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About The Oregon daily journal. (Portland, Or.) 1902-1972 | View Entire Issue (June 13, 1909)
THE OREGON SUNDAY JOURNAL; PORTLAND, SUNDAY MORNING, JUNE 13, "1909. Gmerson '' LEFT to herself that afternoon, she had taken a novel and had wandered over the stony ground, ' with its clumps of spruce and pine, its ragged ledges and huge boulders, to the deep, narrow ravine cf Lovers' Leap. And there, lulled by the soft voices v ef the forest, she had lain upon a thick carpet of - fine needles until the setting sun rested even upon ' the bare hills. t At length, however, she rose to her feet and picked 1 ; Up the book at her side. As she did so, there dropped from between its leaves a letter or, rather, a part of ia letter, for the first pages were missing. Stooping, she ipicked it up from its resting-place, and was about to replace it between the pages of the book when her own name caught her eye. t Unconsciously, and quite naturally, she glanced at the jurords that preceded and followed. i 3 i 'the way in which Barbara Ladd has treated Bob X J Remington, I feel that I have no great desire to meet her. Women who will torture a man for the pleasure of . 'watching him squirm, and open his soul just to see what lies therein, as a child looks at the works of a watch, do 'not appeal to me. But other matters will bring me, and lii it will inconvenience you to put me next to some one fclse at dinner, I will consent to the ordeal of sitting by her. But do not hold it forth as an inducement. I - ' Sincerely yours, . .. "GoRtoN Steele." There was a postscript, but she did not read it; for jshe had awakened, suddenly, to the fact that the letter was intended for other eyes than hers; and a bright I flush flasned quickly across the delicate whiteness of her , cheek. She replaced the letter between the leaves of the . J book and, with flashing eyes and surging heart, turned ,to retrace her steps to the Lodge. ' Sly met Steele at dinner that night. He bent his head .in conventional acknowledgment of their introduction "and seated, himself beside her at the table. And, throughou the meal, they chatted calmly, facilely, upon 'trivialities and commonplaces, each veiling true feelings, ,'each burying under a flood of conversational nothings tnat about which each would have liked to speak. For, as hei gated at the proudly poised head, with its wealth of golden-brown hair, the dark, honest eyes and the sensitive mouth, he somehow or other found it dif ficult to believe that which his cold judgment had told him Wits so. And in her, the temptation to tell him what she knew, and what she thought, was great very great. ; At a house-party which includes one married couple and tvo engaged couples, it would seem that remaining guests must, perforce, make up their minds to be much in each other's company. But somehow or other, Specie found himself baffled in every attempt to bring about a tete-i-tete with this- girl who had become to him a most tantalizing enigma. For underneath the gay rail- lery of her wit he continually caught glimpses of a i tender seriousness, a keen sense of fair play'arfcT a quick ! sympathy. He felt confounded, puzzled, by these in ' consistencies between the woman he had made up his mind to dislike and the woman he was finding so charming. . Her cleverness in keeping up a friendly attitude J toward him in the. presence of the others, and yet evad ' i ing situations in which they would be left alone to gether, aroused his admiration. By the end of the third day, Steele found himself thinking of very little else except possible and impossible reasons for her evident antipathy toward him. , . Then, to his surprise, on the following afternoon, when their hostess suggested for them a horseback run to the - Fells, she acquiesced gracefully; and he, too, fell in at once with the plan, assuring himself that here was an excellent opportunity to study her. As they cantered ' down ht woodland avenue, Steele reined in his huge black and rode slightly in the rear. The girl was . mounted on a beautiful, clean-limbed chestnut that, with arching neck, danced daintily down the drive. With " hea1 held proudly and cheeks flushed, she sat erect upon her mount, her lithe body swaying with every movement of the animal beneath her. At last she reined the mare to a walk and waited for - him to come to her side. As he drew his horse in beside ber, she turned her flushed face to him. - 1 ' I have two things to tell you," she said, frankly, even fclunlly. ; v - " I h.ive more than two things to tell you," he re turned, just as frankly. She did not heed. "In the first place," she went pn, idly rubbing the chestnut's mane with the loop of her crop, " I read a part of your letter requesting that you might not be placed next me at dinner the night you came; it was in a book that I had and I saw my name unintentionally and read before I realized what I was doing." She paused a moment, her eyes resting upon a squir rel thai was chattering and chuttering excitedly at them from the limb of a huge maple. "And then," she continued, still stroking the mane of her mare with the leather loop, " I wish to tell you of Mr. Remington and myself." He raised a protesting hand. " No, no,". he said. "It is none of my business." Again she did not heed him. " It was not I who broke the engagement," she said, at length, in a low. voice. " It was he. But as he is more of a gentleman than are most men, he took the burden of it all upon himself and let it be known that it was I who had tired of him; while in reality," she smiled a little a smile hr if( ':7: V? -: ,1 -V; VV ? ? I A''-' ' V 1 ' ft 1. 