Deane

“ The ice locking her mind moved restlessly.
“They do good, Martin. Not everyone plays with love and pain the way you do.”
“Let me rest, Deane. I want to rest.” He leaned for a moment against the divan and then got up. “You’re the only one I care about,” he said wearily. “Can these ponderous technicians, with their burden of world-pain give you happiness? Can you let their hard lines of conduct, which apply to the diseased, disturb our concept of life? Top-heavy and non-elastic—surely they cannot appeal to your ideas!”
Deane knew that he was splendid in his agony. She wanted to kiss his cheeks. ”

“ And then that news of the divorce had come to mock her.
But she must do something for Deane. Deane must not go like that. She had brought pencil and writing tablet with her, thinking that perhaps out of doors, away from the house where she had seemed locked in all winter, she could write to him. She thought of things to say, things that should be said, but she did not seem to have any power to charge them with life. How could the dead rouse the dead? She sat there thinking of her and Deane, of how they had always been able to reach one another. ”

“ But doubtless Ted was wrong—not knowing her. It did not seem that Deane would be drawn to anyone who was not real.
She lingered in the thought of him. Real was just what Deane was. He had been wonderfully real with her in those days—days that had made the pattern of her life. Reality had swept away all other things between them. That carried her back to the new thinking, the questions. It seemed it was the things not real that were holding people apart. It was the artificialities people had let living build up around them made those people hard. ”

“ Deane knew that imagination is a terribly real factor in certain crises of life, let it but get its grip upon its victim. And Holloway ... at the thought that he might be following in the footsteps of those other two, vanished utterly from the face of the earth, Deane started up to pace the camp in an agony of restlessness.
Ibraheem, scorching himself before the fire in devoted tendance of a covered dish containing dainties saved from supper for the return of Holloway, whom he loved, looked up at Deane's sudden motion.
"Ne master have send out more man," he said mournfully. ”

“ Don’t laugh, Deane, but I can smell icebergs.”
“What do they smell like?” Deane asked curiously.
“Some sailors say the bergs smell like wet sea moss; others say it’s like a pocket of cold salt. But to me they have no positive odor. It’s more like a taste. It’s like kissing an ammoniated mirror.”
“That’s strange,” said Deane, looking at him queerly.
The wind outside was raging and whistling through the radio antennas as through the rigging of a ship.
Deane made fresh coffee. As Martin was finishing his cup, she asked him gravely, “Martin, how are you going to live? What will you do?” ”

“ Deane's pipe dropped from his hand and smashed upon the iron hearth.
“Martha Deane!” he cried. “Does the d—— what possesses thee? Wasn't it enough that thee should drive away the man I had picked out for thee, with a single view to thy own interest and happiness; but must thee take up, as a wicked spite to thy father, with almost the only man in the neighborhood who brings thee nothing but poverty and disgrace? It shall not be—it shall never be!”
“It must be, father,” she said gently. “God hath joined our hearts and our lives, and no man—not even thee—shall put them asunder. ”

“ He did not say anything, miserably wondering what she now thought of him as her friend.
"Oh, Deane," she broke out, "don't be hard! If you could know what he's suffering! Being a man—being a little older—what's that? If you can understand me, Deane, you've got to understand him, too!"
He stood there in silence looking at Ruth as, looking away from him now, she brooded over that. In this hour of her own humiliation her appeal was for the man who had brought it upon her. "How you love him!" ”

“ It was as if there were a spirit with him at times, walking at his side, and hovering about his campfire at nights, and when he gave himself up to the right mood he felt that it was the presence of Deane. He believed in strong friendship, but he had never believed in the love of man for man. ”

“ In all the great hotel, not a soul seemed to be stirring.
Deane drew one long breath, and without a second's hesitation stole forward until he stood in front of Number 27. Once more he looked around him. The lights from all the transoms in sight had been extinguished. There was only that dimly burning electric light at the end of the corridor, to dissipate the gloom. He fitted the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open. Deane closed it behind him, turned on the electric light, and gazed around him with fast beating heart. He was there at last! ”

