Suddenly, without moving, Jeff's great hand shot out and clinched Larry's knee like a vise.
"He—he's my father, Larry," said Jeff hoarsely, "my father—do you understand? I didn't want him to know."
Larry put his hand over Jeff's and gripped it hard. He knew what other people in Mesa City knew of Jeff's birth, but no words occurred to him. The information had taken his breath away.
"I didn't want him to know," Jeff went on. "I wanted to wait—to tell him myself when things had broken right for us. I wanted to win—to show him I was his master—not to come crawling and licking his boots for mercy. I'll not do it now, either, by G—d. He can break me to bits, but he'll never own me—I never was his—I never will be——"
"He hasn't broken us yet, Jeff. He can't keep us out of Pueblo. We're going to win, I tell you."
"We've got to win, Larry," groaned Jeff. "We've got to win. That conspiracy charge——"
"Mere piffle," said Larry. "Don't worry. They've bought Fritz Weyl. He's not a competent witness. I can prove it."
Jeff sank back again, his gaze on the mountains. "He'd send me to Cañon City—to the penitentiary—if he could—and he's—my father."
Larry bit his lip, but didn't reply, for his mind was working rapidly. He had a perspective on the situation which had been denied to Jeff, and the vista did not seem unpleasant. He was prepared to fight for Jeff's interests and his own to the bitter end, but he was too keen a lawyer and too sound a philosopher not to know the value of compromise, and, in spite of himself, it was his legal mind which grasped the essentials of Jeff's relation to their common enemy. What would be the effect of this astonishing revelation on the mind of General Bent? He did not dare speak of this to Jeff, who in his present mood could only misinterpret him; but he was still thinking of it when the car drew up at the steps at Wetherall's big bungalow palace. Gretchen and their hostess met the arrivals at the door, and Jeff followed them in slowly. He wanted to be alone again to think—and here was sanctuary. Gretchen paused at the entrance to the morning room, and, taking Jeff by the arm, opened the door, pushed him in quickly, and closed it behind him. And while Jeff was wondering what it all meant he heard a step beside him, felt the timid touch of a hand on his sleeve, and found his eyes looking down into Camilla's.
"Jeff," she was whispering, "they told me you needed me, and so I came to you. Do you want me?"
He looked at her mistily, for the misfortunes which hung about him had dulled his perceptions. It seemed strange that she should be there, but he experienced no surprise at seeing her.
"Yes, I want you," he said absently. "Of course I want you." He fingered the hand on his sleeve and patted it gently, as he would have done a child's, but she saw with pain that the tragedy of his birth now overshadowed all other issues. If he was thinking of her at all, it was of the other Camilla—the Camilla he had known longest—the gingerbread woman that she had been. It hurt her, but she knew that it was her own fault that he could not think otherwise. She took his hand in her own warm fingers, and held it closely against her breast.
"Jeff, dear, look at me. I'm not the woman that I used to be. I'm the real Camilla, now—the Camilla you always hoped I'd be. I'm changed. Something has happened to me. I want you to understand—I'm not a graven image now, Jeff, I'm just—your wife."
He looked at her, bewildered, but in her eyes he saw that what she said was true. They were different eyes from the ones he had known—softened, darker—and looked up into his own pleadingly, wet with compassion, the tender, compelling eyes of a woman whose soul is awakened. She released his hand and threw her arms around his neck, lifting her face to his. "Don't you understand, Jeff? I want you. I want you. I've never wanted anybody else."
His arms tightened about her, and their lips met. She was tangible now—no mere image to be worshipped from afar, but a warm idol of flesh and blood, to be taken into one's heart and enshrined there.
"Camilla, girl. Is it true?"
"Yes," she whispered, "it has always been true—only I didn't know it. I love you, Jeff. I love you—oh, how I love you! Better than myself—better than all the world. Do you realize it now?"
He took her head between his hands and held it away so that he might look deep into her eyes and be sure. Their lashes dropped once or twice and hid them, but that made them only the more lovely when they opened again. For in them he read the whole measure of his happiness and hers.
"Yes, it's true. I know it now. You've never looked at me like that—never before." He bent her head forward and would have kissed her—as he sometimes used to do—on the forehead—but she would not let him.
"No, not that kiss—the cold kiss of homage, Jeff. I don't want to be venerated. You're not to kiss me like that again—ever. My lips—they're yours, Jeff—my lips ... No one else—no, never ... they're yours."
So he took them, and in their sweetness for a while found forgetfulness of his bitterness. At last she led him to a big chair by the window, made him sit, and sank on the floor at his feet.
"You're not going back to Kansas?" he asked anxiously.
She smiled. "Not unless you want me to."
He drew her into his arms again. "I'll never want you to. I want you here—close—close—my girl."
"You must never leave me again, Jeff—I've suffered so."
"I couldn't stand seeing you. I thought you loved——" She put her fingers over his lips and would not let him finish.