4 l'.rV'-- V1 i5f ( t i AT LAST SHI J r that was not at'all of amusement " it was he who had tired of inc." . There was a pause. After a moment she went on: " I suppose that it was cowardly of me to allow him to bear my ignominy, but lie Hid it without my consent or knowledge; and for me to deny it then would only have been to resurrect it and cause more gossip, so I permitted him to sacrifice himself." Steele was looking straight ahead, with square, set chin and softened eyes. . t Her voice was colder as she continued: "I read your letter, and, as'it was not the honorable thing to do even though it was not wilfully done I felt that I must make reparation as far as lay in my power. It is ;iot that I care one bit what you may think, or may have thought, but just that you may learn of another man's nobility, and possibly find for yourself a lesson in judging people when you know nothing of them." There was another pause, broken only by slow-pounding hoofs. At length Steele took his eyes from the dun road. "Did you love Remington?" he asked, turning his gaze upon her. His glance was so strong, so compelling, that, almost before she realized, she replied : "At first I thought that I did She spoke as one from the mists Of thought . . - v , - Suddenly, she raised her eyes to his and drew herself up haughtily, even angrily. f What right have you to question me ? " she de manded, coldly. "The right of a man who wishes to know the thing that means most to him," he answered clearly. The red flush of anger mounted her cheeks and she struck the little mare smartly with her crop. With a bound the chestnut answered, and darted quickly down the maple-lined road; and the big black, gathering him self, galloped heavily in pursuit. They came to a fallen log. Lightly the chestnut leaped. And then again she reined in her mount; and the black, bringing its burden to her side, stopped. The man looked down upon the flushed face, with its parted lips and glowing eyes. "I suppose," he said, quietly, "that any apology that I might make would be utterly useless " " Quite," she flashed, interrupting. " But I shall tell you, nevertheless," he continued, un heeding, "that I am far sorrier for what I have done, and been, than you know ; and that I think even less of myself than you think of me." 7 - X - a4 , J i ' -v 8s .-.v, 'S'.-.-.'.V. 4 J , S REINED J. WE MARE TO A WALK AND WAITED FOR HIM TO COMB TO She did not Feply. " I suppose that it is, too, .quite useless to ask you to forgive me," he said, tentatively; and his voice, though low and firm, held in it a note of petition. "Do you think that you deserve forgiveness?" she asked, coldly. He was silent for a moment " No," he replied, " and yes." "What do you mean?" " ' No,' because of what I have been," he explained. "And 'yes,' because of what I will be, and because" he hesitated a little, and then finished, firmly, "because I love you." Again the red flush of anger flamed on her check. "That is unworthy and contemptible," she cried, turn ing upon him her dark eyes filled with scorn. " It is true," he returned, simply. She turned toward him, her dark eyes flashing. "I shall ride home alone," she said, coldly so coldly that his heart told him how useless would be protest " I have already arranged to take the morning train back to New York," she continued. " And I shall be grateful if you will permit me to avoid you until then." She turned her mare and rode slowly back along the leaf-strewn path, while he watched her until she was lost amonghe dark tree-trunks. v OBVItlGHT.fA It was dark when he reached th Lodge, for he had ridden far and hard, and there were threats of a storm in the air. They were all waiting for him on the veranda a nervous, excited group. " Where have you been ? " demanded Glendinning ; and then, as Steele appeared alone from the darkness, he cried, excitedly, " Why, where's Barbara ? " The bent figure on the black horse straightened sud denly, while an awful fear clutched at his heart. " Isn't she here ? " There was infinite alarm and con sternation in his voice. " Why, no! " was the surprised response. " She went with you, and we supposed, of course, you'd return to gether." "Oh, she must-be lost or killed! " cried Clare Glen- dinning, hysterically. " Oh, what shall we do ? " 14 How far along the path were you ? " asked Glen dinning. "A eoupje of miles, I reckon," answered Steele. " Then she must ave taken the wrong fork," cried Glendinning. "Don't you remember? The path divides at an acute angle about a mile from the main road. One who didn't know the country could easily go wrong." 1 '11 - T & 1 . 4 f 4- i. 'S ' ' A t . rMXr'Xriblb..X. -4V HER SIDE. "Where does it lead?" asked Steele, excitedly. Glendinning thought a moment. v V v t.-.:;::- v . ..'. V. .-V. v.