Kildee

Front matter

LIBRARY QF CONGRESS,

Shelf

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,

Chapter 1

The afternoon was fine; the hay in the distance sparkled in the sunshine^ a light sea breeze played with the gray moss-beards of the live oaks. Ochiltree race-track — two miles out from the old city of Wallport — was in good condition— the dust laid by a hard shower the day before.

It was only four o^ clock, but a number of worshipers of horse fiesh were showing off their fast trotters attached to light buggies that fairly spun around the course. The foremost of these vehicles was drawn by a span of ponies — clean-limbed fellows that lifted their feet in thorough-bred style. He who handled the reins with graceful nonchalance was Miles Carleon, owner of the race-track and of the finest turf horses in the State. He was over thirty, hnt did not look so; he carried his medium-height, compact figure with easy assurance; he was fair and florid, with chestnut hair in half curls, and a light mustache shading his voluptuous mouth.

^^Holdon,^^ he called out to a groom in front of him who was exercising his favorite horse — a black stallion, with a hint of Tartar blood in his powerful build. You are worrying Mahmoud, holding him in. Get down and take these reins. Ifil let him out a little; it^s what he^s fretting for.^^

He checked the ponies as he spoke, leaped over the wheels and mounted into the saddle the groom had vacated. As he was about to be off, two young men drove up.

‘‘ See here, Oarleon,^^ cried one of them, I heard you say that Mrs. Montcalm would be at your island party to-morrow; are you certain of it? Be sure of what you say — there ^s a bet pending.

One is sure of nothing in this world, least of all of what a woman will do,^^ Carleon answered, turning his head over his shoulder.

^ ^^Hold on. Have you heard the report — generally known— that her husband told her she should never enter his house again if she went to Aphrodite Island

Yes.^^

And you believe it?^^

I think it likely.

Then it^s no bet, Thornbury. 1^11 not throw away money. The fair Laura w'on^t fool with such a man as Montcalm, I take it. Besides, they say she^s really fond of him. Luckily the bet wasnH confirmed; so ITl crawfish.

‘^1^11 take you up, Thornbury, Oarleon said quietly.

What were the stakes?’^

Only a double ten.^^

Make it a fifty — twice that, if you like.-^^

No, thanks. The fifty is all I'^ll venture. I^m doubtful of that since I see how confident you seem. But then, I remember your old trick of playing bluff, with not a pair in your hand; so —

Well; fifty it stands. Dyke there is witness. Ta-ta. I canT hold Mahmoud any longer.

‘‘ WeTl manage to keep up with you, Carleon, unless you Ye going to let that brute out,^^ called one of the horsemen who had just ridden up.

I am going to let him out, and not on the course either. I’ve business in town this minute. ITl see you all to-night. ”

He wheeled the horse out of the race-track as he spoke and set out at a fast pace along the levels beaten road that led to the city.

Splendid animals — both of theni;, Thornbury commented, looking after the horse and rider. Business, indeed! Vll wager ifc^'s an appointment with some woman.

I don^t know,^^ answered Dyke. Carleon’s showing shrewd business sense of late; keeps things pretty well in hand, and is piling up the shekels. Shouldn't wonder if he has an eye to entering the political field.

Tell me about him,^ ^ said one of the equestrians, riding up to the side of the buggy — a boyish little blue-jacketed midshipman from the United States steamship that lay in port. I know he'^s a tiptop fellow; fine judge of horsefiesh, and wines, and all that; but what else? He owns this race-course, doesn^t he?^^

Yes; and the largest liquor house in Wallport, and the Arcade Gambling Saloon, where you dropped a few dollars last night. Carleon was born to good luck. He ran through one big fortune; and just as the world was clapping its hands and crying out: ‘Here he goes, down — down!^ the see-saw of luck bounced ‘ up, up,^ once more. A miserly old aunt left him the half -million she had been starving herself to save.

“ And so he once more rides on the top wave of society

“Well, not exactly. Wallport is strait-laced — full of moldy aristocracy. Carleon ran through his character as well as his money, and he didnT get the former renewed. He^s still a bankrupt in that line. The Bourbon blue blood turns the cold shoulder to him. Papas don^t invite him; mammas draw their pretty charges closer under their wing when he is encountered. Even Mrs. La Rue, who is only a hanger-on to the outskirts of the exclusives, doesn^t pet him openly; she^s afraid to. You see, he is notorious. That little Eden he^s got yonder on Aphrodite Island has always some frail Eve in it. He doesn^’t live there, you know; has handsome rooms at the Bay House; keeps a yachfc and fancy sail boats though, to take him where he pleases on the water.

