersonal; he felt that he could have foundher again in a crowd of ten thousand. She was a frailer creature whohad come to him for aid.
He gripped her fingers firmly as the muffled sound of voices came totheir ears. The officers had evidently passed and were now returning,balked in their search. Pausing before the little door, theydiscussed the situation with the interest of hunters baffled of theirgame.
"Faith, Murphy, they _must_ have got over this wall somewhere."
"Naw, they couldn't. There's glass atop the lingth of ut, an' thereisn't a door wot isn't locked."
"I dunno. I dunno. This wan here----"
He seized the latch and shook the door, kicking it stoutly with hisheavy boots.
Inside, Wilson had risen to his feet, armed with a short piece of thejoist, his lips drawn back so tight as to reveal his teeth. Wilson hadnever struck a man in his life before to-night, but he knew that ifthat door gave he should batter until he couldn't stand. He would hithard--mercilessly. He gripped the length of wood as though it were atwo-handled scimitar, and waited.
"D' ye mind now that it's a bit loose?" said Murphy.
He put his knee against it and shoved, but the joist held firm. Theman didn't know that he was playing with the certainty of a crushedskull.
"Aw, come on!" broke in the other, impatiently. "They'll git tired andcrawl out. We can wait for thim at th' ind. Faith, ut's bitter cowldhere."
The man and the girl heard their steps shuffle off, and even caughtthe swash of their knees against the stiff rubber coats, so near theypassed. The girl, who had been staring with strained neck andmotionless eyes at the tall figure of the waiting man at her side,drew a long breath and laid her hand upon his knee.
"They've gone," she said.
Still he did not move, but stood alert, suspicious, his long fingerstwined around his weapon, fearing with half-savage passion some newruse.
"Don't stand so," she pleaded. "They've gone."
The stick dropped from his hand, and he took off his hat to let therain beat upon his hot head.
She crowded closer to his side, shivering with the cold, and yet moreat peace than she had been that weary, long day. The world, which hadstretched to fearsome distances, shrank again to the compass of thissmall yard, and a man stood between her and the gate to fight off theforces which had surged in upon her. She was mindful of nothing else.It was enough that she could stand for even a moment in the shelter ofhis strength; relax senses which discovered danger only to shrinkback, powerless to ward it off. A woman without her man was ashelpless as a soldier without his arms.
The rain soaked through to her skin, and she was faint with hunger;yet she was content to wait by his side in silence, in the fullconfidence that he with his man strength would stride over theseemingly impossible and provide. She was stripped to the naked womanheart of her, forced back to the sheer clinging instinct. She wassimplified to the merely feminine as he was to the merely masculine.No other laws governed them but the crude necessity to live--infreedom.
Before them loomed the dripping wall, beyond that the road which ledto the waiting fists, beyond that the wind-swept, gray waves; behindthem rose the blank house with its darkened windows.
"Well," he said, "we must go inside."
He crossed the yard to one of the ground-floor windows and tried toraise it. As he expected, it was locked. He thrust his elbow through apane just above the catch and raised it. He climbed in and told her towait until he opened the door. It seemed an hour before he reappeared,framed in the dark entrance. He held out his hand to her.
"Come in," he bade her.
She obeyed, moving on tiptoe.
The Web of the Golden Spider Page 2
