Jewel Weed Part 27

"And, remember, I, too, dislike the young man Percival," pursued the Swami blandly.

Mr. Early's mind suddenly stiffened with horror.

"See here," he exclaimed, sitting up, "you understand Mr. Percival is no enemy of mine. He is, in fact, a friend. You mustn't think you'd be doing me a kindness by--ah--injuring him in any way."

"My understanding," said the Swami, still unmoved. "Fear no midnight a.s.sa.s.sination, n.o.ble friend. That is petty--and dangerous. I am not oblivious of the conventionalities. But the mind may be reached, as well as the body. Percival may do as I--you--we--wish. The higher animal at all times controls the lower. Perhaps, at some time, I may serve you.

But you weary. The body makes demands. I bid you good night."

He put out a great paw, and Mr. Early grasped it weakly, feeling that he was in the position of one who has started an oil "gusher" and can not control its flow. He might have to light it to get rid of it.

To his own room went Ram Juna, occasionally nodding his head in his serene manner. He carefully locked behind him the door which connected his wing with the rest of the house. A few moments he paused listening, then he crossed his bedroom and the narrow pa.s.sage that opened on the garden and entered the little unused room beyond. Here all was dark, inky dark, for the heavy shutters on the street side of the room were closed and barred and the shades on the garden front were drawn, shutting out what dim rays the departed sun had left the night. The Swami apparently had no need of greater light, for, neglecting the electric b.u.t.ton near the door, he groped quietly about, struck a match and lighted a single candle, with which he returned to the hallway and opened the garden door, standing for a moment with the taper flickering in the rush of cold air that poured in from outside. When he stepped back and closed the door, there stood beside him another man, clean-shaven, lean, sharp-nosed and ferret-eyed, whose footstep was almost as light as that of the Swami himself. Neither of them spoke until they reached the smaller room and the door was locked.

"You s.h.i.+ver, my friend," said Ram Juna. "The night is cold."

"Freezin', an' so'm I," said the other shortly. "You keep me waiting a devil of a time."

"Business, oh my friend, business. Can I utter a word to the ears of your nationality more convincing? I was necessitated to converse with my host, the rich and amiable Early. Ah, the nature of humanity is eternally interesting."

His companion grinned.

"Which means, being interpreted, you've got some lay, I suppose. What is it!"

"Abruptness is to me foreign," said the Swami, waving his great hand with its combination of fat palm and taper fingers. "It disturbs me.

Perhaps, some day, I shall need tell you. The amiable Early is as are all mankind. On the one side he gropes among infinities. Do we not all so? On the other side he is tied by this body of clay to the groveling earth. Are we not all so? Am not even I myself?" The Swami turned benevolently toward the other.

"You bet! And you can sling language about it!" said the man, and he opened his rat's mouth and laughed without noise. Even Ram Juna's face relaxed into its Buddha smile, calm, inscrutable, as the two gazed on each other. Suddenly the younger drew himself together.

"Well, I ain't got no time to spare," he said. "Are they ready?"

"I, as well as you Americans, can be the votary of business," answered Ram Juna. "The first principle of business is prompt.i.tude. My friend, they are ready."

"Well, hand 'em over," said the little man. "Now my job begins; and I guess it's as ticklish as yours. You may need the skill, but I need the gall."

"The daring of the leopard when it leaps from the bush where it crouches, the daring which is half cunning, eh, my friend?" said the Swami comfortably. "Here, take the package and go thy way. There will be more in the future. These I brought with me from India, and even the eagle customs found them not. Many night-hours have I spent in preparing them, and mine eyes have been robbed of sleep. It is no slight task to produce a masterpiece."

"Well, you certainly are a dandy," said the man, examining the contents of his package. "I never seen anything like it. And those big hands, too."

"My hands obey the skill of my mind. And here, under the shadow of the Early, I can work with purer courage. This is the perfection of a place.

It was the idea of genius to come here. Hold, let me examine the way before thou goest."

"Aw, there won't be any body in the garden at this time o' night, and at this time o' year."

"Nay, but it is the wise man who leaves no loophole for mistake," said the Hindu, with practical caution.

He blew out the light and stepped in darkness to the entrance with the air of one who would refresh his soul by gazing at the stars and wiping out the trivialities of the day. After he had looked at the heavens, his eyes fell with piercing swiftness upon the shadows of the garden, its bushes, manlike or animal-like in the night.

It was as complete a piece of acting as though a large audience had been there to see, but all thrown away on silence and solitude.

"Coast clear?" said a voice behind him.

"All is well," said the Swami. "Go forth to fortune."

The door closed softly, and Ram Juna sought the repose he had earned.

