The Delafield Affair Part 27

"No, Lucy; it isn't enough!" he exclaimed eagerly. "Something tells me that perhaps you do care a little for me, and if you do I want to know it--I must know it!"

"I shall never see you again after to-day. You must be satisfied with that," she replied, tossing her head and turning her face away from his shining and pleading eyes.

"How can I be satisfied--" he began, and the wind blew her hair as she turned her head away and showed one little pink-tinted ear nestling among the curls. His gaze devoured it. "How can I," he went on, "when you--when you have such a beautiful ear!"

"What difference does it make when we can never see each other again?"

Her manner was evasive and her speech hesitating, for she was trying hard to bring herself to the point of telling him the fateful secret.

"All the difference in the world! Lucy, sweetheart! Tell me if you care!" He leaned toward her and took her wrist in his hand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "IT HAD COME, THIS QUESTION SHE HAD NOT MEANT TO LET HIM ASK"]

"You've no right to ask that question again! I shall say no more than I have said already." She made an effort to release her arm, but he would not relax his firm, though gentle and caressing, grasp.

"Lucy, I would never beg for a woman's love, nor ask her to try to care for me, if she didn't love me, of herself. But when the woman I love with all my heart won't deny that she loves me, then I must hear her say in her own sweet voice that she does. Lucy, darling, tell me that you love me!"

She was trembling from head to foot, but she drew herself together with fresh determination and held her head up proudly as she answered, looking straight ahead: "I have told you that I shall never marry, and that after to-day I shall never see you again. That must be enough, for I shall say no more."

He let go her wrist, and she tapped her horse to a faster pace. She was thinking intently, trying to frame in her mind the best words in which to make her confession. Suddenly, over the top of a steep incline, they came upon a wide and splendid view. The sides of the canyon seemed to melt and flow back, giving far-ranging sight of the sombre purple mountains towering toward heaven and of the hills dwindling down into the plain.

"Lucy," he exclaimed, "here is the beautiful place of which I told you.

I wanted to bring you here to tell you of my love, because this is the most beautiful spot I know. Lucy, darling, I love you with all my heart, and if you cannot deny that you love me, then it is my right, the right of my love, to hear you say that you do. Never mind about not leaving your father and meaning never to marry. We'll talk about that afterward. Won't you tell me now that you do love me?"

Her eyes dropped from the high and wide horizon to her horse's mane. She tried to say, "I do not love you," but her heart rose in rebellion and forbade the untruth. She opened her lips, but no sound came from them.

Curtis bent toward her, trying to take her hand, but she drew it away.

With all her strength she was contending for her determination against both him and the traitor within her own heart. He leaned nearer, pleading in tones that were half loving command and half loving entreaty, "Lucy! Lucy, love! Look up! Let me see your eyes, your dear, beautiful eyes!"

Lucy clasped her hands together hard and bowed her head. He was bending over her, his shoulder touching hers. She heard his voice, soft and rich with love, whispering, "Lucy, darling!" And suddenly, scarcely knowing what she did, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

Instantly his arms were about her, and he heard her murmuring, "I do love you! Oh, I do love you!" He bent his ardent face to hers, but before their lips met she started away, freeing herself from his encircling arms.

"Stop!" she cried, putting out a forbidding hand, as she moved her horse away. "You have made me tell you, against my will, that I love you. Now you must listen while I tell you who I am." There was a suggestion of defiance in the poise of her head and in the flashing of her eyes as they looked squarely into his.

"And you must understand," she went on, "that after I tell you this I want you to forget everything that has pa.s.sed between us this afternoon, just as I shall do. For I am the daughter of Sumner L. Delafield!"

In an instant his arms were about her again. "Lucy, dearest, you've told me no news! I've known it since yesterday."

She struggled to free herself. "But my father--you hate him--you--you wish to kill him--I heard what you said to him that day at your ranch, last Spring--and afterward I happened to find out who he is."