"No—not now——don't speak of that, it's all a nightmare. But you must never leave me again. I want to be with you always. I want to take my half of your troubles."
His head bowed, the grasp of his hands relaxed, and his eyes stared into vacancy.
"My troubles—yes, there are a lot of them. Perhaps you won't care for me so much when I'm down and out, Camilla. I suppose I ought to tell you. He—my father is going to have me indicted for conspiracy—about the mines. He's going to try to jail me—if he can."
She started up, terror-stricken.
"Oh, he couldn't—even he—couldn't do a thing like that."
"Oh, yes, he could," grimly. "He has bribed Reimer and Fritz Weyl. They swear I tried to murder Max."
"But you didn't, Jeff—tell me you didn't," she said tremulously. "You know you never told me what happened, and I've feared—you were desperate in those days—and lawless."
"I'm desperate and lawless yet," he muttered. "But I'd never try to kill a man just for money. We offered Max Reimer a share in the mine—a good share—but he wanted to hog it all. I told him he was a drunken fool, and he tried to shoot me. Mulrennan struck him, and knocked him out. I wouldn't be here now if he hadn't. I don't know why I never told you. I suppose I thought you wouldn't understand. I left Mulrennan trying to bring him around—and went down and bought that lease. That's all."
"Thank God," she crooned. "I've been so afraid. There have been so many stories."
"Lies—all lies—circulated by him. Now he's got Reimer to swear to them."
She threw her arms around his neck and searched his face anxiously.
"Jeff—he can't make people believe——"
"He wants to ruin me—and he'll do it if he can. There's no telling what money will do. He squeezed Conrad Seemuller and made him a bankrupt. Seemuller drank himself to death. Jimmy Ott blew out his brains. Oh, don't be afraid—I'm not going to do either—I'm not going to be crushed like a worm. If he ruins me, he'll pay dear for the privilege. I'll drag him down with me, and he'll drop farther than I will. I wanted to keep things quiet—but I won't any longer. I'll tell the world my story—his story, and let the world judge between us."
He tramped up and down the floor like a madman until Camilla interposed and led him to a divan. He followed her like a child and let her sit beside him while she questioned him as to what had happened. Jeff had looked for sanctuary, and he had found it at last. The other people in the house did not disturb them, and they sat for a long time alone, exchanging the confidences which had been so long delayed; but they were none the less sweet on that account. Late in the afternoon Camilla questioned Jeff again about the happenings of the morning. Rita Cheyne's part in the situation did not surprise her. She knew that Rita had heard everything and had decided to continue to play the game with Fate in Jeff's behalf. But she did not tell Jeff so. When he questioned her she told him what had happened at the Kinney House after he had left.
"Oh, Jeff, I don't know how I could have misjudged you so. Rita opened my eyes—why she chose to do it, I don't know. She's a strange woman—I can't quite make her out even now. She's half angel, half vixen, but I'll never forget her—never!" Camilla put her hand over Jeff's suddenly. "That money—Jeff—you must pay her back that money—if you have to sell the mine."
"I can't sell the mine—not now. It would clean me out."
"I don't care," she pleaded. "I don't want money. It has brought nothing but unhappiness to either of us. I want to begin all over again. I've learned my lesson. I look back to the old days and wonder what I could have been dreaming of. I've seen all I want of the world. Happiness belongs in the heart—no amount of money can buy it a place there. I want to be poor again—with you. Give him—give General Bent what he wants, Jeff—that will satisfy him, won't it? Please, Jeff, for my sake! Sell out the smelter and the mine——"
"Never!" Jeff's jaw set, and he rose, putting her aside almost roughly.
"I'll never give them up while I've an ounce of blood to fight!"
His tongue faltered and was silent. Camilla followed his startled gaze through the open window at an automobile, from the tonneau of which a man hurriedly descended.
"What can it mean?" Jeff was asking as though to himself. "Cort Bent! What does he want?"
"It's very curious," Camilla said slowly. "To see you——"
When Bent came into the room a moment later they were both aware of the imminence of important revelations. Camilla had not seen him for two months, and she was conscious of a slight sense of shock at his appearance. Jeff, too, noted that he was very pale and that in his eyes there hung a shadow of the misfortune that had marked them all.
At the door Cortland turned to Mrs. Berkely who had met him in the hall.
"If you don't mind, Gretchen, I'd like to speak to him alone." And, when Camilla would have gone, "No, Camilla, it concerns you, too." While they wondered what was coming he walked past Camilla and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder, the lines in his face softening gently.
"They've told me, Jeff. I know. I've come to offer you my hand." And, as Jeff still stared at him uncertainly, "You won't refuse it, will you!"