CHAPTER XV

THE HONEYMOON

The first months of winter were full of excitement to Lena. She frequently a.s.sured herself that she was rapturously happy, but, while intellectually she accepted the fact, no genial warmth pervaded her consciousness. The entrance to her new life was too brier-sprinkled for bliss. Daily to face her mother's mingling of complaisance, self-pity and fault-finding; to meet d.i.c.k's friends, whom Lena, in her suspicions, regarded as thinly-disguised enemies; to scrimp together some little show of bridal finery for her quiet wedding; all this filled her with mingled irritation and gratification.

Most aggravating of all were the persistent attentions of Miss Madeline Elton. No one likes to be loved as a matter of duty, certainly not Lena Quincy, whose shrewd little soul easily divined that this equable warmth of manner, which she dubbed snippy condescension, sprang from affection for d.i.c.k and Mrs. Percival and not for herself. Madeline set Lena's teeth on edge, and it must be confessed that Lena often did as much for Madeline, but each politely kept her sensations to herself. Miss Elton always a.s.sured her optimistic soul that things would come out all right, that love was a great developer, that small vulgarities of mind were the result of a.s.sociation.

Lena, on the other hand, might have broken friendly relations once and for all except that she found Miss Elton both useful and interesting. A friendly and very sly conspiracy between Madeline and Mrs. Percival had for its object the helping out of Lena's meager trousseau by certain little gifts, and even of money delicately proffered so that it might not wound a sensitive pride; and since Mrs. Percival was a victim to invalidish habits, it fell to Madeline to act as executive committee.

But they need not have troubled themselves about delicacy, for Miss Lena greedily gobbled everything that was offered to her, with pretty expressions of grat.i.tude, to be sure, but internal irritation because the donors were not more lavish.

Madeline, who would have shrunk from accepting a gift except from one she really loved, of course expected Lena to feel the same way, and every one of these presents given and taken was to her an a.s.surance strong of a new bond between them. So they shopped together, and Lena modestly picked out some appallingly cheap affair and said:

"You know I feel that is the best I can afford." And Madeline would whisper, "Take the other, dear, and let the difference be a small wedding present from me. Won't you be so generous?" and Lena was so generous; but she told herself that they were not doing it for her, but only because they were ashamed that d.i.c.k should have a shabby bride. And perhaps she was right. It is pretty hard to a.n.a.lyze human motives, so you may always take your choice, and fix your mind either on the good ones or on the bad ones, whichever suit you best. Doubtless they are both there.

Sometimes Lena wished that she had been given a lump sum and allowed to browse alone, for she felt her taste pruned and pinioned by the very presence of Miss Elton, who, though she never ventured to criticize, had yet a depressing influence on Lena's exuberant fancies.

Once, after such a silent sacrifice on her part, Madeline and she drove up to the Percivals' for five-o'clock tea. Her future mother-in-law was in the accustomed seat, and Lena found a footstool near at hand, with a pretty air of affectionate proprietors.h.i.+p that brought a glow to d.i.c.k's face.

"Yes," said Lena with a charming pout, "I'm utterly played out, getting myself ready for your approval, sir."

"Poor little girl," he whispered. "If you only knew what an easy task that ought to be!"

"I'm so glad Madeline can go with you," Mrs. Percival said, patting the girl's hand approvingly. "I always think she has such perfect taste.

Some people get fine clothes and then make an heroic effort to live up to them, but Madeline has the supreme gift of managing clothes that seem a part of herself."

It is impossible to tell how a speech like this rankled in Lena.

Sometimes she had a wild impulse to stand up and stamp and scream out, "I hate the whole lot of you!" but she never did. She kept on smiling and purring and longing for the freedom which would come when she was safely married, had pa.s.sed her initiation ceremonies, and could command her own money.

But it was wonderful what a fascination she felt for everything that concerned Miss Elton. Every act, every garment, every inflection of the girl she hated most was interesting to her. She watched Madeline like a cat, and disliked her more and more.

At length came the new year, and the day when Lena sat in a carriage by d.i.c.k's side and was whirled away on that journey that was to take her out of the old and into the new. Her hour-old husband looked at her with an expression half-quizzical, half-adoring as she sat back and glanced up with a heartfelt sigh, secure at last of her position as the wife of Richard Percival. Until this moment she had never wholly believed it.

"I'm glad the wedding's over," she said.

"And I. More glad that our married life has begun. Lena, Lena, how beautiful you are! When you came down the aisle, I hardly dared to look at you; and yet it seems to me now that you are more lovely here alone with me. I should think G.o.d would have been afraid to make such eyes and lips and hair, sweetheart, knowing that He could never surpa.s.s them."

He softly touched the little curl that crept out from below her hat and kissed the upturned mouth in that ecstasy that borders on awe.

"Now," he said, "you are never so much as to think of anything unpleasant for the rest of your life. I wonder what you will most like to do?"