The Argosy for May — page 68: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CRIMSON HARVEST. Yes, I know it would have been the part of sanity to say: “I went there to save you.”’ But, even if I could have made her believe the story of my strange interview with the abbess— which my own common sense scarce permitted me to believe—I was still all the more re- solved not to come to her with an appeal for thanks, when what I craved was her unbiased love. And stubborn pride, too, flew to the aid of this resolve. Her father had insulted me. She her- self had at first doubted me—though her strongest reason for that doubt I was destined not to know until many months ‘later—and, in face of all this, how could I pose melodramatically as her pre- server? It was out of the question. And, at best, De Périer would never credit my version of the scene at the convent. No; there was no way out of it. De Périer, who had moved to the win- dow, as though disclaiming any share in his daughter’s compassionate weak- ness, now looked around in some in- terest. He had noted Elise’s pause, and, like her, read my face. “Vou heard my daughter’s question,” he rasped. ‘‘ Did you, or did you not, go to the convent of Our Lady of Mont- martre yesterday?” I made no reply. “Did you talk there with the abbess, in reference to my daughter’s captiv- tye I did not answer. “Come, come, sir!” the old man growled. ‘A moment back, you were eager enough to be put upon your Sso- called ‘word of honor.’ Yet, now that we stoop to question you, you are dumb. Surely, there is not so much ‘honor’ in that same ‘word’ as to choke back all your speech? Can you find no lies to those two simple queries: Did you go to the convent, and did you talk to the abbess ? ”’ 7 “My answer to both questions,” I returned hopelessly, ‘‘ is—yes!” A little gasp from Elise, and an ironic chuckle from her father. sank down, and buried her face in her hands. There was that in her crushed attitude which went like a knife to my heart. Then the girl” 255 “I went there,” I asserted again, “and I talked to the abbess. But it was not to—’ A jeering laugh from the old man cut me short. ‘So the supply of falsehoods has not yet run out, after all!” he remarked. “Have you still others?” “T have spoken the truth,” I urged, casting sense to the winds, along with hope, ‘ and any man with a brain should know it. What object could I have had in the kidnaping of your daughter? Let me tell you one more ‘falsehood,’ to prove what I say—or to clinch the rest. M. de Peérier,.I love your daughter. I had hoped to come to you, rich and titled, to claim her hand. Why should I, then, have spirited her away? I love her, and—” The old man’s sardonic humor gave place in a breath to senile fury at my presumption. “Go!” he shrieked, steadily at me, cane aloft. Down came the slender walking-stick, across my unguarded face. Feeble as was the arm that dealt it, the blow was none the less infuriating. And then I did the bravest deed of my life. I looked De Périer in the eyes —scarce noting Elise’s cry of horror, and her hurried rush between us—bowed in silence to both father and daughter, turned on my heel, and left the room. My whole being throbbed and burned in accord with the sting of the welt across my face. I could not think, save through a mist of red. I had been struck like a street-beggar —and in the presence of-a woman! ‘The woman I loved. I had been struck, and IT had been brave enough not to resent it. I left the hotel, looking not to right or left. Straight onward I went, heed- less of distance, direction, or time. Through deserted byways, and through busy throngs I hurried at un- checked pace. More than one man was rudely jostled in my unswerving prog- ress through the more frequented thor- oughfares. At such times, I came out of my mad daze long enough to hope vaguely that one of the persons thus hustled might take umbrage and pick a quarrel with me. 97 springing un- ComicoookS.Conn