Chapter XXXIV

The long, sleepless night which followed Marian's harrowing experience, painful as it was, proved the most vital moment of her life. From girlhood it had been hers to receive rather than to give. Her beauty and vivacity had always attracted attention and homage, her positive nature demanded and was given leadership, until she came to regard this as natural and to be expected. To have Huntington question her judgment was as novel as it was unpleasant, to have Merry suggest a worldliness in her approach to life struck her as absolutely incongruous. Mrs. Thatcher knew herself to be a competent woman, and as no one before had questioned her ethics, she accepted the successful outcome of her undertakings as conclusive proof that her judgment was correct.

She might pass Huntington's comment by as the expression of one who could look at any question only from a man's standpoint, she could make light of what Merry said on the ground that the girl knew so little of life; but in her experience with Hamlen she had come face to face with a mistake so real that it compelled a readjustment of her perspective. She could harbor no resentment against him: the climax had come as the direct result of her own error in judgment, and the responsibility belonged to her alone. Ever since that eventful meeting in Bermuda she had seen the battling of conflicting emotions. To her more than to any one else should have come knowledge of the limit beyond which this self-tortured soul could not be pressed. She had deceived herself in regard to the reclamation; Hamlen's condition remained unchanged; Huntington had simply developed him to a point where he had gained better control. Beneath the deceptive smoothness of the surface still surged the turmoil started twenty years before, seething with unsatisfied yearnings, and kept under only by the superb strength of will which she herself at last had broken down. Huntington had warned her of the danger but she refused to recognize its existence. Marian could blame no one but herself, and the fact that her intentions had been of the best did not mitigate the tragedy she had perpetrated. This latest buffet of the world would be conclusive evidence to Hamlen that he had no place in its daily routine.

Marian had reached this point in her mental struggle when the most awful thought of all suddenly came to her.

"Would the harm stop there!"

She sat bolt upright, staring ahead into the grey dawn which lighted the chamber through the long windows. "Merciful God!" she cried aloud,--"not that! not that!"

A moment later she sprang out of bed and threw a kimono about her. Then she opened the window-door and passed out onto the little balcony. The sun was just rising, and Marian unconsciously first felt the beauty of the breaking day. It had been long since she had seen a sunrise! She stood watching it for a brief moment, brushing back with her hand the mass of beautiful hair which fell about her shoulders and lay against her ashen cheeks. Then she stepped forward, and facing the East like a Sun-worshiper of old fell upon her knees in an agony of prayer. The God who made a world like this she supplicated, who flooded it with the radiance of such a day, would not so punish her for a single act of folly! Mistaken as it was, behind it all lay a desire to atone, an effort for the happiness of others. He would not ask for retribution such as that!

Relieved by her outburst she returned to her chamber. She must see Huntington. He would know what to do. He would be God's agent to prevent the awful climax. But it would be several hours before she could disturb him, and these hours must be endured.

Huntington responded promptly to the summons when it reached him, wondering what the occasion might be. Marian's explanation of Hamlen's disappearance the night before had been so diplomatic that he had accepted it, so the real story was a complete surprise. He listened intently as she told him everything, sparing herself in no degree, anxious only to receive from him some assurance that her fears were unwarranted.

"You should have told me sooner," was the only criticism Huntington made, after learning the details.

"I was completely dazed," Marian explained helplessly. "This awful thought only came to me in the early morning. You don't think it too late! Don't tell me that!"

"It is useless to speculate," he answered gravely. "Knowing Hamlen as we do, and knowing how high his sense of honor, the next step seems inevitable. He will consider that he has sinned against the woman he loves, and will demand of himself an expiation beyond what he would exact from any one else. I shall do my best to find him. Let us hope it will be in time."

"Couldn't I go with you?--No, of course I couldn't,--but how can I endure it until I know? What can I do to help?"

Huntington had risen, ready to take his motor-car which had been summoned when first he learned the facts. There was no excitement in his manner, but an alert readiness to undertake his duty with the least possible delay. As Mrs. Thatcher asked the question a sternness seemed to come into his face, but his voice was kindly as he replied.

"Whatever you tell the others," he said with decision, "Merry must know the whole truth. There is another tragedy going on in that little girl's soul which needs a mother's care. That is where you can help.--I shall telephone you as soon as I have news."

As the crunching of the wheels on the gravel road died away Mrs. Thatcher rose and went to her daughter's room. Never before had she so promptly followed another's suggestion, but at that moment she felt an aversion to her own judgment, and welcomed the opportunity to follow rather than to lead.

* * * * *

"All this mystery is getting on my nerves," Edith remarked to Cosden as they sauntered out onto the piazza after a later breakfast. "Mr. Hamlen, after seeming perfectly rational with us in the _bosquet_ yesterday, rushes into the house, packs his belongings, and disappears without saying 'good-bye' to any one. Marian, also rational when we saw her yesterday, becomes invisible to the naked eye, and sends word she has a headache--the first I've ever known her to have. This morning she is down to breakfast before any one of us is up except Mr. Huntington, who by a strange coincidence also craves an early breakfast for the first time on record. Marian has gone up-stairs again, and our friend Monty has motored off to Heaven knows where. Now then, what's the answer?"

"Why not accept Mrs. Thatcher's explanation until you have a better one?" Cosden asked, drawing his chair nearer to hers.

"Because it's too fishy, and my curiosity is aroused."

"In that case I'm sure you'll find out all about it," he said smiling.

"Why aren't you interested?"

