CHAPTER VIII
A LAST REVOLT
It proved a restless day, and a sufficiently unpleasant one, for Mr.Hampton. For a number of years he had been diligently training himselfin the school of cynicism, endeavoring to persuade himself that he didnot in the least care what others thought, nor how his own careerended; impelling himself to constant recklessness in life and thought.He had thus successfully built up a wall between the present and thatpast which long haunted his lonely moments, and had finally decidedthat it was hermetically sealed. Yet now, this odd chit of a girl,this waif whom he had plucked from the jaws of death, had overturnedthis carefully constructed barrier as if it had been originally builtof mere cardboard, and he was compelled again to see himself, loathehimself, just as he had in those past years.
Everything had been changed by her sudden entrance into his life,everything except those unfortunate conditions which still bound himhelpless. He looked upon the world no longer through his cool, grayeyes, but out of her darker ones, and the prospect appeared gloomyenough. He thought it all over again and again, dwelling in reawakenedmemory upon details long hidden within the secret recesses of hisbrain, yet so little came from this searching survey that the resultleft him no plan for the future. He had wandered too far away fromhome; the path leading back was long ago overgrown with weeds, andcould not now be retraced. One thing he grasped clearly,--the girlshould be given her chance; nothing in his life must ever again soilher or lower her ideals. Mrs. Herndon was right, and he realized it;neither his presence nor his money were fit to influence her future.He swore between his clinched teeth, his face grown haggard. The sun'srays bridged the slowly darkening valley with cords of red gold, andthe man pulled himself to his feet by gripping the root of a tree. Herealized that he had been sitting there for hours, and that he washungry.
Down beneath, amid the fast awakening noise and bustle of earlyevening, the long discipline of the gambler reasserted itself--he gotback his nerve. It was Bob Hampton, cool, resourceful, sarcastic ofspeech, quick of temper, who greeted the loungers about the hotel, andwho sat, with his back to the wall, in the little dining-room, watchfulof all others present. And it was Bob Hampton who strolled carelesslyout upon the darkened porch an hour later, leaving a roar of laughterbehind him, and an enemy as well. Little he cared for that, however,in his present mood, and he stood there, amid the black shadows,looking contemptuously down upon the stream of coatless humanitytrooping past on pleasure bent, the blue smoke circling his head, hisgray eyes glowing half angrily. Suddenly he leaned forward, clutchingthe rail in quick surprise.
"Kid," he exclaimed, harshly, "what does this mean? What are you doingalone here?"
She stopped instantly and glanced up, her face flushing in the lightstreaming forth from the open door of the Occidental.
"I reckon I 'm alone here because I want to be," she returned,defiantly. "I ain't no slave. How do you get up there?"
He extended his hand, and drew her up beside him into the shadedcorner. "Well," he said, "tell me the truth."
"I 've quit, that's all, Bob. I just couldn't stand for reform anylonger, and so I 've come back here to you."
The man drew a deep breath. "Did n't you like Mrs. Herndon?"
"Oh, she 's all right enough, so far as that goes. 'T ain't that; onlyI just didn't like some things she said and did."
"Kid," and Hampton straightened up, his voice growing stern. "I 'vegot to know the straight of this. You say you like Mrs. Herndon wellenough, but not some other things. What were they?"
The girl hesitated, drawing back a little from him until the light fromthe saloon fell directly across her face. "Well," she declared,slowly, "you see it had to be either her or--or you, Bob, and I 'drather it would be you."
"You mean she said you would have to cut me out entirely if you stayedthere with her?"
She nodded, her eyes filled with entreaty. "Yes, that was about it. Iwasn't ever to have anything more to do with you, not even to speak toyou if we met--and after you 'd saved my life, too."
"Never mind about that little affair, Kid," and Hampton rested his handgently on her shoulder. "That was all in the day's work, and hardlycounts for much anyhow. Was that all she said?"
"She called you a low-down gambler, a gun-fighter, a--a miserablebar-room thug, a--a murderer. She--she said that if I ever dared tospeak to you again, Bob Hampton; that I could leave her house. I justcould n't stand for that, so I came away."
Hampton never stirred, his teeth set deep into his cigar, his handsclinched about the railing. "The fool!" he muttered half aloud, thencaught his breath quickly. "Now see here, Kid," and he turned herabout so that he might look down into her eyes, "I 'm mighty glad youlike me well enough to put up a kick, but if all this is true about me,why should n't she say it? Do you believe that sort of a fellow wouldprove a very good kind to look after a young lady?"
"I ain't a young lady!"
"No; well, you 're going to be if I have my way, and I don't believethe sort of a gent described would be very apt to help you much ingetting there."
"You ain't all that."