And who is Mrs. Montcalm?^^

The handsomest woman in Wallport — married to the haughtiest, coldest man. Just now, however, he seems to be courting popular favor; has joined all the societies, speaks on public occasions, bows to people on the streets and shakes hands with them — one can see it goes against the grain for him to do it. It^s clear he means to run for office. His elder brother. General Eolff Montcalm, will back him. The general is an old favorite on the political track, you know — an old war-horse, with no end of record, would beat any man now that could be trotted out, only he^s retired. HeTl give his influence to his younger brother; and if the nominating convention will only —

Pray donT give us any politics. Dyke; save all that for your paper, broke in Thornbury.

Hoes Mrs. Montcalm belong to the La Eue set?^^ asked the little midshipman.

‘‘ She does and she doesn^t. We had her to a few germans this winter, but of late she is holding back. She has a dull time of it in her home — husband neglectful, morose, neighbors unsocial. She has only been here two years; and the Wallport women of the Bourbon stock are dreadfully cliquish. They do not take kindly to strangers. So there is nothing for belle Laura but to fall into the Sans Souci ring — Mrs. La Eue, Carleon & Co. — who revolve outside the narrow orbit of the exclusives. Mrs. La Eue is witty and kind-hearted, Carleon is captivating, and we, the ^ Co.% are innocently diverting. Unfortunately, Mrs. Montcalm^s husband doesnH view us in this benevolent light. He objects to our amusing his car a sposa; particularly does he object to Carleon; and so —

“ And so you are good to lose that fifty, Thornbury,^ ^ interrupted Dyke.

Possibly. We shall see what a day will bring forth. Yonder comes De Witt at last, with his new chestnut — a five hundred-dollar cut. . Showy, but stiff in the hind legs, it strikes me. Eblis here can distance him, and not half try. Clear the track, and 1^11 show you when he comes up.^^

And as the chestnut trotted abreast of his bay, Thornbury nodded a challenge to its owner, and the two turnouts spun ahead, keeping well together, while the equestrian group brought up the rear.

Meantime, Carleon had reached the city suburbs and turned into a narrow street, bordered by old-fashioned, dilapidated-looking houses. Once this had been a fashionable quarter, and still there was an effort at shabby gentility to be seen in some of the dwellings.

Carleon stopped before a tall, narrow house with weather-stained walls, from which the plastering had dropped away in places, giving it a leprous look. A crooked stairway led up to a porch with a mossy gable roof, and pillars matted with ivy. Ivy also muffled several of the small narrow windows that had hood-like roofs and iron-railed balconies.

One of these windows was open, and Carleon saw a slender figure in black pass before it.

She is here,^^ he said, and dismounting he gave his horse in charge of a venerable negro and entered the house.

He opened the outer door without ceremony, but inside the hall he stopped before a door on the right hand and tapped gently. At first there was no response; he repeated the knock and a female voice with a slight foreign tone said:

Entrez/’

The shrill tones of a parrot echoed the word. Carleon opened the door and the lady stopped walking and turned round, facing him, leaning one hand on an old-fashioned, claw-footed stand upon which sat the cage nf the parrot.

Welcome if you are a friend cried the bird in Spanish.

Oarleon laughed, took a raisin from his pocket and gave it to the parrot with one hand. Mobile with the other he lifted the slim, jDassive hand of its mistress and touched it to his lips.

I was riding by and called in to see how you were,^ * he said. You are looking well. That dress of black soft stuff bound at the waist with only a cord is becoming. A black lace mantilla over your head, a pomegranate flower on your breast, and Montcalm will think he sees before him the sweet little senorita who won his soldier heart in years agone. ^ ^

A derisive smile flitted over the dark, delicate-featured face, attractive, though no longer fresh.

You could always flatter to gain your ends,^’ she said.

You are strangely anxious I should meet my ex-husband. You have come now to make sure that I keep my appointment with Captain Montcalm this evening. Well, it wants two hours of that time — and I — I have been considering if I shall go.^^

‘ I thought you were decided. There was nothing in his reply to your note to make you unwilling to meet him?^^

Nothing. He wrote that he was greatly surprised to hear from me. No doubt; it is probable that he thought me dead. He could see no good, he said, that could result from our meeting again, after all these years and changes; but he would be at the place appointed — the old cemetery — at six 0^ clock. I did not look for anything more or anything less. I felt sure he would come — he is afraid to excite my anger, lest I expose him; this is the secret of his compliance.

