XXIII
THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
"Here is the place I was looking for," said Brockway, handing Gertrudeto a seat on a great fallen fir which had once been a sentinel on thefarthest outpost of the timber-line. "It's three years since I was here,but I remember this log and the little stream of snow-water. Isn't itclear and pure?"
"Everything ought to be that, up here in the face of that great shiningmountain," she said; and then they spread their luncheon on thetree-trunk between them, and pitied the crowded Tadmorians in the littlehotel below.
"I feel as if I could look down benignantly on the whole world,"Gertrude declared, searching for the paper of salt and finding it not."The things of yesterday seem immeasurably far away; and as forto-morrow, I could almost persuade myself there isn't going to be any."
"I wish there wasn't going to be any," said Brockway; but the manner inwhich he attacked the cold chicken slew the pessimism in the remark.
"Do you? I could almost say Amen to that," she rejoined, soberly.
"You? I should have thought you would be the last person in the world towant to stop Time's train."
She laughed softly. "That is very human, isn't it? I was thinkingprecisely the same thing of you. Tell me why you would like to abolishthe to-morrows--or is it only the very next one that ever will be thatyou want to escape?"
"It's all of them, I think: but you mustn't ask me to tell you why."
"Why mustn't I?"
"Because I can't do it and keep my promise to tell you the truth."
"That is frank, at least," she retorted. "I hope you are not aconscience-stricken train-robber, or a murderer, or anything of thatkind."
"Hardly," Brockway replied, helping himself to another sandwich; "butyou would be quite horrified if I should tell you what I have reallydone."
"Do you think so? You might try me and see," she said, half pleading andhalf jesting.
Brockway thought about it for a moment.
"I'll do it--on one condition."
"You ought to be ashamed to propose conditions to me. What is it?"
"That you will tell me quite as truthfully why you agreed with me aboutthe abolition of the to-morrows."
It was Gertrude's turn to consider, but she ended by accepting theproviso.
"After you," she said, with a constrained little laugh. "But who wouldever think of exchanging confidences at this altitude over a stolenluncheon!"
"Not many, perhaps; but it's quite in keeping with our compact; we werenot to do ordinary things, you know. And I'm sure this confession I amgoing to make is unpremeditated."
"Is it so very dreadful?"
"It is, I assure you, though I can make it in five words. I amhopelessly in love--don't laugh, please; there isn't the slightestelement of levity in it for me."
Nevertheless, she did laugh, albeit there was pain at the catching ofher breath.
"Forgive me," she said, quickly. "I don't mean to be silly if I can helpit. Tell me about it, and why it is hopeless."
"It's the old story of Jack and his master," Brockway continued. "I havehad the audacity to fall in love with the daughter of one of mybetters."
"One of your betters? I'm afraid I can't quite understand that. Don't welive in a golden age when Jack is as good as his master, if he choose tomake himself so?"
"By no manner of means," asserted this modern disciple of feudalism;"the line is drawn just as sharply now as it was when Jack was a bondthrall and his master was a swashbuckling baron."
"Who draws it? the thrall or the baron?"
The question opened up a new view of the matter, and Brockway took timeto think about it.
"I'm not sure as to that," he said, doubtfully. "I've always taken itfor granted it was the baron; but perhaps it's both of them."
"You may be very sure there are two sides to that shield, as to allothers," she asserted. "But tell me more about your own trouble. Is italtogether impossible? Does the--the young woman think as you do?"
"It is; and I don't know what she thinks. I've never asked her, youknow."
"You haven't? And still you sit here on this log and eat cold chickenand tell me calmly that it's hopeless! I said awhile ago that you werevery daring, but I'll retract in deference to that."
"It's not exactly a lack of courage," Brockway objected, moved to defendhimself when he would much rather have done something else. "There isanother obstacle, and it is insurmountable. She is rich--rich in her ownright, I'm told; and I am a poor man."
"How poor?"
"Pitifully so, from her point of view. So poor that if I gave her afive-room cottage and one servant, I could do no more."
"Many a woman has been happy with less."
"Doubtless, but they were not born in the purple."
"Some of them were, if by that you mean born with money to throw away. Isuppose you might say that of me."
Brockway suddenly found the Denver eating-house cake very dry, but hecould not take his eyes from her long enough to go and get a drink fromthe rill at the log-end.
"But you would never, marry a poor man," he ventured to say.
"Wouldn't I? That would depend very much upon circumstances," sherejoined, secure in the assurance that her secret was now double-lockedin a dungeon of Brockway's own building. "If it were the right thing todo I shouldn't hesitate, though in that case I should go to him asdestitute as the beggar maid did to King Cophetua."
Brockway's heart gave a great bound and then seemed to forget itsoffice.
"How is that? I--I don't understand," he stammered.
Gertrude gazed across at the shining mountain and took courage from itscalm passivity.
"I will tell you, because I promised to," she said. "I, too, have moneyin my own right, but it is only in trust, and it will be taken from meif I do not marry in accordance with the provisions of my granduncle'swill. So you see, unless I accept my--the person named in the will, Ishall be as dowerless as any proud poor man could ask."
"But you will accept your cousin," said Brockway, quickly puttingFleetwell's name into the hesitant little pause.
She looked steadfastly at the great peak and shook her head.
"I shall not," she answered, and her voice was so low that Brockway sawrather than heard the denial.
"Why?" he demanded.
She turned to him with sudden reproach in her eyes. "You press me toohardly, but I suppose I have given you the right. The reason is becauseI--I don't think enough of him in the right way."