-. . Av. .y t f s it leads, lie answered, to tne uccr Kun Koaa his knees, and at length gained his feet and stood sway and " He stopped suddenly, and a look of great fear hig unsteadily in the darkness, while she -was silent, flashed across his face. "My God!" he cried, "the bridge over the Lovers' Leap ravine is down ! " Steele waited to hear no more. Plunging his spurs into the dusty flanks of his horse, he was off. He knew the Deer Run Road. It was a narrow, winding path that ran through the mountains, and its nearest point was the Lovers' Leap ravine. But it was two miles away such a two miles! They were rough, full of rock and shale and tangled trees and matted un dergrowth. The path that she had taken, winding five or six miles through the woods, would lead her on, and on, to the Deer Run Road anitfhe bridgeless ravine and death. It would be a long ride for her. But it was a long time since he had left her. It was dark, and she might have ridden slowly. But then, again, as the road was open, she might not. Steel felt his heart shrivel with chill of fear. He must get there first he must! There was no moon. The cry of an owl came eerily through the dense darkness. A slinking fox barked rancously from a ravine filled vith such solid blackness that it seemed almost as though he might safely drive his horse up'on it - The big black was picking his way heavily across the uneven ground, dodging now to the right, now to the ,eft' ,void the tre"' "ue hot? shaI,cs that weP . , Steele across the face with stinging fingers that tore at clothing and flesh. He must have gone a mile now perhaps more he could not tell; for nothing passed but blackness op pressing, terrible blackness. He was powerless to tell where he was, or where lay the ravine, lie knew only that ahead, somewhere, lay the road down which she was riding to her death. He might strike this road be tween her and the ravine. He might strike it on the far side; if so, he could stand at its edge and by shouting from time to time warn her of her danger, fiut he must get there first! , Stumbling, the black crowded against a tree, and Steele's leg was caught between horse and trunk. Still, he did not check his mount, though his leg was scraped from ankle to thigh. As his horse stopped to sniff the ground before him, the darkness bore to Steele's eager ears the sound of hoof-beats.- It must be she ! And in another instant she would lie crushed and bleeding at the foot of the Leap ; for she was still some distance away, and the hell-trap must lie somewhere in the dense, livid blackness that separated them. He did not hesitate. But, with a warning cry of "Barbara! Barbara!" he plunged red spurs into the black body beneath him. He felt the tense, spasmodic contraction of mighty muscles. Then, like a bolt from a cross-bow, the great animal sprang straight at the black wall of darkness, i k The girl on the chestnut, cantering swiftly along through the night, reined her mare to its haunches as she heard the cry. For an instant nothing greeted her straining ears but silence. And then there came, almost from under the verv head of her mare, a dull, crashing noise, and horrid sounds, like the snapping of dry twigs, and the blood-chilling scream of a horse. And then silence again. She leaped from the back of the shivering chestnut and felt her way atong through the darkness. Suddenly her extended foot met no resistance. She dropped to her knees and her searching hand felt the rocky edge of the bridgeless chasm; and from beneath her came the sound of groan. Not for an instant did she hesitate. One little foot, in its patent-leather riding-boot, swung over the rough edge of the ravine. It felt about in the utter darkness, and at last found a projecting point of rock, and from that foothold she again groped downward, and at length reached the bottom of the chasm. Then, with hands outstretched, she went slowly onward, led by the gasp ings, now ever growing fainter, of the dying horse. The groanings of the man had ceased and her heart stood still. She found him lying there beside the horse. And for a1 fraction of an instant she stood in helpless terror; then she dropped to her knees beside him and sought in his pockets for a match. She found his case, and drew one from it, striking it on the rocks beside his head. The little light faintly illumined his white, set face. And then, suddenly, with a cry, she fell forward, her lips on his. After a time how long she did not know, she Mt the body beneath her stir, atid a groan came from the lips. Startled, she leaped quickly backward. In the dense darkness she could hear him moving. "I must get there first," he muttered, and his voice. though weak, was tense with purpose. He struggled to helpless, for she had thought him dead! Arid then the girl awoke from her dream of despair and called to him softly. "Her voice!" he cried, unsteadily. "She'll be killed I' I must get there first!" and he shouted again, tremu lously, the warning that she had heard as he and the big black had taken that desperate plunge from Lovers' Leap. Buf even as he called she was before him and The little chestnut whinnied, long, impatiently. " Hallo-o-o-o-o-o-o ! " came from the brink of thet chasm, and the bright little eye of a lantern peered over inquisitively. The voice wae Glendinning's. "Are you there?" came the voice again, anxious, fearing, eager. " Yes,", answered Steele. "Here." "Roth ofyou?" came a chorus of tense queries. " Both of us," was the reply ; and the man's voice was not alone. - " Oh, then you aren't dead ! ' came in tones of great re,'ef and abiding joy from the brink. un tne contrary, was the reply, this time in the yoice of the man, " I am just beginning to live." And what then happened. no one saw; for it was dark, very dark, to some rnd yet brighter than God's own un to others. f.
