One Day Part 18

CHAPTER XIV

Out--far out--in the great American West, the Boy wandered. And Paul Verdayne, understanding as only he could understand, felt how little use his companionship and sympathy really were at this crisis of the Boy's life.

All through the month of August they travelled, the Boy looking upon the land he had been so eager to see with eyes that saw nothing but his own disappointment, and the barrenness of his future. The hot sun beat down upon the shadeless prairies with the intensity of a living flame. But it seemed as nothing to the heat of his own pa.s.sion--his own fiery rebellion against the decree of destiny--altogether powerless against the withering despair that had choked all the aspirations and ambitions which, his whole life long, he had cultivated and nourished in the soil of his developing soul.

He thought again and again of the glories so near at hand--the glories that had for years been the goal of his ambition. He pictured the pageant to come--the glitter of armor and liveries, the splendor and sparkle of jewels and lights, and all the dazzling gorgeousness of royal equipments--the throngs of courtiers and beautiful women bowing before him, proud of the privilege of doing him homage--him, a mere boy--yet the king--the absolute monarch of his little realm, and supreme in his undisputed sway over the hearts of his people--his people who had worshipped his beautiful mother and, if only for her sake, made an idol of her son. He saw himself crowned by loving hands with the golden circlet he loved and reverenced, and meant to redeem from the stigma of a worthless father's abuse and desecration; he saw his own young hands, strong, pure, and undefiled by any form of bribery or political corruption, wielding the sceptre that should--please G.o.d!--bring everlasting honor and fame to the little princ.i.p.ality. He saw all this, and yet it did not thrill him any more! It was all Dead Sea fruit, dust and ashes in his hand. He wanted but one thing now--and his whole kingdom did not weigh one pennyweight against it.

But in spite of his preoccupation the freedom and ma.s.siveness of the West broadened the Boy's mental vision. He absorbed the spirit of the big world it typified, and he saw things more clearly than in the crowded city. And yet he suffered more, too. He could not often talk about his sorrow and his loss, but he felt all the time the unspoken sympathy in Verdayne's companionship, and was grateful for the completeness of the understanding between them.

Once, far out in a wide expanse of spa.r.s.ely settled land, the two came upon a hut--a little rough shanty with a sod roof, and probably but two tiny rooms at most. It was nearing evening, and the red rays of the setting sun fell upon a young woman, humbly clad, sitting on a bench at the doorway, and cuddling upon her knee a little baby dressed in coa.r.s.e, but spotlessly white garments. A whistle sounded on the still air, and through the waving grain strode a stalwart man, an eager, expectant light in his bronzed face. The girl sprang to meet him with an inarticulate cry of joy, and wife and baby were soon clasped close to his breast.

Paul could not bear it. He turned away with a sob in his throat and looked into Verdayne's eyes with such an expression of utter hopelessness that the older man felt his own eyes moisten with the fervor of his sympathy. That poor, humble ranchman possessed something that was denied the Boy, prince of the blood though he was.

And the two men talked of commonplace subjects that night in subdued tones that were close to tears. Both hearts were aching with the consciousness of unutterable and irreparable loss.

Through the long nights that followed, out there in the primitive, Paul thought of the hideousness of life as he saw it now, with a loathing that time seemed only to increase. He pictured Opal--his love--as the wife of that old French libertine, till his soul revolted at the very thought. Such a thing was beyond belief.

Once he said to Verdayne, thinking of the conversation he had had with Opal on the night of the ball at the Plaza,

"Father Paul, who was Lord Hubert Aldringham? The name sounds so familiar to me--yet I can't recall where I heard it."

"Why, he was my uncle, Boy, my mother's brother. A handsome, wicked, devil-may-care sort of fellow to whom nothing was sacred. You must have heard us speak of him at home, for mother was very fond of him."

"And you, Father Paul?"

"I--detested him, Boy!"

And then the Boy told him something that Opal had said to him of the possibility--nay, the probability--of Lord Hubert's being her own grandfather. Verdayne was pained--grieved to the heart--at the terrible significance of this--if it were true. And there was little reason, alas, to doubt it! How closely their lives were woven together--Paul's and Opal's! How merciless seemed the demands of destiny!

What a juggler of souls Fate was!