There was a nobility in the simple gesture, a depth of meaning in the quiet tones of his voice. Camilla alone knew what those few words were costing him, and she watched Jeff, who was standing as though he had been turned to stone, his head bent forward upon his breast, his deep-set eyes peering under his brows as General Bent's had often done. His eyes found Cortland's at last, searching them keenly, but he found in them only a small bright flame of fellowship among the embers of regret. Jeff's fingers twitched a little, then his hand came forward impulsively, and the two men clasped hands.
"I'm sorry, Jeff—I am—from the bottom of my heart. I want you to understand."
"I do," said Jeff, with difficulty. "I didn't want you to know——"
"I'm glad. I think it's better so."
He paused a moment before going on. "I want—I want you and Camilla to go right back with me. Can you? That's what I came to ask. Father is ill."
"Ill?" stammered Jeff.
"A stroke of apoplexy—the sudden shock of discovering all this." Jeff and Camilla started forward with one impulse of horror. "Rita and Aunt Caroline were with him, and Rita had told him the truth—the doctors are there—he has recovered consciousness, but his left side is paralyzed, completely paralyzed."
Jeff sank heavily in a chair and buried his face in his hands.
"What do the doctors say?" asked Camilla anxiously.
"That he's very sick—that's all. Nobody can tell. I've wired Chicago for a specialist. We can only wait and hope. It's pretty desperate—I know that. He's an old man—and he's grown older lately."
Cort stopped speaking and walked to the window, while Camilla watched him pityingly. He wasn't like the old Cort she used to know, and yet there was something inexpressively appealing in his gentleness which reminded her of the moods in him she had liked the best. She glanced at Jeff. His head was still buried in his hands, and he had not moved. But Camilla knew that this startling revelation was causing a rearrangement of all Jeff's ideas. In that moment she prayed that Jeff's bitterness might be sweetened—that the tragedy which had suddenly stalked among them might soften his heart to pity for the old man who was his father and his enemy.
Cortland turned and spoke with an effort.
"Will you go back with me, Jeff? When he first recovered consciousness he spoke your name. He has been asking for you ever since. He wants——"
Jeff's eyes peered above his trembling fingers.
"He asked—for me?" he said hoarsely.
"Yes—he wants to see you."
Jeff's head sank into his hands again.
"He wants—to see me? I can't—seem to realize——"
"It's true—he asked me to bring you."
There was a long period of silence, during which Jeff's long, bony fingers clasped and unclasped back of his head as he struggled with himself. "I can't," he groaned at last. "I can't. It has been too long—too much." He straightened in disorder and went on wildly: "Why, he has dogged my steps for months—used all his genius and cunning to do away with me—tried to rid himself of me as he did years ago—and even hired men to swear my liberty away." His head dropped into his hands again and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "No, I can't, Cort. I can't. It's too much to ask—too much."
Cortland stood in the middle of the floor, his arms folded, head bent, waiting for the storm to pass, his own pain engulfed in the greater pain of the man before him. He did not try to answer Jeff, for there was no answer to be made. It was not a moment for words, and he knew he had no right even to petition. It was a matter for Jeff's heart alone—a heart so long embittered that even if it refused this charity, Cortland could not find it in his own heart to condemn.
With a glance at Cortland, Camilla went over to Jeff and laid her fingers lightly on his shoulder.
"Jeff," she said with gentle firmness, "you must go—to your father." But, as he did not move, she went on. "You forget—he did not know. Perhaps if he had known he would have tried to make atonement before. Do you realize what it means for a man like General Bent to make such a request at such a time? You can't refuse, Jeff. You can't."
Jeff moved his head and stared for a long time at the fireplace, his fingers clenched on the chair arms, turning at last to Cortland.
"Do you—do you think he'll die?" he asked. "What do they say?"
"His heart is bad," said Cort gravely. "I don't know—a man of father's years seldom recovers from a thing like that——"
But it was Camilla who interposed. She stepped between the two men and took Jeff Ly the arm. "Cort can't go back without you, Jeff," she said passionately. "Don't you see that? He can't. You've got to go. If your father died to-night you'd never forgive yourself. He may have done you a wrong, but God knows he's trying to right it now. You've got to let him." Cortland watched them a moment, then suddenly straightened and glanced at his watch.
"I can't stay here any longer," he said. "I've got to go back to him. There is much to be done, and I'm the only one to do it. This is my last plea—not that of a dying man's son for his father, but of a brother to a brother for the father of both. Come back with me—Jeff. Not for his sake—but for your own. It is your own blood that is calling you—pitifully—you can't refuse."
Jeff struggled heavily to his feet and passed his hands across his eyes, and then, with a sudden sharp intake of his breath, he turned to Cortland, his lips trembling.
"I'll go," he said hoarsely. "If he wants me, I'll go, Cort. Something is drawing me—something inside of me that awoke when you told me what had happened. I've been fighting against it, the habit of thirty years was fighting it, but I've got to go. I'd be cursed if I didn't. You're sure he really wants me, Cort?"