A wave of crimson deepened the color of his sunbrowned face. "All that is dead and buried," he said, "and I am ashamed of it, now. I want you to help me forget that I allowed such base thoughts to master me so long. I'm going to your father this afternoon to tell him that I have forgiven the old debt, and everything else, and to ask him to forgive me. My poor little girl! I never dreamed your dear heart was being worried by that affair!"

She let him fold her in his caress, whispering happily, "I knew all the time you wouldn't do it--I knew you wouldn't hurt daddy, or anybody."

A loud clap of thunder rolled and echoed over the mountains, and a splash of raindrops fell on their faces. Conrad looked at the dense black clouds and at the gray veil dropping athwart the mountains, and turned to Lucy with alarm in his face. "We must start back at once and ride down that canyon for all we're worth! This storm is going to be a corker, but maybe we can beat the worst of it. I've done wrong to bring you so far--but I can't regret it now, sweetheart!"

They started at a gallop down the long canyon road. The patter of big drops that had given them warning quickly increased to a steady, beating downpour that drenched them to the skin. An almost tangible darkness was sifting through the atmosphere. It filled the sky overhead, drifted down the ravine, and seemed to settle, making a thick twilight under the arching trees. Blinding zigzags of lightning slashed the clouds and played through the middle air, and a terrific roar and boom and rattle of thunder kept up in the mountains behind them and echoed back and forth between the walls of the gulch.

The creek was already rising, and each time they had to cross it they found its muddy torrent swifter and higher. The road was rocky, and in many places had been made slippery by the rain, and there were frequent steep inclines down which they dared not go at a rapid gait. They had put behind them hardly more than a third of the distance when Conrad, looking backward, saw a cloud of inky blackness settle and drop upon the earth. A deep, booming sound mingled with a deafening clap of thunder.

The ground trembled. The horses quivered with fright and darted forward at a faster pace. Lucy saw Curtis's face blench in the half darkness.

"What is it?" she asked, glancing backward anxiously.

"That was a cloudburst," he answered in a tone that thrilled with comprehension. "It struck back there, just this side of our beautiful spot, and a mountain of water will soon come tearing down behind us.

We've got to ride like the wind! Perhaps we can make the first road that crosses the ravine, and you can go up there while I ride on and warn the town."

"No! I'll ride on with you."

"I can't let you do that," was his swift reply. "Are you frightened, dearest?"

"No," she answered in a steady tone; "I'm not frightened at all. And I'm going to ride on with you. It would be easy to die with you, if we must--but I couldn't live without you, now."

He bent toward her and touched her arm with loving reverence as they galloped on at the swiftest speed possible. The horses needed neither whip nor spur, but with ears laid back and necks outstretched were fleeing down the dim canyon for their lives. As they bounded up a low bank, where the road crossed the creek bed again, Lucy's horse stumbled, slipped, and fell with his forelegs doubled under him. He gave a scream of pain and terror. Lucy, freeing her foot from the stirrup as he fell, jumped to one side. Curtis checked Brown Betty, leaned over, and grasped the girl around the waist. She helped him with an upward spring, and as he lifted her to the saddle he shifted his own seat to the back, and they galloped on, leaving the crippled horse to his certain fate.

Behind them they could hear the booming, rattling roar of the avalanche of water that was sweeping down between the canyon walls. And presently, piercing through even its rumbling tumult and the crashing thunder, they heard the death cry of the horse they had left behind, and knew that he had been engulfed in the mountainous wave that was rushing toward them at a speed they could not hope to equal. Lucy trembled at the sound and nestled her head against Conrad's shoulder.

As they neared the first road cutting across the gulch Curtis lowered his head to Lucy's ear: "Sweetheart, we are almost at the first road out. I can put you off and you can run up there and be safe."

"No," she whispered back; "don't stop for an instant. Every second will mean many lives. I'm going with you to whatever end there is, and I'm not afraid."