“ Deane stepped into his brougham, giving the man the address of the hotel where Winifred Rowan was staying. He leaned back in the seat, looking at the little weapon in his hands. Somehow, the fact of his escape, instead of bringing any exultation with it, seemed to depress him strangely. Deane had never called himself or believed himself to be a religious man, yet there was certainly one principle which had always been part of his creed,—to live and let live. He was not a greedy capitalist. He could look upon money without any desire to absorb it. ”

“ Martin laughed. He had the key. He had turned the key and the glass had broken. Gone was the poisonous mist and doubt from Deane’s eyes.
“I mean that there is a completeness in woman that man will never have,” he said, with quiet conviction. “A secret that man will never fully understand. A secret that women are not aware of—consciously. A pact of woman in the woman that is not revealed until the life-flow moves from their bodies. A pact so complete, so magnificent, that man takes on his true perspective—an interloper.”
Deane turned and hugged him to her. ”

“ Fifteen hundred dollars seemed too small a sum to pay for what would give him so much joy; and he mourned that the tress had not been larger, quite as much as did Eugenia, when she heard of his odd fancy.
The moon had long since ceased to shine on the sleeping city, and day was breaking in the east, ere Nathaniel Deane arose from the table where he had sat the livelong night, gloating over his treasure, and writing a letter which now lay upon the table. ”

“ Deane watched her as she went.
“Maud’s right,” said he. “She always is. There’s nothing for it but dynamite. I wonder where it’s to be got?”
General Bellairs clapped him on the shoulders.
“Inclined for a turn, Deane? I’m going to see an old servant of mine—Painter’s his name. He married my poor wife’s French maid, and set up as a restaurant-keeper in the Palais-Royal. I always look him up when I come to Paris.” ”

“ She was fair, as he was fair, with gray-blue eyes, brown hair, and quivering lips, a figure slim and yet pliant, a manner, even in silence, appealing,—enticing. Deane felt himself curiously moved at the sight of her. Then he remembered suddenly how great was his need of self-control. She was the sister of this man who lay under sentence of death. Perhaps she had come to plead for his help. He must be careful. All the time he must be careful!
"You wish to see me?" he asked, a little brusquely. "I am Stirling Deane. Will you take a chair, and tell me in as few words as you can what you want?" ”

“ Deane's was too sweet a nature to be bitter,—it yet added to his always keen appreciation of colour. His naturally intense enjoyment of the finer pleasures of the senses had been apt to be dashed by an almost morbid recollection of the many "better men than he," who had no chance of satisfying themselves. ”

“ The only bright feature was the congenial feeling which appeared at once to unite Miss Bussey and Sir Roger Deane. They sat together, and, aided by the General’s geniality and Lady Deane’s supramundane calm, carried the meal to a conclusion without an actual breakdown, ending up with a friendly wrangle over the responsibility for the bill. ”

“ I’ve never been patient about most things; but I will be—about [402] this.” Deane spoke so tenderly that the cool night wind stopped blowing, and a moment of such stillness ensued that all outside was hidden—all sound, all waves of sound and color—everything was hidden.
“Almighty God!” whispered Martin, staring at her—staring at her coral cheeks and swollen bosom. “The Scylla Deeps—a sea no man has found—” Aloud he cried, “It will be done your way, Deane. In the end, it will always be your way.” ”

“ Deane's house.
This time the two met, not so much as lovers, but rather as husband and wife might meet after long absence and escape from imminent danger. Martha Deane knew how cruel and bitter Gilbert's fate must seem to his own heart, and she resolved that all the cheer which lay in her buoyant, courageous nature should be given to him. Never did a woman more sweetly blend the tones of regret and faith, sympathy and encouragement. ”