And the month of August pa.s.sed away. And September found the two men still wandering in an aimless fashion about the prairie country, and yet with no desire for change. The Boy was growing more and more dissatisfied, less and less resigned to the decrees of destiny.

At last, one dull, gray, moonless night, when neither could woo coveted sleep to his tired eyes, the Boy said to his companion, "Father Paul, I'm going to be a man--a man, do you hear? I am going to New Orleans--you know Mr. Ledoux asked us to come in September--and I'm going to marry Opal, whatever the consequences! I will not be bound to a piece of flesh I abhor, for the sake of a mere kingdom--not for the sake of a world! I will not sell my manhood! I will not sacrifice myself, nor allow the girl I love to become a burnt-offering for a mother's sin. I will not! Do you remember away off there," and he pointed off to the south of them, "the little shack, and the man and the woman and--the baby? Father Paul, I want--that! And I'm going to have it, too! Do you blame me?"

And Verdayne threw his arm around the Boy's neck, and said, "Blame you?

No, Boy, no! And may G.o.d bless and speed you!"

And the next day they started for the South.

CHAPTER XV

It was early in the morning, a few days later, when Paul Verdayne and his young friend reached New Orleans. Immediately after breakfast--he would have presented himself before had he dared--the Boy called at the home of the Ledouxs. Verdayne had important letters to write, as he informed the Boy with a significant smile, and begged to be allowed to remain behind.

And the impatient youth, blessing him mentally for his tact, set forth alone.

The residence that he sought was one of the most picturesque and beautiful of the many stately old mansions of the city. It was enclosed by a high wall that hid from the pa.s.sers-by all but the most tantalizing glimpses of a fragrant, green tropical garden, and gave an air of exclusiveness to the habitation of this proud old family. As the Boy pa.s.sed through the heavy iron gate, and his eye gazed in appreciation upon the tints of foliage no autumn chills had affected, and the glints of sun and shadow that only heightened the splendor of blossom, and shrub, and vine, which were pouring their incense upon the air, he felt that he was indeed entering the Garden of Eden--the Garden of Eden with no French serpents to tempt from him the woman that had been created his helpmeet.

He found Opal, and a tall, handsome young man in clerical vestments, sitting together upon the broad vine-shaded veranda. The girl greeted him cordially and introduced him to the priest, Father Whitman.

At first Paul dared not trust himself to look at Opal too closely, and he did not notice that her face grew ashen at his approach. She had recovered her usual self-possession when he finally looked at her, and now the only apparent sign of unusual agitation was a slight flush upon her cheek--an excited sparkle in her eye--which might have been the effect of many causes.

He watched the priest curiously. How n.o.ble-looking he was! He felt sure that he would have liked him in any other garb. What did his presence here portend?

Paul had supposed that Opal was a Catholic; indeed had been but little concerned what she professed. She had never appeared to him to be specially religious, but, if she was, that absurd idea of self-sacrifice for a dead mother she had never known might appeal to the love of penance which is inherent in all of Catholic faith, and she might not surrender to her great love for him.

The priest rose.

"Must you go, Father?" asked Opal.

"Yes!... I will call to-morrow, then?"

"Yes--tomorrow! And"--she suddenly threw herself upon her knees at his feet--"your blessing, Father" she begged.

The priest laid a hand upon her head, and raised his eyes to Heaven.

Then, making the sign of the cross upon her forehead, he took her hands in his, and gently raised her to her feet. She clung to his hands imploringly.

"Absolution, Father," she pleaded.

He hesitated, his face quivering with emotions his eyes l.u.s.trous with tears, a world of feeling in every line of his countenance.

"Child," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "child! Don't tempt me!"

"But you _must_ say it, you know, or what will happen to me?"

The priest still hesitated, but her eyes would not release him till he whispered, "_Absolvo te_, my daughter, and--G.o.d bless you!"

And releasing her hands, he bowed formally to Paul and hurried down the broad stone steps and through the gate.

Opal watched him, a smile, half-remorseful and half-triumphant, upon her face.

"What does it all mean?" asked Paul as he laid his hand upon her arm.

She laughed nervously. "Oh--nothing! Only--when I see one of those long, clerical ca.s.socks, I am immediately seized with an insane desire to find the _man_ inside the priest!"

"Laudable, certainly! And you always succeed, I suppose?"

"Yes, usually!--why not?" And she laughed again. "Don't, Paul! I don't want to quarrel with you!"