The Man from Jericho Part 29

Glenning's engagement was for eight o'clock the following evening, but he did not come till nine. Julia met him at the door, garbed in some dainty white stuff with lace about it, and wearing one rose in her hair, which waved from her forehead and was dressed low upon her neck.

"I must apologize for my tardiness," he said, gravely, as they walked into the library, which was softly lighted by a shaded lamp. "But as I was starting out I had an urgent call from a very poor family on the edge of town. A little child had fallen and broken its leg. It was a "charity call," but I hope you will pardon me. I could not let it suffer."

She felt a warm glow steal to her cheeks as she listened.

"You did right," she told him; "I was sure you had a good reason for being late."

He tried to speak of the race, but could not. She was also mute. The hour was too tense for conventionalities. A silence fell between them.

Then suddenly the man gathered together all his moral strength and arose to his feet. She looked up quickly. He did not meet her eyes till he had walked to the mantel. Then, facing about, he leaned his elbow upon it, and returned her gaze.

"The time is ripe for an understanding between us," he said, the awful strain under which he was labouring making his voice unnatural.

The girl could see that the old haunting gloom had come to his eyes. He was very white, and the crescent scar upon his forehead was outlined sharply, even in the dim light.

"It is a tale I had rather suffer death than tell, but I owe it to you before I can speak of other things which are in my heart."

She caught her breath at this, a quick, sibilant intaking, and because her hands had at that moment begun to tremble, she clasped them in her lap. Her large, sympathetic eyes were watching him closely.

"It is hard to begin," he resumed, "but I must do it alone; you cannot help me. The fault has been mine; let the shame and anguish be mine, too. Would you object if I told you of something else first?--it seems I am doomed to ask you to forgive much tonight!"

The pathos and sorrow in his words were almost more than she could bear, but she signed her permission dumbly, and waited.

"I think it all began that first night I saw you, in such distress. At any rate, my interest in you and your life was deep and genuine from that hour. I learned of your reverses--of your father's investment in the bank stock. Then the time came when Marston withheld the dividend, and I knew that you were without resources. Tom Dillard and I got together to see what we could do. We seemed pretty helpless, for Marston had everything his own way. Then something happened to me which gave me an idea. I had an uncle, too, whom I had not seen for years. He died a short time ago, and part of his estate came to me. It was in the shape of a life insurance policy which he had taken out in my favour without ever letting me know. When the check from the company came to me, through my uncle's attorneys, the temptation was more than I could resist." He left the mantel and took one step towards her, then stood firm-footed as he resumed, desperately. "I did it. I did it all. I fabricated the story of your uncle's death, and the lawyer who sent Major Dudley that check from St. Louis was my good friend, to whom I wrote. He simply had to buy eastern exchange in place of the insurance company's check. It was simple enough. Forgive me. I place my trust in your feeling heart and seeing soul, for without a clear vision and complete understanding in an affair like this there can be no forgiveness. Soon I will tell you why I did it all."

Her head had gently sunk as he was speaking. She did not look up when he stopped. She did understand. She knew in a flash the reason for his course. But his revelation numbed her. She tingled from head to foot, and knew that should he command her eyes at this moment, swift surrender would follow. She waited for his voice, but it did not come.

"Go on!" she said, so low that he guessed, rather than heard the words.

He cast a glance around the room such as a drowning man might give when he felt the water closing over him. She had not encouraged him by so much as a flash from her eyes, and heaven knew he needed courage, if ever man did. She was so white and still! So dainty and spotless! Her folded hands were waxen, and her forehead and the one cheek which he could see were like some statue's. Her breathing was so soft that it did not stir the bosom of her dress.

"I have given you a suggestion of what befell me in Jericho; since then you have heard distorted truths, or more probably vicious falsehoods, from another source. Now listen to what I say. It shall be the whole truth, with nothing added, and nothing taken from.