"Well, perhaps not. Like an amateur artist, madam may have laid thecolors on a little thick. But I am no winged angel, Kid, nor exactly amodel for you to copy after. I reckon you better stick to the woman,and cut me."
She did not answer, yet he read an unchanged purpose in her eyes, andhis own decision strengthened. Some instinct led him to do the rightthing; he drew forth the locket from beneath the folds of her dress,holding it open to the light. He noticed now a name engraven on thegold case, and bent lower to decipher it.
"Was her name Naida? It is an uncommon word."
"Yes."
"And yours also?"
"Yes."
Their eyes met, and those of both had perceptibly softened.
"Naida," his lips dwelt upon the peculiar name as though he loved thesound. "I want you to listen to me, child. I sincerely wish I mightkeep you here with me, but I can't. You are more to me than you dream,but it would not be right for me thus deliberately to sacrifice yourwhole future to my pleasure. I possess nothing to offer you,--no home,no friends, no reputation. Practically I am an outlaw, existing by mywits, disreputable in the eyes of those who are worthy to live in theworld. She, who was your mother, would never wish you to remain withme. She would say I did right in giving you up into the care of a goodwoman. Naida, look on that face in the locket, your mother's face. Itis sweet, pure, beautiful, the face of a good, true woman. Living ordead, it must be the prayer of those lips that you become a good womanalso. She should lead you, not I, for I am unworthy. For her sake,and in her name, I ask you to go back to Mrs. Herndon."
He could perceive the gathering tears in her eyes, and his hand closedtightly about her own. It was not one soul alone that struggled.
"You will go?"
"O Bob, I wish you wasn't a gambler!"
A moment he remained silent. "But unfortunately I am," he admitted,soberly, "and it is best for you to go back. Won't you?"
Her gaze was fastened upon the open locket, the fair face picturedthere smiling up at her as though in pleading also.
"You truly think she would wish it?"
"I know she would."
The girl gave utterance to a quick, startled breath, as if the visionfrightened her. "Then I will go," she said, her voice a mere whisper,"I will go."
He led her down the steps, out into the jostling crowd below, as if shehad been some fairy princess. Men occasionally spoke to him, butseemingly he heard nothing, pressing his way through the mass of movingfigures in utter unconsciousness of their presence. Her locket hungdangling, and he slipped it back into its place and drew her slenderform yet closer against his own, as they stepped forth into the black,deserted road. Once, in the last faint ray of light which gleamed fromthe windows of the Miners' Retreat, she glanced up shyly into his face.It was white and hard set, and she did not venture to break thesilence. H
alf-way up the gloomy ravine they met a man and woman comingalong the narrow path. Hampton drew her aside out of their way, thenspoke coldly.
"Mrs. Herndon, were you seeking your lost charge? I have her here."
The two passing figures halted, peering through the darkness.
"Who are you?" It was the gruff voice of the man.
Hampton stepped out directly in his path. "Herndon," he said, calmly,"you and I have clashed once before, and the less you have to sayto-night the better. I am in no mood for trifling, and this happens tobe your wife's affair."
"Madam," and he lifted his hat, holding it in his hand, "I am bringingback the runaway, and she has now pledged herself to remain with you."
"I was not seeking her," she returned, icily. "I have no desire tocultivate the particular friends of Mr. Hampton."
"So I have understood, and consequently relinquish here and now allclaims upon Miss Gillis. She has informed me of your flatteringopinion regarding me, and I have indorsed it as being mainly true tolife. Miss Gillis has been sufficiently shocked at thus discovering myreal character, and now returns in penitence to be reared according tothe admonitions of the Presbyterian faith. Do I state this fairly,Naida?"
"I have come back," she faltered, fingering the chain at her throat, "Ihave come back."
"Without Bob Hampton?"
The girl glanced uneasily toward him, but he stood motionless in thegloom.
"Yes--I--I suppose I must."
Hampton rested his hand softly upon her shoulder, his fingerstrembling, although his voice remained coldly deliberate.
"I trust this is entirely satisfactory, Mrs. Herndon," he said. "I canassure you I know absolutely nothing regarding her purpose of coming tome tonight. I realize quite clearly my own deficiencies, and pledgemyself hereafter not to interfere with you in any way. You accept thetrust, I believe?"
She gave utterance to a deep sigh of resignation. "It comes to meclearly as a Christian duty," she acknowledged, doubtfully, "and Isuppose I must take up my cross; but--"
"But you have doubts," he interrupted. "Well, I have none, for I havegreater faith in the girl, and--perhaps in God. Good-night, Naida."
He bowed above the hand the girl gave him in the darkness, and everafter she believed he bent lower, and pressed his lips upon it. Thenext moment the black night had closed him out, and she stood there,half frightened at she knew not what, on the threshold of her new life.
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