“ Amid the bustle which now ensued, I caught sight of Mr. Deane's face peering from an open doorway. It was all alive with hope. I also perceived a lady looking down from the second story, who, I felt sure, was Mrs. Burton herself. Evidently my confident tone had produced more effect than the words themselves. Every one looked upon the jewel as already recovered and regarded my invitation to the stable as a ruse by which I hoped to restore universal good feeling by giving them all a share in my triumph. ”

“ CHAPTER II SYMPATHY IN SORROW “Give me,” observed Sir Roger Deane, “Cannes, a fine day, a good set to look at, a beehive chair, a good cigar, a cocktail on one side and a nice girl on the other, and there I am! I don’t want anything else.”
General Bellairs pulled his white mustache and examined Sir Roger’s figure and surroundings with a smile.
“Then only Lady Deane is wanting to your complete happiness,” said he.
“Maud is certainly a nice girl, but when she deserts me——”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” interposed a young man, who wore an eye—glass and was in charge of a large jug. ”

“ Even things she had experienced with Stuart she could, of the two, more easily have talked of with Deane. It was to Deane she could have talked of the things Stuart made her feel. Within a certain circle Stuart was the man to whom she came closest; somehow, with him, she did not break from that circle. She had always had that feeling of Deane's understanding what she felt, even though it was not he who inspired the feeling. That seemed a little absurd to her—to live through things with one man, and have what that living made of her seem to swing her to some one else. ”

“ She nodded, but for an instant Ted stood there looking at her. She was so strange. She had been crying, and yet she seemed so glad, so excited about something.
"Oh, Deane," she cried, holding out her two hands to him, laughter and sobs crowding out together, "talk to me! How's your mother? How's your Aunt Margaret's rheumatism? What kind of an automobile have you? What about your practice? What about your dog? Why, Deane," she rushed on, "I'm just starving for things like that! You know I'm just Ruth, don't you, Deane?" She laughed a little wildly. "And I've come home. ”

“ We are alone. You are not giving yourself away. Tell me your price!"
"I have no price, Mr. Deane," she said, "because I have no paper. I am not a thief, nor have I stolen anything from anybody. All that you say is strange to me. My brother is waiting, and he is very ill. Will you come with me now, or will you follow as soon as you can?"
Deane leaned back in his chair and laughed. It was not altogether a natural laugh, but it was the only relief he could find from his overwrought feelings. "What sort of a game you and I are going to play, Miss Rowan, I cannot imagine," he said. ”

“ Deane answered shortly. "Sometimes I get half off, but that—that's worse than nothing. Every time I drop off I'm back—out there—again, stumbling over rocks, mad with hunger and thirst." He brushed the back of a hand across his forehead. "Or else I'm feeling dry arms around my neck, and something pulling at me the way—oh, the way I dreamt out there!" He shuddered. "Then I stay awake the rest of the night."
"Deane, go home!" Merritt urged earnestly. " You're not fit to stay out here. No man would be, after—all that." ”

“ Deane removed his boots, and went noiselessly to the door. He peered through the flap into the moonlight; abruptly drew back with a quick intake of breath.
"Good Lord!" he muttered. "That boy!... Camping down here in one blanket instead of sleeping decently in his tent ... Is the youngster crazy?"
An instant he thought rapidly. He drew on his boots, bestirred himself briskly a moment, making much noise; and listened again—then called out in natural tones:
"Hello, Holloway! Not turned in yet? Come in." ”

“ Deane turned to his chauffeur. "The Carlton!" he said, and stepped inside.
The brougham glided away, swung in and out of the traffic, and ran smoothly along the Embankment, westward. Deane let down both the windows, took off his hat and placed it on the seat opposite him. Then he drew a small fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead.
"God in Heaven!" he muttered to himself. "Twelve men, and not one of them could see the truth. Twelve men, all fools!"
He took a cigarette from a small gold case, and lit it with trembling fingers. ”