George Gibbs

“ Loring would fight to the last ditch. All the more glory in driving him there!
But of Jane he thought with less assurance. His own mind had been so innocent of transgression, his own heart so filled with the thought of her, that her willingness to believe evil of him and of Nina had caused a singular revulsion of feeling which was playing havoc with his sentiments. It had not mattered so much when Jane’s indictment had been for him alone; that, he had deserved and had been willing to stand trial for; but with Nina’s reputation at stake Jane’s intolerance took a different aspect. ”

“ She was new to the world of men, of men of the world, such as she had met since she had been in New York, but it had never occurred to her to believe that there could be a person so base as Philip Gallatin. He weakened her faith in herself and in all the world. The dishonor he had offered her had been enough without this added insult to the memory of it. Downtown they were using her name scurrilously in the same breath with that of Phil Gallatin, speaking her name lightly as they spoke of—of other women they couldn’t respect. Phil Gallatin’s name and hers! ”

“ In his unfamiliarity with the wilderness he had forgotten that here was Joe Keegón’s city, its trails, portages and streams as clearly mapped in his mind as the streets of John Kenyon’s New York. The Indian would find the place where the deer was killed. Kenyon breathed a sigh of relief. The wheel of Destiny was spinning now and Kenyon had nothing to do but sit and watch. He had done his share.
That night there was much to do, but Keegón seemed in no hurry. When Gallatin, who seemed tireless was for making a permanent camp at once, Joe shook his head and went on cleaning fish. ”

“ Love dwelt in Jane’s eyes and confidence, a trust and belief in Phil Gallatin that put Nellie Pennington’s rather assertive indorsement of him to the blush. She realized now that below Jane Loring’s placid exterior, there was a depth of feeling, a quiet strength and resolution of which she had never even dreamed; for she, too, had thought Jane a “nice little thing”—a pretty, amiable, cheerful soul without prejudices, who would add much to her own joy of life, and to the intimate circle of young people she [193] chose to gather around her. ”

“ As the world considers such things, you’re poor and so you’re born for better things! You’ve got the Gallatin intellect, the Gallatin solidity, the Gallatin cleverness——”
“And the Gallatin insufficiency,” he finished for her.
“A fig for your vices,” she said contemptuously. “It’s the little men of this world that never have any vices. No big man ever was without them. Whatever dims the luster of the spirit, the white fire of intellect burns steadily on, unless—” she paused and glanced at him, quickly, lowering her voice—“unless the luster of the spirit is dimmed too long, Phil.” ”

“ Gallatin! Do you think I could believe the word of a man who seeks revenge for a woman’s indifference? Who finding her invulnerable goes to the ends of his resources to attack the members of her family? Trying by methods known only to himself and those of his kind to hinder the success of those more diligent than himself, to smirch the good name of an honest man, to obtain money——”
“Stop,” cried Gallatin hoarsely, and in spite of herself she obeyed. For he was leaning forward toward her, the long fingers of one hand trembling before him.
“You’ve gone almost too far, Miss Loring,” he whispered. ”

“ John Kenyon guessed something of what was passing in the mind of the younger man, and over the camp-fire watched him furtively. The sun and wind had tanned him and the vigorous exercise had brought an appetite that had filled the hollows of his cheeks; but in spite of the glow of health and youth and the delight of their old friendship, a shadow still hung in Phil Gallatin’s eyes, which even the joy of the present could not dispel. Kenyon smoked quietly and asked subtle questions about their further pilgrimage. ”

“ Nellie Pennington, having led her companions into deep water, now turned and guided them into the shoals of the commonplace. Jane Loring’s eyes and Phil Gallatin’s had met across the table. The act was unavoidable for they sat directly opposite each other and, though each looked away at once, the current established, brief as it was, was burdened with meaning. Gallatin read a hundred things, but love was not one of them. Jane read a hundred things any one of which might have been love, but, as far as she knew, was not. ”

“ Oh, you know a lot about women, Phil Gallatin!” she finished scornfully.
“I know enough,” he muttered.
“You think you do,” she put in quickly. “The Lord give me patience to talk to you! For unbiased ignorance, next to the callous youth who thinks he knows it all, commend me to the modern Galahad! The one only thinks he knows, but the other doesn’t want to know. He’s content to believe every woman irreproachable by the mere virtue of being a woman. Nina Jaffray has played her cards with remarkable cleverness, but she has been quite unscrupulous. ”

“ Jane was silent for a moment.
“My father has a sharp tongue at times,” she went on. “He has mentioned Phil Gallatin’s name—unpleasantly. I couldn’t stand hearing him spoken about in that way. I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t tolerate it—even from my father. I have made a decision and father must abide by it. He must accept Phil as I have accepted him. I am satisfied. A man’s past is his own. He can only give a girl his future. I used to think differently, but I’m content with that. Phil’s future is mine, and I’ll take my half of it, whatever it is.” ”

“ And yet with all its splendor, the house lacked an identity and an ego. It was too sophisticated. Each object of art, beautiful in itself, spoke of a different taste—a taste which had been bought and paid for. It was like a museum which one enters with interest but without emotion. It was a house without a soul.
It was toward this splendid mausoleum that the daughter of the house made her way after her meeting with Mr. Gallatin in the Park. ”

“ Time will prove the right or the wrong of the matter between Henry K. Loring and me as time will prove the right and the wrong to his daughter. I ask nothing of her now, nor ever shall, not even a thought. The girl I am thinking of was gentle, kind, sincere. She looked with the eyes of compassion, the far-seeing gaze of innocence unclouded by bitterness or doubt. ”

