When dreams come true

by Ritter Brown

"Don't say that, Blanch," he answered gently. "It is I who should ask forgiveness. I know it was too much to ask you to share such a life with me, but I did not realize it at the time. I wronged you, I know. I would gladly make reparation if I knew how."

"Oh! none of that virtuous, good-humored acquiescence, Jack! I want you to forget everything, all but the days before it happened, when you loved me—when you swore that your love was as constant as the stars! Have you forgotten your oath? To be true to yourself, Jack, you must forget!" She paused. It was the first frank utterance she had made since her coming; and, for the time being, she seemed to have forgotten her resentment toward him.

"I have not changed, Jack," she went on. "I am the same as then; I only did not understand you. How could I have guessed that which lay buried within you, those latent ideals and conceptions of life which you yourself were ignorant of? But I understand you now, Jack. It was the foolish conceit of the girl's heart that caused me to forget what I owed you; but now it is the woman who speaks, who bares her soul to you, brimming full of love and passion and tenderness for the man she loves and longs to protect—the woman who loves as the girl could never have loved, Jack."

The light that shone from her eyes bespoke the voice of her conscience; told him that she at least spoke the truth. Never had she appeared more beautiful, more fascinating and alluring than at this moment, as she stood before him, flushed and radiant and trembling with passion, confused and indignant and ashamed; the woman rebelling within her at being thus forced to lay bare her soul, make confession before the man she loved. It was cruel and he knew it. Her words were like knife-thrusts at his heart, filling his soul to its depths with sympathy and compassion for her, and bitterness and loathing for himself.

The vision of yesterday with its gay scenes which he had cast aside, rose before him again. Its seductive allurements swept over him with redoubled force like a great compelling wave, filled with music and light and laughter, the false, seductive charms of which their present surroundings knew naught. The magic of her voice, her face, her touch had lost none of its charm. He felt her fascination still, in spite of himself and the bitterness of former days which he had cherished in his heart against her. The lure of the old life was strong upon him. He felt the hot blood rush to his face and heart; his being surged. She had been a part of his life, they had grown up together, and do what he would, her presence brought him face to face again with certain realities, with the old life which he thought was dead but which was not yet buried. When he looked upon her, he heard the old familiar sounds of the sea, of music and siren-voices of civilizations in their decay—breathed again the intoxicating atmosphere of that exotic, voluptuous, sensuous existence in which he had been reared and had lived, and with which he was saturated and from which he was striving to escape. But when he thought of Chiquita, he heard the murmur of forests and waters and saw the broad expanse of the plains and the wild crags and peaks that rear their heads heavenward, above which the eagles soar. Nature beckoned with widespread arms to her child to come—the manhood within him cried for release, for the recognition of the individual's right to self-assertion.

Poets have sung of the raptures of first love, but was Blanch really his first love? The true first love is only that man or woman who can cause one to forget oneself. Somewhere deep down in our souls there's a something which sleeps until that hour when it suddenly bursts into flame, as it were, and the new man is born within us; and this is what had happened to him, though all unknown to himself, at the time when he first beheld Chiquita riding alone in the hills. In an instant his soul was aflame. He thrilled at the sight of her as she turned and rode away in the dusk, and felt like crying out to her to stop; that she was his, that she had been his from the beginning of time and he likewise hers; that he had been searching for her down the ages and had found her at last. All this and much more flashed through his mind as he gazed upon the beautiful vision of Blanch before him and felt the charm of her presence slowly creeping over him and fastening itself upon him in spite of his resistance like the subtle, mysterious influence of music or rich old wine.

For some time he seemed uncertain how to act or what to say. She noted it. His hesitation inspired her with fresh courage, causing her face and eyes to shine with the radiance of hope, dazzlingly beautiful. Her breath came quick and fast as she drew nearer to him and then seemed to cease altogether as she waited for his answer. All this he too noticed, and felt himself weakening under her spell. The suspense was as terrible for him as for her. A thousand memories rose from out the past and began pulling at his heart-strings. Inch by inch he felt himself slowly slipping back into the old life again, like a boat that has slipped her moorings and glides silently and almost imperceptibly out into the easy-flowing current. The struggle grew more intense within him as the minutes passed. Great beads of perspiration broke out upon his brow as he listened to those voices whose sweetness and intensity increased with his hesitancy—those voices beneath whose charm and spell the strongest men have succumbed in the past.

"Blanch," he said at last, hoarsely and almost in a whisper, "it takes a better man than I to say 'no' to you, and I don't say it. But I have changed." The mere fact of speaking and the sound of his voice seemed to recall him to himself, to the realization of where he was and what he was doing. He felt that he was still master of himself and his confidence slowly returned. "I know you can't understand," he continued. "But somehow, I seem to have grown beyond you."

"Jack," she said, drawing still closer and laying her hand upon his arm and looking up into his face, "I know you have had more experience than I have had, but don't imagine that you have grown beyond me. Your ideas have caused me to think. I, too, have grown since we last parted. If you can give up the world, so can I. If you will not return again to the world with me, I'll remain here with you. I'll do anything you say!" she cried in passionate surrender. "My body is soft perhaps in comparison to hers, but I'm strong. I'll soon be as strong as you or she and be all the more to you, infinitely more to you than she can ever be. I know I did you a great wrong in the past, Jack, but let me make up for it now. It is my privilege, my debt to you, and your duty to let me do it. You have no right to break your promise to me, Jack. You can't. Your manhood must tell you that it is as sacred now as the day you gave it to me, and I hold you to it. I'll show you a love you have never known—can never know without me!" She drew still closer, laying her other hand upon his shoulder caressingly; her arm almost encircling his neck. He felt her warm, fragrant breath upon his lips and the thrilling, magnetic touch of her body, vibrating and pulsating with passion and emotion. How soft and voluptuous and tempting and alluring that body and presence were! It was as though the spices and perfumes and sunshine of far away, mythical Cathay had suddenly descended upon him and enveloped him.

"Jack," she continued, "we have always been comrades, pals; we were made for one another! We are one in thought now as much as we ever were—more than we ever have been!"