XXI
ON THE HEIGHTS
John Burton was scandalized, and he said as much to his wife when thetrain was once more on its way up the canyon.
"Emily, there's going to be a fracas when we get back to-night. It's myopinion that the President sent his daughter with us to get her out ofFred's reach."
"Then it serves him right," said Mrs. Burton, complacently. "She is nota child; she's old enough to know her own mind."
"That may be, but it doesn't let us out. I wish you'd go back and sitwith them awhile."
"And get myself disliked? No, thank you. I may not shine as a star inthe chaperonic firmament, but I'm a human being. Think of it; putyourself in Fred's place, if you haven't hopelessly outlived thepossibility, and see how you'd like to be duennaed at such a time."
"It isn't a question of likes and--" but at that moment the truantsappeared to speak for themselves.
"It's chilly out there in the open car, and we came in to talk and getwarm," said Gertrude. "Did you get any pie, Mrs. Burton?"
"No; Mr. Burton wasn't as thoughtful as Fr--as Mr. Brockway."
"Mr. Brockway was twice thoughtful," laughed Gertrude, as the passengeragent drew a pie from under his coat and proceeded to cut it intoquarters with his pocket-knife.
Burton said, "Oh, pshaw!" with deprecatory emphasis, but he accepted hisallotment and ate it with the others. Afterward, when the talk tookflight into the region of badinage, he went away and devoted himselfdutifully to the Tadmorians.
When he was gone, the trio made merry with true holiday zest. ForGertrude, the little plunge into the stream of unconventionality wasrefreshing and keenly exhilarating, and she bore her part joyously,forgetting the day of reckoning, and seeking only to make the most ofthe few hours of outlawry.
Brockway, too, drank of the cup of levity, but in his inmost parts hestood amazed with sheer joy in the presence of the real Gertrude--of thewoman he loved divested of the mask of conventionality. He had loved herwell for what he thought she was, and had been content to set her upon apedestal to be worshipped from afar as the apotheosis of adorablewomanhood. But the light of this later revelation individualized her;ideals and abstractions vanished before her living, breathingpersonality, and Brockway was made to know that she could never again beto him the mere archetype of lovable woman-kind. She was infinitelymore. She was the one woman in all the world whose life might be thecomplement of his; the other half of the broken talisman; the major andtruer portion of a mystic circle of which his being was the othersegment.
All of which was doubtless very romantic and unmodern in a sensibleyoung man of Brockway's practical and workaday upbringing; but there aremore curious seeds lying dormant in the soil of human nature than theanalyst has ever yet classified; and ideality and romanticism are butskin-masked in many a man whose outward presentment is merely the _abc_of modern realism.
So Brockway beheld and rhapsodized in secret, and laughed and chattedopenly, and sank deeper and deeper in the pit of perplexity as the trainburrowed its way into the heart of the mountains. For, keeping even pacewith the gallop of love, pride rode militant. Life without Gertrudewould be but a barren waste, said one; and, better a desert and solitudetherein than an Eden envenomed by the serpent of inequality, retortedthe other. Which proves that class distinctions are buttressed frombelow no less securely than they are suspended from above; and thatfeudalism in the subject has become extinct in one form only to flourishquite vigorously in another.
But these were under-thoughts. In his proper person, the passenger agentwas doing his best to keep his promise to Gertrude; to make the day alittle oasis of care-free enjoyment in the humdrum desert ofcommonplace.
At Georgetown, Burton proposed the transfer of the entire party to oneof the observation-cars for the better viewing of the Loop, and thething was done forthwith. But at the last moment Gertrude decided toremain in the coach, and Brockway stayed with her, as a matter ofcourse.
"I've seen it twice, and I don't care to hang over the edge of it," shesaid. "Besides, it's very comfortable in here; don't you think so?"
"I'm not finding any fault," Brockway rejoined. "I wish we might havethe coach to ourselves for the rest of the day."
"Do you? I thought you had been enjoying yourself all along."
"So I have, in a way; but I hate and abhor a crowd--I've had to be thenucleus of too many of them, I suppose."
"What do you call a crowd?" she inquired, laughing at the outburst ofvindictiveness.
"Three people--sometimes. Half the pleasure of this forenoon has beenslain by the knowledge that we'll have to fight for our dinners with themob at that wretched little _table d'hote_ at Graymont."
"Can't we escape it?"
"Not without going hungry."
"I think Mr. and Mrs. Burton are going to escape it."
"What makes you think that?"
"This," said Gertrude, pointing to a well-filled lunch-basket under theseat.
"Praised be Allah!" Brockway exclaimed, fervently. "You can trust Burtonto look out for the small personal comforts. And he never so much ashinted at this when I was grumbling about the dinner awhile ago. I've amind to punish him."
"How?"
"By confiscating the basket. We could run away by ourselves and have aquiet little picnic dinner while they wrestle with the mob."
But Gertrude demurred. "That would be too callously villanous," sheobjected. "Can't we divide with them?"
"And go away by ourselves with the spoils?"
"Yes, if you like."
"I do like. I know a place, and the way to get there. Are you good for aclimb?"
Brockway possessed himself of the basket, spread a newspaper on theopposite seat, and began to make a very fair and equitable division ofthe eatables.
"I'm good for anything," she said; then she pulled off her gloves andhelped him divide the luncheon.
When the train stopped at Graymont, Burton went forward to get theluncheon. The coach was empty when he reached it, and the looted basketbore witness to the designs of the two young people. The general agentwagged his head dubiously, and when he had seen the last of theTadmorians securely wedged into his place at the crowded table in thehotel dining-room, he failed not to lay the burden of gloomy prophecyonce more upon the shoulders of the small person who, as he more thanhalf suspected, was responsible for Brockway's presence.
By that time the subjects of the prophecy were well out of sight andhearing in the narrow ravine in which the great canyon has itsbeginnings. They walked the ties to the end of the track, and beyondthat point picked their way over the rough ground until they came to atrail leading up the northern acclivity. Here Brockway took Gertrude'sarm and together they began the ascent.
"Don't forget what I told you", he cautioned; "you are not to look backuntil I give the word."
"Should I turn into a pillar of salt if I did?" she asked.
"Possibly."
"Then I'll not do it; it would be rather awkward for both of us."
A hundred feet or more above the level of the railway track they came toa small plateau, and in the midst of it, Brockway stopped suddenly andspun her around with her face to the southward. No uninspired pen mayset down in unmalleable phrase a description of what she saw; nor canany tide-gauge of language, spoken or written, measure the great wave ofemotion which swept over her, choking the flood-gates of expression.From the moment the ascending train enters the canyon at Golden until itpauses opposite the hotel at Graymont, the scenery is rugged andinspiring, but it belittles itself by its very nearness. But from theplateau where they were standing, the vista expands as if by magic. Themighty mountain at whose foot the train pauses becomes but a foothill,and just beyond it, in indescribable grandeur and majesty, rises thehuge, snow-clad bulk of Gray's Peak, stupendous, awe-inspiring, dazzlingthe eye with its unspotted mantle of shimmering white, and slaying thesense of proportion with its immeasurable vastness.
Gertrude caught her breath, and Brockway stood uncovered
beside her,silent and watchful. When her eyes began to fill with tears, he brokethe spell.
"Forgive me," he said, quickly; "it was almost cruel not to prepare you,but I wanted to see if it would appeal to you as it does to me."
"It is unspeakable," she said, softly. "Shall we stop here?"
"No." He took her arm again and together they climbed higher on themountain-side; silently, as befitted time and place, but each with aheartful of thoughts too large for speech.