"Jericho was my home. I was born and reared there, and I came back there after I had graduated in medicine, and began to practice. A number of families had moved into the place during the years I was away, and among them were a Mr. and Mrs. Lamberton. He was a traveling man, and was at home very little. The trouble began when I was called in one day, the occasion being some slight difficulty in hearing. When I entered the room I was stricken still with amazement. I had never seen such a perfectly beautiful creature in all my life. She was young, not tall, and possessed of a wonderful wealth of colouring. The apartment was permeated by some essence entirely new to me, some rare and delightful perfume. She was reclining upon a couch, alone. She, of course, knew who I was, and she did not rise, but bade me come to her. I did as she asked, and took a vacant chair near her. At that day I knew practically nothing of women, good or bad. My path had been a pretty rough one, and I had all I could do to go forward, although there was always the wish within me to know and a.s.sociate with women, the natural complement of man. She stated her trouble briefly and clearly, in a most pleasing tone, and when I endeavoured to put some necessary questions I found to my dismay that my mind was muddled, and wouldn't work well. She smiled when she noticed my embarra.s.sment. Whenever she turned her eyes upon me I felt dizzy. They were wine brown, and in them dwelt twin devils which beguiled. I had to touch her with my hands; to put back the hair from the affected ear. I was young--I was far more innocent than she--so help me G.o.d! I maintained my professional reserve with difficulty, and escaped from the room with my brain whizzing and my breast on fire. But the mischief was done. I could not forget her. I thought of her constantly during my waking hours. I did not stop to a.n.a.lyze the trend or character of my thoughts. At the time I do not think they had any definite shape. I simply could not withdraw my mind from that incident--that half hour in her presence. Nothing was said and nothing was done which a third person might not have heard and seen, but it was the awful _suggestion_ back and beneath it all. Her att.i.tude towards me, while not in the least familiar, was charged with an undefinable under current of what our future relations might become. I knew that I wished to see her again, but when the summons came on the second day from the one when I first called, I hung back. I was afraid, who had never known fear before. I had no excuse for refusing to go. I was a servant of the public, and my presence was demanded. To trump up a subterfuge would be to acknowledge to myself that I was a coward. I went.

"She received me in the same room. This time she was snugly settled in a large, easy chair, and the unbound glory of her hair swept down over the rich-hued house dress which she wore. This visit was considerably longer than the first. You know that a family physician very often shares the most intimate confidences of his patients. This day she told me something of her life; enough to lead me to believe that she was unhappily married, and that she and her husband were not congenial. A ready resentment sprang up in me towards the man who could call this superb being his, and then neglect her. So the wiles of Delilah were employed again, though at the time I did not suspect her.

"Then there grew in my heart a strange pa.s.sion for this woman. Love strove to mount, but it quickly discovered that that which it was called upon to meet was not love. Then the devils of the flesh tore at me and strove to drive me on--to utter and complete d.a.m.nation! They had arisen insiduously, arming themselves as they advanced, and I soon found myself in the throes of a struggle as old as the world of creation, and more difficult to overcome than any foe which might appear from without.

These devils haunted, hara.s.sed, goaded and tortured me. They drove me to her again and again, and again and again I withstood them, holding fast to the sense of right within me, and striking back with all the moral strength of my nature. Then one day it was borne in upon me that I must yield--or retreat. No mere mortal could continue to face this most powerful of all earthly temptations, and keep himself unspotted. The last night we were together in Jericho she confessed her love for me, and offered me the bitter-sweet joy of her arms. Then a living G.o.d of mercy gave me the victory. Long ago I knew I did not love her. I knew that my feeling for her was born in h.e.l.l--in the blackest and foulest corner thereof! She stood before me arrayed in voluptuous robes, the splendour of her perfect physical beauty dazzling me cruelly, and told me unabashed that she was mine, body and soul! I swear to you that I had never said one word of love to her. I looked upon her, and the devils surged to the attack with thong and goad. But I did not raise my hands from my sides. I fought them back and after a while found my voice and told her this could not be. With the spoken words my strength returned, and I left her thus, without farewell. The next night I came to Macon."