Brown Betty's flanks were steaming. The froth from her mouth flecked her neck and legs and body, to be quickly washed off by the drenching rain.

Behind them they could hear, coming nearer and nearer, the fateful roar of the rushing waters. The canyon walls opened out, and, looming vaguely in the dim light, they could see the first houses of the town. With full lungs Conrad shouted at the top of his voice:

"Run! A cloudburst! A cloudburst is coming! Run for your lives!"

They dashed on, and the houses became more frequent. There were lights in the windows, though it was little past mid-afternoon. Curtis, shouting his warning over and over, put the bridle in Lucy's hands and drew his revolver. They were rushing down the main street, through the most thickly built portion of the town. Pointing upward, he added the noise of pistol shots to his clamor. Men and women came to their doors, caught the meaning of his cries, heard the roar of the coming flood, and rushed out and up the side streets, shouting warnings as they ran.

"My father--the bank--can we go so far?" asked Lucy breathlessly.

"Yes--we'll call him," Conrad a.s.sured her, glancing back over his shoulder. Behind them rose a din of shouts and yells and screams of terror, mingling with the peals of thunder and the roar of the waters.

The street was full of people running this way and that. And a little farther back, through the dusky light, he saw a brown, foaming wall of water, its crest topping the roofs of the houses, its front a ma.s.s of half-engulfed trees and houses and pieces of lumber and arms and legs and bodies of men and animals that boiled up from its foot, tossed and whirled a moment on its breast, and sank into the flood.

Curtis ground his teeth together. They were still three blocks from the bank. "We'll never make it," he thought; "but we'll try!" His arm gathered Lucy closer to his breast, his spur touched Brown Betty's heaving flank, and with another loud shout of warning and an encouraging cry to the mare they darted on with a fresh burst of speed.

CHAPTER XXV

FULFILMENT OF THE LAW

Louise Dent sank back upon her pillows as Lucy hurried from the room, too amazed and horrified for speech by the girl's declaration of her love for Curtis Conrad and her determination to reveal to him her father's ident.i.ty. Ill in body, distracted in mind almost to the point of irresponsibility, her thoughts tossed about and took wild shapes in her fevered brain. The one idea looming constantly before her was that Bancroft was in deadly, imminent peril. Her bitter resentment against Conrad and the hate and anger she had nursed so long in secret distorted all her conception of his character. Now, as her thoughts pounded back and forth through her dizzy, aching head, he seemed to her to be capable of any monstrous deed. He would learn from Lucy the secret of her father's ident.i.ty, and then nothing would prevent him from rushing forthwith to get his fill of b.l.o.o.d.y vengeance.

She rose and staggered to the window. Dark clouds were overspreading the sky. It would rain soon, they would turn back from their ride, and he would bring her home. Then he would hasten to the bank, and into Aleck's room--and she covered her eyes as if to conceal what her mental vision insisted on seeing. If Aleck only knew that Curtis had learned the truth, if he could be warned in time, he might conceal himself until it would be possible for him to go away. Leave the town he must, and go far, far away, where there would be no fear of discovery.

She alone knew his danger. But could she tell him that she was aware of his secret? She shrank from making him suffer that humiliation.

Furthermore, could she do it without betraying her own secret, without laying bare the love that burned in her heart? Yet--what mattered the rest if she could save his life and, perhaps, his future? She followed with her eye the line of the canyon. Where were they now? The clouds were black and lowering and a gray veil of rain hid the purple of the distant mountains and spread an advancing blur over their slopes. If she was to save Aleck she must go--at once.

Her loud and hurried knocking at the door of Bancroft's private office sent to his heart the quick apprehension to which he had become an easy prey. He sprang to his feet with his hand upon the revolver that of late lay always ready upon his desk. Not only was it a relief to find that it was n.o.body but Louise, but the very sight of her was so welcome and so easeful to his overwrought and desperate mind that unconsciously he addressed her by her Christian name. Her wild eyes and distraught face alarmed him.