And you are doubtful if you will keep the appointment you made yourself?'’^

Made at your instigation, if you please. Why should I want to meet, a man who wronged me so cruelly, who ignored me so utterly for all these years — robbed me of my child, evaded my pursuit, and took up his abode in a foreign land to escape me. I had no thought of meeting him when I came to this place. I came here to see you, to ask you for the sake of old — friendship — to advance me a sum that would enable me to go. upon the stage. You had money to throw away, and I knew you were generous. You have that grace, if no other. I did not know, until you told me, that Captain Montcalm was living here with a wife he had married two years ago — he who is rightfully my husband.

Not lawfully, however.

I care nothing for your law. Honor is above. law. He married me honorably as our customs go. In my country of Mexico the ceremony of hand-fastening is binding in right if not in law. The man who breaks it stains his honor. When I married Burrell Montcalm, it was not possible to have the rites strictly legal. The country was in a tumult. He was a wounded refugee from Walker^s routed army of filibusters. My mother and I nursed him back, to life. Before his wound was healed he insisted on marrying me. We took the vows kneeling before the shrine of the Virgin in our old church at home in the presence of my mother and friends. It was a left-handed marriage — so they call such in Mexico — but it was honorable and sacred as any. I never doubted his truth: love, gratitude, honor, all seemed to bind him to me. Yet he left me in a year — me a mother, though but little over fifteen — and went back to the States. He said it was to prepare a home for me and reconcile his family to receive me as his wife. But he did not return. He stayed away four years. A few letters came at first-short and unsatisfactory; then these ceased, I had no money to seek him; no friend fliat could help me. I was miserable; looked on as a poor duped wretch by those about me. Then I fell in with you. You persuaded me to leave my child and go with you to the States to hunt for my husband. I went — and —

A hot flush rose into her olive cheek; her eyes faltered in their steady gaze into Carleon^s; then the long lashes swept up again, and the eyes flashed as she went on:

After all, I should blame you for my ruined life. If I had not gone with you all would have been different, for ‘Montcalm came as you know; he found me gone; he denounced me and took my child; I have never seen either of them since. But for you —

Carleon made an impatient gesture.

You have said it is too late in the day for compliments between us; it is also too late for reproaches. If you persist in bringing up old scores, I must leave you. I make it a rule never to listen to unpleasant things. ^ ^

“ I know you do. I know how selfish and soulless you are. I knew it then. I spoke falsely just now. I do not lay the great wrong of my life to you. I lay it to the man I gave myself to when I was a loving, innocent child. Yoxi^ I never loved; it was only a temporary infatuation. If I had not been deserted and desperate, with the fever of hurt pride and love burning in my heart, I would never have listened to you. No, the wrong that crippled my life came from the man you urge me to see. Why should I see him? What good will it do? I want money, but not from him. It seems to me that money would burn my fingers if it came from him. There was a time when I longed to be revenged upon him, but hate, like love, has burned out in me. There is nothing in my heart now but ashes; all I hope or ask for now is excitement — something to warm these ashes. The stage will give me this* if I can get there. That is my last hope, and for its sake I have come to you; and you — you discourage me. You think I would not succeed. ^ ^

I do not doubt your success on the stage if you could once get a place upon it. But it is the difficulty, the almost impossibility of this, which leads me to discourage your idea of becoming an actress. It is too late for you to begin at the bottom of the ladder. Besides, you must live;

kildee; oe^ the sphinx of the ked house. 15

and yon require certain luxuries, indulgences, you tell me, which have become as necessary to you as food and air. How are you to obtain them? I tell you, your best way is to fasten yourself on Montcalm. Oh, T know that course revolts you; but you have seen too much of life not to know that we must be governed by facts, not shadows. Hunger and cold, and the necessity to live and be comfortable, are facts; pride and sentiment are shadows. Thrust them aside. Montcalm owes you reparation for what he has done. He will go to some length, I imagine, rather than you should expose him just now. He is ambitious, aspires to political honors, through his brother's (the generaFs) •influence. He is at the head of the military organization here, and prides himself on his honorable name. It would mortify him and injure him as well to have the story of his early indiscretion —

I have told you I would not make that story public — for my own sake. Thanks to you, my part in it would not be blameless. I do not wish to have my past life dissected in the newspapers. If I should have an opportunity to go upon the stage, this would be a great injury to me. I wish to appear as young as possible — or at least I do not wish to be handicapped by such a reputation as would be mine afte]* the newspapers had their say. Besides, what have I to gain by making the affair public? I have, you tell me, no legal claims upon Captain Montcalm, and I have no claim upon his heart. A man^s love is a poor thing when it is fresh and hot, but after a dozen years have cooled it, bah!^^

You might rekindle it. Montcalm does not look like a person of sentiment, but his brother, the general (who is my good friend), assures me he is a man of very deep feeling and wonderful constancy, and that an early love affair and disappointment in Mexico was the cause of his present reserved and stern demeanor. I believe he has never forgotten you, that he still remembers with fondness the childwife of his youth. There is another tie — the child.