The deep, resonant tones ceased. The silence in the room was acute. Not even the sound of breathing was audible.

"I found you, whom G.o.d sent to be my salvation. The battle was not ended, though I had put the visible cause of it away. But memory will not die, and the eyes of the mind constantly behold the visions of yesterday. Now came the fight to stay away, and I found it just as hard to win as the other. Had it not been for you, and the hope which I allowed to find root in my soul, I would surely have succ.u.mbed. But this hope grew, a pure, white flower, and it banished the noisome weeds of grosser birth. Then a day came when I knew the old influence and the wild longing no more, for love had found me and had reclaimed me from the mora.s.s into which I had strayed. I need not tell you that I have gone through perditions of living fire! You, sweet girl, know nothing of this. But what I said to you upon the lawn not many days ago I say to you again tonight--_I have come through clean_! It is not a debauched body and a rotten soul I am bringing as my offering to you tonight. High heaven bear me witness that all I say is true! I do not claim any especial worthiness, but I do disclaim and declare false the libelous stories which Devil Marston brought from Jericho! You have heard the truth, and I am glad that at last you know."

An inflection almost of despair quivered through his last words. The girl before him was motionless, but now a rigour shook her from head to foot, then pa.s.sed, and she was still looking down, apparently unmoved, and lifeless.

"There is yet another incident."

He spoke in a dead voice, without ring or timbre. He was hopeless, yet nerved to go to the last bitter dreg of confession.

"I saw her once while you were in the East with your sick friend--a few days before the fair. It was quite accidental. I had a call from the Maddoxes one evening. She was there--had come as a visitor for the races--some sort of relative. As I was leaving the house a servant told me a friend wished to see me in the parlour. I did not remain long. The old charm was there, and I should have been lost without the protection of your spirit, which armed me as I had never been armed before. When I started to leave the room she attempted to detain me, but I thrust her aside, and went out. That is the whole story, and horrible enough it seems to me! I dare not think what it must seem to you--you sweet, sheltered flower! Now that this miserable tale is told, I come tonight and offer you my love. It is a most tender feeling I harbour for you, Julia; a possessive, protective, jealous love, which would forever hold you safe and blameless; which would forever cradle you in the house of my heart, deep-walled and warm. Nothing that would hurt, or harm, or blight, or frighten, or pain you should reach you in that sheltered fold within my breast. Won't you say that you will come--you poor, little storm-beaten lamb, and give me the deep, dear joy of loving you and ministering unto you always?"

He did not approach her. He had no right. His confession stood like a wall between them until she should speak. Her face was burning now. He could see her flushed cheeks and tinted temples. That she still refrained from meeting his eyes kindled a faint flame of hope.

"This is a strange story for a girl to hear," she said, speaking each word low, but distinctly. "I forgive you for the deception about the money. Uncle Arthur has returned wealthy, and we can refund that to you soon. But--" she raised her head and looked at him--"can I forgive the rest?"

"Can you forgive it?" he repeated, pillowing his elbow on his palm, and resting his chin on his finger and thumb. "Can you forgive it? Your heart must answer. If you love me--if you love me--"

She could not endure the appeal in his eyes, and her own dropped, with a sigh.

The moments raced past.

"Julia, have you no word for me?"

Silence unbroken. He waited for a while longer, then moved slowly towards the door. She heard his footsteps pa.s.s and recede, and it seemed that the hope of her life was going too. He reached the door leading into the hall.

"John!"

The low call was weighted with despair and love.

In a moment he was standing before her, with both her hands in his.

"You called me!" he whispered, reading the message in her swimming eyes.

"You called me!"

"Back to happiness, John, if I can give it to you! You have borne so much, poor boy!"