"I'm perfectly comfortable," he explained, "and so entirely satisfied with the present company that I can spare Hamlen, Monty, and even Mrs. Thatcher just as well as not."

"Then you're going to leave me to do the work?" she demanded. "That's just like a man!"

"I'm glad they're gone," Cosden admitted. "It gives me just the chance I've been waiting for: will you marry me?"

"Again?" Edith inquired.

"No; just this once."

"It would serve you right if I did!"

"I dare you to!"

"No! no! no! no!" she cried.

"Give me an option for thirty days."

"You silly!" she laughed. "For a sensible man you can be more kinds of foolish than any one I know."

"Flattery doesn't hurt anybody unless he swallows it," Cosden retorted complacently.

Whither their gibes would have carried them is needless to consider, for they were interrupted by the approach of a motor-car up the driveway.

"Monty has made a quick trip," Cosden observed, "now you can satisfy your curiosity."

"On the contrary," Edith retorted rising, "the plot thickens. That is Harry Thatcher. What in the world has happened to send him motoring down here at ten o'clock in the morning?"

They passed through the hallway to the _porte cochere_ on the opposite side of the house. Thatcher was just descending from the car.

"Hello!" he greeted Edith, who was ahead. "Where's Marian?"

"Up-stairs. What brings you home at this time of day?"

"Don't disturb her yet," he exclaimed, disregarding her question. "I want a word with Cosden first. You'll excuse us?"

Locking his arm through Cosden's Thatcher led him back onto the piazza which the two had just left.

"What's wrong?" Cosden asked. "Market gone to pieces?"

"It's hell,--nothing less," Thatcher answered, speaking with an excitement unnatural to him. "I left New York at four o'clock this morning. I've come to you, Cosden, as a last resort. We've fought each other on every deal we've ever been in, so you understand how hard I'm pushed. If you're fixed so that you can put me next to a bunch of cold, hard cash, you can have anything I control at a fraction of its value. This is your chance to make your everlasting fortune if you can command the cash."

"You don't mean it!" Cosden exclaimed. "Are you caught as bad as that?"

"Worse than that. Securities are dropping out of sight. Germany will declare war inside of a week, and there is danger of other big nations becoming involved. If they do, God only knows what will happen to the money system of the world; it is strained already to the breaking-point. You may thank Heaven, Cosden, that your investments are not in speculative stocks! But we're losing time. I must get back by three o'clock. Is there any chance of pulling off my forlorn hope? If not, we'll close our doors to-morrow."

"Do you actually mean that, Thatcher?"

"Exactly that. I don't advise you to do this unless you're fixed so that you can carry things comfortably, for I tell you we're in for a crisis; but if you can, it's the opportunity of a lifetime, and by sacrificing my personal interests I can save my house."

"How much do you need?"

"Half a million, in cash. I'm that much short of what I must have to see me through. It might as well be a billion!"

"What do you offer for it?"

"Five million in Consolidated Machinery stock."

Cosden whistled and then became contemplative, while Thatcher waited eagerly for his reply. The hesitation in itself was encouraging, for it indicated that Cosden could raise the money if he cared to do it.

"As a matter of fact, Thatcher," Cosden said at length, "I've been laying my pipes for just this moment ever since the trouble began, and I'm fixed where I can handle it all right; but I don't quite like the proposition as it stands."

"Then make your own proposition."

"I've counted on having my available cash earn me something handsome, of course; but I don't think I'd enjoy my profits much if I got them by cleaning you out."

"We must forget friendship and all else at a time like this," Thatcher cried. "For God's sake, man, if you can do it, don't stand on any foolish sentiment! It may ruin me, but my house will weather the storm. I ask it as a favor."

"How soon must you have the money?"

"By to-morrow."

"All right; I'll give you drafts to take back to New York."

"Thank God!" Thatcher exclaimed feverishly. "And you'll take the stock?"

"No, I don't want the stock. Give me your note."

"But I haven't a dollar's worth of collateral to put up with it. Everything I own is pledged."

"Damn the collateral! The signature will be genuine, won't it? That's good enough for me."

"You advance it simply as a loan?"

"Of course. Now let's get the drafts fixed up, and you run back to New York and keep your finger on the pulse of the market."

"You're sacrificing the chance of your life, Cosden," Thatcher exclaimed. "Why should you do this for me?"

"I don't quite understand it myself," Cosden admitted; "but as long as I want to why not make the most of it? I might change my mind."

"And we've always said you were a hard man, Cosden!" Thatcher exclaimed with gratitude in his voice.

"I was once," he admitted; "but lately I've been getting humanized, and anybody can slip anything over on me. Now you trot back to New York and cable Willie Kaiser that I disapprove of his declaring war."

"You are a friend in need!" Thatcher grasped his hand cordially. "I'll run up for a word with Marian, and then back into the vortex. Keep your eye on the cable news, Cosden. Hell is breaking loose!"

As Thatcher rushed up-stairs Cosden relit his cigar which had gone out during the excitement, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked meditatively up and down the piazza. He was immensely pleased with himself, and felt entitled to his self-approval.

"Even old Monty couldn't have done that better," he muttered. "Good old Thatcher--I hope it pulls him through!"

"What's the matter with Harry?" Edith demanded in a stage whisper, appearing from nowhere.

"He forgot his umbrella yesterday," Cosden lied, speciously, "and he's afraid it's going to rain."

"Oh, you tantalizing brute!" she cried, stamping her foot indignantly. "I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in the world!"

* * * * *