“ Yes, it’s true. Do you think I couldn’t read in your eyes?”
“No, no,” she protested. “It isn’t true. I—I didn’t love you—I don’t——”
He had captured one of her hands and was leaning toward her, his voice close at her ear, vibrant with emotion.
“You loved me—up there, Jane. The forest knew. The stream sang of it. It was in Kee-way-din and the rain. It was part of the primeval, when we lived a thousand years ago. Don’t you remember? I read it in your eyes that night when I came in with the deer. You ran out to meet me, like the cave-woman to greet her man. ”

“ Gallatin,” she said haltingly. “We both seem to have been mistaken. It’s very much better to avoid a—a discussion which is sure to—to be painful to us both.”
“What do you know of pain,” he whispered, “if you can’t know the pain of absence? Nothing that you can say will hurt more than that, the pain of being ignored—forgotten—for another. I have stood it as long as I can, but you needn’t be afraid to tell me the truth. If you say that you love—that you’re going to marry Van Duyn, I’ll go—but not until then.” ”

“ Miss Loring had reached the end of the Davenport where she stood leaning with one hand on its arm, a little frightened at the expression in her father’s face, but more perturbed and shaken by the fluttering of her own heart which told her how nearly Phil Gallatin had convinced her against her will that there was nothing in all the world that mattered except his love and hers. ”

“ Mrs. Loring broke in. “You talk of his future. What future can there be for a man with a habit——”
“Wait!” he commanded. “As to that—he’s quit, do you understand? Quit it altogether. I’m just as sure of that as I am that Jane’s judgment was better than mine, so sure that I’m willing to stake Jane’s future on it. You needn’t ask me why I know it, but I do. He’s made good—with me and he’s made good with himself.”
And while she listened he told her of the events of the morning which had resulted in the failure of his financial project and of Gallatin’s share in it. ”

“ Joe Keegón and another Indian, whose name turned out to be Charlie Knapp, got the valises out of the wagon. Gallatin offered Joe his hand, and the Indian took it with the steady-eyed taciturnity of the wilderness people. Joe was no waster of words or of emotion. He led the way into the store of the trader, and they went over the outfit together—blankets, ammunition, tea, pork, flour, tents, and all the rest of it, while John Kenyon sat on a flour barrel, swinging his legs, smoking a corncob pipe and listening. ”

“ Jane had straightened and now glanced fearfully toward the door as though she expected to see [336] Phil Gallatin at any moment coming through the curtains. “You had no right to do that! I will not see him. Whatever his business relations with you, you have no right to force him on me. I have known for a long time that he was clever, that he could make his way in the world if he wanted to, but your acceptance of him changes nothing with me.”
“But you love him,” he persisted.
“No, no,” she protested. “I could never love a man who had once been faithless—never forgive him—never even in death. ”

“ Overweening husbands, with a fine air of letting the cat out of the bag, have been known to whisper that these carefully guarded secrets are no secrets at all, and that women are merely children of a larger growth, playing at hide and seek with one another (and with their common enemy) for the mere love of the game, that there are no mysteries in their natures to be solved, and that the vaunted woman’s instinct, like the child’s, is as apt to be wrong as often as it is right. ”

“ She had grown older, more intense, more fragile, her features more clearly carved, more refined and—except for the hard little shadows at the corners of her lips—more spiritual.
He glanced at the heavy, bovine face of Coley Van Duyn beside her and wondered. Coley had been drinking freely and his face was flushed, his laugh open-mouthed and louder than Nellie Pennington’s humor seemed to warrant. [302] How could she? God! How could she do it?
A blind rage came upon Gallatin, a sudden wave of intolerance and rebellion, and he clenched his fists beneath the table. ”

“ The habit of getting what she wanted was in her blood and she simply couldn’t understand being balked in anything. But Nina was beginning slowly and with some difficulty to grasp the essentials of Philip Gallatin’s character and the permanence of his reconstruction; and with the passage of time and event Nina had a glimmering of the true caliber of his mind, all of which brought out with unflattering definiteness her own frivolity and gave a touch of farce-comedy, with which she had in her heart been far from investing it, to her unconventional wooing. ”

“ Jane had turned from him because some one had lied about him, turned away and left him here alone in the dark with this hideous thing that was rising up in him and would not let him think.
He went to the table and filled a pipe with trembling [253] fingers. A terror oppressed him, the imminence of a danger. It was the horror of being alone, alone in the room where this thing was. He knew it well. It had been here before and it had conquered him. It lurked in the dark corners and grinned from his bookshelves and laughed in the crackling of his fire. ”

“ Jane had sunk on the bench again, her head bent and a sound came from her lips. But he did not hear it.
“I do not need her now,” he went on quietly. “What she was is only a memory; what she is, only a regret. I shall live without her. I shall live without any woman, for no woman could ever be to me what that memory is. ”

“ Gallatin got up wearily, stretching his tired muscles and cast about in search of a spot for his camp. He found two young trees on a high piece of ground within a stone’s throw of the stream, which would serve as supports for a roof of boughs, and was in the act of gathering the wood for his fire, when he caught the crackling of a dry twig in the bushes at some distance away. Three weeks ago, perhaps, he would not have heard or noticed, but his ear, now trained to the accustomed sounds, gave warning that a living thing, a deer or a black bear, perhaps, was moving in the undergrowth. ”

“ There were lines, too, in Phil Gallatin’s face, lines which had appeared in the last two years which made the resemblance even more assured. And yet to John Kenyon, there seemed to be a difference. There was something of Evelyn Westervelt in him, too, the clean straight line of the jawbone and the firmly modeled lips, thinner than the father’s and more decisive.
“I’m glad of that, Phil,” he said slowly.
“I’m not asking you to believe in me again. Broken faith can’t be repaired by phrases. I don’t want you to believe in me until I’ve made good. ”