It is doubtless dead/^

I have a very strong idea that it is alive somewhere. A desire to know what has become of it js a good and sufficient excuse for your seeking Montcalm and establishing a claim upon him. You can persuade him that you were never untrue to him (with those eyes and that voice you can make a man believe anything), that you have sought for him everywhere, broken-hearted but still faithful. You are still a magnetic — a beautiful woman.

She frowned, but in spite of herself the color in her cheek grew warmer.

So is hiswife,^^ she said presently.

His wife is a blonde. No tawny Saxon like Montcalm ever loved a blonde. He married her chiefly out of sympathy, partly perhaps for her money. Have you not heard the story? The girl was an orphan with only an adopted brother for a guardian. When she quitted the school-room she went with an aunt to Europe on a short excursion trip. In Florence they met Montcalm, who had been abroad for years in some official capacity. The raw school-girl fell madly in love with the mature, polished man of the world. He knew how to deal with such fancies, and it would probably have come to nothing, only the girTs aunt died suddenly of apoplexy, leaving her alone in a strange city. She clung to Montcalm for sympathy and protection. They were much thrown together, and the result was that he married her and came back with her to America. But they are uncongenial. She does not interest him. She is romantic and worships him, but it is an ideal. She glories in his stern rectitude and calls him her Eoman. But she is fast becoming disenchanted, and when she knows your story, her idol will tumble from its pedestal.

She will not know it.

She will hear it tliis evening — in (looking at his watch) less than an hour from now. She will be near your rendezvous with Captain Montcalm — near enough to see and hear all she can. She has read your note to her husband — or rather a copy of it — asking him to meet you in the old Colonial cemetery. I caused a facsimile of that note to be put into her hands by her maid, with the story that it was picked up in Captain Montcalm ^s dressing-room.

You did this?^^ Zulimee cried, her Spanish eyes ablaze;

and what was your motive? A personal, a selfish one, I know. I do not believe in your disinterestedness. I refuse to be your blind tool. Tell me at once what is your interest in the matter, or —

Quietly, ma telle. You shall know my motive. I don^t mind being open with you. Indeed, your penetration would not permit me to be anything else. In the first place, then, I hate this Montcalm. He has presumed to sit in judgment on my conduct; he gives himself haughty, superior airs; he has crossed my path more than once. He has been put at the head of a military organization here, when I had every right to expect the honor. He is running for, and will probably be elected to, an important city office, when I had a man of my own picked out to fill it. He has forbidden his wife to hold any intercourse with a set here — a little lively, may be, but as respectable as any in the city — a set that includes nearly all my friends. For these and other reasons, I owe a bitter grudge to the man. I would be glad of anything that would mortify or injure him. A separation from his wife would do both. He does not care for her, and she is beginning to resent his indifference. Already they are partially estranged. The knowledge of your claims upon him — the story of his relations with and desertion of you, will complete the estrangement.

‘‘ That does not necessarily follow. This relation existed long before he met her. She loves him, she will forgive him and keep his secret for the sake both of her love and her pride. I feel sure there will be no interview between him and me this evening. She has gone to him with re-

18 kildee; ok^ the sphii^x of the red house.

proaclies; alarmed and humbled, he has explained, protested, promised, and in the end there has been a reconciliation.

Is that all you know of your sex? Then I understand their nature better than you do, as the sequel will show. I would swear that she has not told him of the note. She has kept her counsel, determined to see for herself. She will be on hand in the old cemetery before you are — concealed somewhere among the tombs or the shrubbery. She will see your meeting with Montcalm — pray manage that it shall seem kind if not passionate; she will overhear something of what is said; take care that she hears what will assure her of your claims upon him, of your wrongs, the child, etc. There will be no opportunity afterward for reproaches on her part, or explanations on his, for he wilbgo straight from the cemetery to the railroad depot. He is pledged to deliver an address at a public gathering in Smithville to-morrow at ten. He would not disappoint the crowd for anything, and his train leaves at half past seven this evening. He will just have time to catch it after his interview with you. To-morrow I have a little lawn party at my island villa. Montcalm has told his wife if she goes she shall not return to his house. He does not imagine she would disobey him, nor did she dream of going so yesterday or this morning. But to-night, when she returns from the cemetery, she will be reckless enough for anything. She will be ready for any vent for wounded pride and outraged love. She will be of the island party, and Montcalm, who is sternly determined and has a terrible temper, will keep his word. She will be in the mood to defy him, and a separation will follow, probably a divorce. Then comes the opportunity for the first wife — the woman he has always loved — to reinstate herself in his affections, in his home and his wealth — she, and probably her child.