"Tell me one other thing, if you can--if you will. Do you love someoneelse?" His voice was steadier now, and his eyes held her so that shecould not turn back to the shining mountain, as she wanted to. None theless, she answered him truthfully, as she had promised.
"I do."
"Is he a poor man?"
"He says he is."
"How poor?"
"As poor as you said you were a moment ago."
"And you will give up all that you have had--all that you couldkeep--and go out into the world with him to take up life at itsbeginnings?"
"If he asks me to. But he will not ask me; he is too proud."
"How do you know?"
His gaze wavered for an instant, and she turned away quickly. "Becausehe has told me so."
Brockway rose rather unsteadily and went to the rivulet to get a drink.The sweetly maddening truth was beginning to beat its way into hisbrain, and he stood dazed for a moment before he remembered that he hadbrought no drinking-cup. Then he knelt by the stream, and, turning hissilk travelling-cap inside out, filled it to the brim with the clear,cold water. His hands trembled a little, but he made shift to carry itto her without spilling much.
"It is a type of all that I have to offer you, besides myself--not evenso much as a cup to drink out of," he said, and his voice was steadierthan his hands. "Will you let me be your cup-bearer--always?"
She was moved to smile at the touch of old-world chivalry, but she fellin with his mood and put his hands away gently.
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"No--after you; it is I who should serve." And when he had touched hislips to the water, she drank deeply and thanked him.
Brockway thrust the dripping cap absently into his pocket, and stoodlooking down on her like a man in a maze; stood so long that she glancedup with a quizzical little smile and said, "Are you sorry?"
He came to himself with a start and sat down on the tree-trunk besideher. "Sorry? You know better than that. But I do believe I'm a bitidiotic with happiness. Are you quite sure you know what you have done?"
"Quite. I think I made up my mind last night to do it--if you should askme. It was after our ride on the engine; after my father had let me seewhat was in his mind."
"Ah, yes--your father. He will be very angry, won't he?"
"Yes"--reluctantly.
"But you will not let him make you recant?"
She laughed joyously. "You think you are in love with me, and yet thatshows how little you really know of me, or of the familycharacteristics. We have plenty of unlovelinesses, but fickleness isn'tone of them."
"Forgive me," he said, humbly; "but it seems to me there is so little tohold you, and so much to turn you aside. I----"
A series of shrill shrieks from the locomotive in the valley belowinterrupted him, and he rose reluctantly. "They're calling us in; we'llhave to go."
She took his arm and they ran down the steep declivity, across the smallplateau, and so on to the bottom of the railway cutting. Just beforethey reached the train, Brockway asked if he should tell the Burtons.
"As you please," she replied. "I shall tell my father and CousinJeannette as soon as we get back."
They found the passengers all aboard and the train waiting for them, andMrs. Burton scolded them roundly for their misdeeds.
"We had a mind to go off and leave you," she said; "it would have servedyou right for running away. Where ever have you been?"
"Up on the hill, taking in the scenery," Brockway replied; and Gertrudeabetted him with an enthusiastic description of Gray's Peak as seen fromthe plateau--a description which ran on without a break until the trainpaused at Silver Plume, where the Tadmorians debarked to burrow in asilver mine. Burton burrowed with them, as a matter of course, but hiswife declined to go.
"I shall stay right here and keep an eye on these truants," shedeclared, with great severity. And Brockway and Gertrude exchangedcomforting glances--as who should say, "What matters it now?"--andclasped hands under cover of the stir of debarkation. And Mrs. Burtonsaw all this without seeming to, and rejoiced gleefully at the bottom ofher match-making heart.
When the Tadmorians had inspected the mine, and had come back muddy andbesprinkled with water and besmirched with candle-drippings, the trainwent on its way down the canyon. Having done what he might towardpumping the well of tourist curiosity dry on the outward journey, Burtonwas given a little rest during the afternoon; and the quartette sattogether in the coach and talked commonplace inanities when they talkedat all. And the burden of even this desultory conversation fell mainlyupon the general agent and his wife. The two young people weretranquilly happy, quite content to be going or staying, or what not, solong as they could be together.
At Golden, Brockway ran out and secured a copy of the President'stelegram as it stood when written; and when opportunity offered, heshowed it to Gertrude.
"It was purposely garbled by a friend of mine," he confessed,shamelessly; "but how much or how little I didn't know till now. I haveno excuse to offer but the one you know. I thought it was my last chanceto ever spend a day with you, and I would have done a much worse thingrather than lose it. Can you forgive me?"
"Forgive you for daring to make me happy? I should be something more orless than a woman if I didn't. But my father won't."
"No, I suppose not. But you must not try to shield me. When you tellhim, let it be clearly understood that I alone am to blame. Is there anyprobability that he has carried out his threat of leaving you behind?"
"Not the least," she replied, confidently; "it was only what you of theWest would call a--a little bluff, I think."
"You still think it will be better for you to tell him first? that I'dbetter not go to him at once?"
"I do; but you may speak to him afterward, if you think best."
"It must be this evening. When shall I come?"
"Any time after dinner. If you will watch the window of my stateroom,I'll let you know when you can find him alone."
The day was going out in a dusty twilight, and they were again standingon the rear platform of the second observation-car.
When the train clattered in over the switches and stopped on the outertrack of the Denver station platform, this last car was screened by thedimly lighted hulk of the Tadmor switched in to receive its lading.Brockway ran down the steps and swung Gertrude lightly to the platform;after which he put his arms about her and kissed her passionately.
"God knows when the next time will be," he said, with a suddenforeboding of evil; and then he took her arm and led her swiftly acrossto the private car, leaving the Burtons to go whither they would.