22
The lovers stood together on a grassy plateau, the sun poured bright beams of light; below was a dense mist.
“How wonderful,” said Martin. “Nature has kept a sunny spot for us; we’ll stay here awhile.” He drew his “lodin” cape around him, stretched himself out on the grass, looking up at the golden clouds surrounding the sun, looking below at the rapidly rising veil of gray; it was glorious.
Julie took bread, fowl, wine out of the basket; they ate with their fingers and drank the wine out of the bottle. The sun glimmered red through the dark clouds. They were silent; then he spoke, quietly at first, becoming gradually very much excited.
“Why did you throw me over so heartlessly, after you promised me to prepare your mother? I knew it was useless; I had made all my arrangements—I had a cabin engaged on a French steamer—”
Julie tried to justify herself, then began to cry hysterically; she had never broken faith with him. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been through all her life. The pressure of those two terrible religions: her grandfather dragging her one way, her mother threatening her with eternal punishment.
He tried to soothe her.
“Don’t cry, Julie, I’ll make it up to you. You will be happy for the first time in your life.”
“But Floyd—he’s been so good—you always came between us, pushing him away.”
She slipped out of his arms. It was Floyd now coming between them, it wasn’t so easy to push him away. They had been friends so long. Floyd was the innocent victim. Martin’s eyes roved restlessly—and that gray mist—rising!—rising!
She waited for him to speak; then she went to him like a child, piteous, pathetic.
“Martin, don’t be angry with me—I love you—but the winter here is cold; the snow is like a winding sheet—I couldn’t bear it!”
She was wavering again; it brought him back, fiery, impatient—
“We will go to Lugano, Italy, Spain; you will get your divorce, I will marry you.”
“No! No!—there is no divorce in the Church—I am afraid of Father Cabello.”
Those fear thoughts—how they tore at her!
He took her in his arms, kissed her until the color came back to her face, the warmth to her body. She was his absolutely; he could make her do what he wanted—but—he mustn’t leave her.
Then she gave a sudden cry. It was like an animal in pain.
“What now? What now?”
“My boy! You won’t let them take him away, you must promise me that.”
“Julie, look at me.”
She raised her heavy lids and met his searching glance; their souls questioned mutely, answered mutely. He drew her closer.
“You shall have your boy. I promise you. Are you satisfied now?”
“Yes—”
She was tired, beaten to exhaustion by the force of rushing psychic waves, breaking against her weak will. Her head throbbed; she tore off her scarf; her hair dropped in a thick coil, down her back, like a writhing white snake; he wound it around his neck.
“This was my punishment.”
“No! No! Our love was not a crime. You fought too hard against it. Nature put her hand on your head and turned your hair white; it was her revenge.”
Julie listened, fascinated; he was irresistible like that, his voice vibrating. Every nerve in her body responded. He stroked her forehead softly, the pain ceased. How happy she was! how happy.
“You are a woman of the Orient; you are starving for love; it is your life—you cannot fight it; it is too strong for you—for me, come! come!”...
These children of passion went down into the mist.
He carried her along in his strong embrace, lifting her over the stones, her feet scarcely touching the ground; there was a wonderful sense of lightness, as if she had thrown off a heavy load. The fog was cold; it dampened her face, her hair. They reached the bottom of the ravine; the clouds around them moved, disclosing a little wooden house, which had been hidden in the mist. Now it stood out clearly—a bit of beautiful old architecture. Julie shrank away.
“It is a chapel; see, over the door, the cross. Take me home! take me home!”
He laughed mockingly.
“Nonsense, you must get over your religious superstition. The chapel will shelter us from the storm. Come, let us go in.”
“No! No!—not there!”
She fled, he followed her; the mist dropped like a curtain between them, growing thicker, thicker.
He heard her voice close to him.
“Here.”
He took her in his arms, wrapped his cape about her; she clung to him. He was deliriously happy; he held her in a frenzy of possession.
“Julie, my love! my love!”
The mist rose slowly, the red rays of the setting sun penetrated into the ravine, they were enveloped in flames. He could see her face now distinctly as she lay in his arms.
The mist vanished like magic, and—there—there!—he saw—no! no!—it couldn’t be!
Floyd’s voice rang out through the pass, struck the mountainside, and came back.
“Julie!!”
Martin held her with a fierce joy. He would stand now in the open for what he was. Julie was crying pitifully. He was very tender. He soothed her like a child.
“Hush! Hush! It is better; there will be no more lies.”
Floyd’s first impulse was to drag her from Martin’s arms, but he stood motionless listening to her sobs. Then she tore herself away, with an appealing cry. “Floyd! Forgive me! Forgive me!”
That set both the men on fire. Martin gave an angry growl.
Again Floyd’s voice rang out.
“Julie, you are my wife. You must come with me!”
A moment’s silence, the trees motionless, the clouds sullen, waiting; then the voice of Nature, so long suppressed, broke out in Julie.
“No! No! I belong to Martin! I will not leave him! I cannot!”
Martin stood a little above her, he put out his hand to draw her up, she smiled at him. God! her joy!
Floyd raised his pistol, fired; Martin’s arm fell to his side. Now burning with a murderous rage, he sprang forward at closer range.
“This time through the heart!”
With a cry of horror, Julie wrested the pistol from his hand. It fell some distance away, went off, reverberating through the valley, arousing the people. The pastor heard it in the little chapel, where he had gone at the approach of the storm. He came holding up his lantern, seeking the cause. A fierce gust of wind blew through the ravine, whirling, in a dervish-like dance of fiendish fury.
Then the demon in Martin went out to meet the tearing forces of nature.
“Fool! Fool! You cannot hold her! She was never yours! never! She is mine by Nature’s unalterable law!”
Floyd’s agonized tones rose above the wind.
“Julie! Julie! I want to save you from a terrible fate! look at him! Can’t you see! He is mad! mad!”
That word struck Martin a fatal blow. He put his hand to his head; there was a look in his eyes like a stricken beast pleading for mercy. Floyd never forgot it.
“No! No!—not that—”
He turned and fled, stumbling over rocks, through bushes, a terrible horror pursuing him, stretching out its giant claws to entangle him Mad! Yes, he was mad! It was his inheritance! The storm raged, crashes of thunder, flashes of lightning; an enormous tree sprang into the air, its great quivering limbs cleft in twain. The pines wailed, muttered, waved their long arms; he staggered on, fighting the elements without, within. He was conscious of climbing; his strength grew; fear made him superhuman. He heard a voice behind him calling. Mad! Mad! He went on crashing through obstacles, going up! up—there was no measurement of time, of distance. He stood on the first peak of the great mountain. It rose before him, a straight wall of stone; a deep chasm yawned between. He threw out his arms with agonizing longing.
“Up there! Up to the top!”
There was no trace of mist. The air was cold, the sky studded with brilliant planets; their light searched his soul. He saw clearly the jungle within him, the tearing beasts of passion, the wreckage, the futility, the dark future! He raised his head to that glory once more; then with a cry of despair he went over the precipice.