And you, my lord she asked with a mocking, but still a beaming smile.

Oh, my share of the profit comes in just here. Montcalm will be too much occupied with his tangled affairs to pursue politics or court popularity.

‘‘ While his lovely wife will be free to ornament the society of which Miles Carleon is the cynosure.

‘‘ Exactly. You are sure to see to the bottom of my motives. Well, you understand how we can play into each other^s hands, if you will only be reasonable and toss pride and sentiment overboard.'’^

They did not hear a knock that fell upon the door, but the parrot did. He had been hopping restlessly on his perch and making croaking noises all the while the two conversed: now he shrieked out, Entrez,’’ The door opened and a roly-poly, frousy-headed woman entered with a tray, on which were a tiny smoking coffee-pot and a cup and saucer.

I have brought your coffee hot and strong, at five as you told me,^^ she said to Zulimee. You were going out, you said.^""

Thanks, Madame Brazael. Yes; I am going out directly, the Spanish woman answered, and looked at Carleon.

So you will go to the appointment, he said low, replying to the look. That is right; and now forgive one friendly suggestion. You know your weak point— your quick, passionate temper; pray be watchful of it in the coming interview. Be calm and far-seeing. The next hour or two may be laden with fate for you. I trust it will bring only good fortune. Adieu.

With another touch of his mustached lips to her hand, he was gone. Madame Brazael had also left the room. Zulimee stood a second in thought.

Can it be there is any good luck waiting for me?’^ she muttered. I can not feel it so. I am strangely depressed. I shrink from this meeting. Oh, how it will bring back the old innocent, loving days! Ah, well, perhaps the coffee with help me.*^^

20 kildee; oe, the sphii^^x of the eed house.

She took up the little metal pot and poured a part of its steaming contents into the cup.

It looks strong/ she said, eying the clear brown color of the liquid, “ but I will add to its strength."^

She opened a drawer and took out a small crystal-andgilt flask half filled with brandy. She poured a few spoonfuls of the liquor into, the coffee and drank it. Then she threw a black lace mantilla over her head, and glanced at her watch; then paced the floor restlessly, holding her hand over her heart.

It will not do. I must have the morphine after all,^^ she said aloud. Nothing else can wind me up. I seem all run down.

CHAPTEE 11.

Caeleok rode briskly to the quarter of the town where Captain Montcalm lived. Dismounting before a public building, he made his way to an upper story, stationed himself at a window commanding a view of Montcalm's house and brought his opera-glass to bear upon its front door. Five minutes passed; then a female figure, muffled in a gray cloak and veil, came out and passed into the street. Carleon smiled, well pleased. In spite of the unusual dress, he knew Laura Montcalm's gliding yet proud walk. It was she, and she was going to the cemetery, else she would not have dressed that way and would not have gone on foot, when she had a pretty pony phaeton. He watched her enter a street car that would take her near the old river-side cemetery, unused for many years, neglected and overgrown. Then he came down, remounted Mahmoud and was cantering leisurely up the street when Mrs. La Eue's carriage turned a corner. She signaled to the driver to stop and beckoned to Carleon. He rode up beside the carriage, and returned her gay, familiar greeting.

I went to see Laura this morning, according to promise/^ she said.

And what success?^^

None. It took stratagem to see her, even. The servants had evidently received orders not to admit me. I found her melancholy and subdued. It is plain she will submit to his tyranny; his high mightiness awes her to his will. Besides, she worships him — little fool! I am now convinced it was true — the report that he had ordered her, under penalty of a separation, to break off all intercourse with me and you and the rest of us. Wretched Puritanthat he is

Puritan? Don^t judge him by his present strait-laced respectability. If you knew his past! But no matter — or rather all the better for me.

What in the world do you mean?’^

Nothing; only that Laura Montcalm will go with us to Aphrodite to-morrow.

I canT see for my life what you found that assertion upon. ^

I don^t always show my hand — even to you. Perhaps I have kept back a telling card to the last, and will trump this trick in spite of his high mightiness.'’^

‘‘ I don^t believe it. ITl wager my diamond cluster against that emerald on your little finger that you don^t succeed.