Wolf Breed Page 13

  CHAPTER XIII

  YGERNE'S ANSWER

  "The perfume of roses, of little red roses; (Thou art a rose, oh, so sweet, _corazon_!) The laugh of the water who falls in the fountain; (Thou art the fountain of love, _corazon_!) The brightness of stars, of little stars golden; (_Estrella de mi vida_! My little life star!) The shine of the moon through the magnolia tree; I am so sad till thou come, _mi amor_! _Dios_! It is sweet to be young and to love! More sweet than wine . . . to be young and to love!"

  There was tenderness in the voice. Each note was like the pure soundof a little gold bell struck softly with a tiny golden hammer.

  There had been determination in David Drennen's eye, in his carriage,in his stride which swiftly bore him onward through the early nightfrom his own dugout toward the old Frenchman's store. Not fifty stepsfrom Marquette's he stopped abruptly, listening to the soft singing.It was not so dark that he could not make out the slender, exquisiteform of the young Mexican. Ramon Garcia, wrapped about in his longcoat like a cavalier in a graceful cloak, his face lifted a little, hishead bared, was close to a certain window of Pere Marquette's. Drennenknew whose window.

  With no conscious desire to eavesdrop, merely stopped by an unforeseencontingency, Drennen stood still. Garcia, his eyes upon a line oflight under the window shade, did not see him. It was hardly more thanan instant that Drennen stood there, watching; but the little drama wasenacted before he moved on.

  Slowly, while the last notes were fainting away plaintively, the windowwas raised. Drennen saw Ygerne Bellaire, half in light, half inshadow. She leaned out. She was laughing softly. Garcia, his bowcarrying to the ground his hat which in the dim light appeared toDrennen's fancy to wear the black plume which would not have beenmisplaced there, came closer to the window. Upon the girl's face was agaiety Drennen had not seen there until now; her lips curved to it, hereyes danced with it. She had a little meadow flower in her hand;Drennen wondered if she had been eagerly selecting it from a cluster ofits fellows while Garcia sang.

  "You are not real, senor," she said lightly. "I wonder if you knowthat?"

  "It is you . . ." he began, his voice charged with the music aboutwhich the man's soul was builded.

  "No, no," she laughed. "You are not real. You have just wandered outof an old romance like a ghost; when the sun comes up you'll have tocreep back between dusty covers of a book a hundred years old."

  He put out a hand towards hers on the window sill.

  "Give me the little flower," he pleaded, southern lover-wise. "I shallnever let it go away from its place on my heart, though I fear," andhis hand crept a little closer, "that my heart will burst with the joyof it!"

  The little meadow flower went from her fingers to his.

  "A flower for your song, senor. A poor little flower which should havegolden petals."

  "Living," he murmured, no heights or depths of sentiment seeming beyondhim, "it shall always be with me, a joy so sweet that it almost kills.Dead, I shall be happy just to wear it."

  She laughed as he caught her hand and kissed it. The window closedsoftly, the shade was drawn down, and Ramon Garcia, hat still in onehand, the flower in the other, passed down the street, still singing ina gentle undertone. Drennen turned abruptly at right angles to the wayhe had come and passed out of the Settlement into the darkness underthe trees.

  Swiftness and determination had gone out of his stride. Unconsciouslyhe allowed his feet to carry him along a well known trail which ledalong the flank of the wooded slope. Once or twice he stopped. Thenagain he moved on, always further, from the Settlement.

  He was well again and strong. Rest and nature had done all they couldfor him in a handful of long, quiet days. He was still twenty poundslighter than he should be normally, but he had both feet firmly set ina smooth highway of convalescence. The mental and spiritual roadwayswere not so smooth or straight.

  He had seen much of Ygerne of late. He had come to know that, wise manor fool, he loved her. They had met frequently, at Joe's, upon theshort street, in their walks up and down the river. They had notspoken of all that had gone before and there had been as much silenceas talk between them. He continued to tell himself coolly that he knewnothing of her, that she might be good or bad, loyal or treacherous.But he knew that he did not hate her and that he did love her. He knewthat he was not angry because she had come into his life but that hewas glad.

  He knew to-night that his whole spiritual being was made simply of twoelements: of love, which is a white flame in a man like Drennen; ofjealousy, which is a black shadow. He had been on his way to her, hismind made up that he would not sleep without telling her of his love.The sight of Garcia had halted him. Garcia's singing to her hadawakened a fierce anger within him; his flesh had twitched andsomething had seemed to sear hot through it as Garcia's lips touchedher hand.

  Now he tried to look at these matters calmly. He knew that in the furywhich had sent him at Lemarc and Sefton before Marshall Sothern hadgathered up his limp body the driving force had been jealousy. He knewthat even then, in his delirium, he wanted her all to himself.

  Less than a month had passed since first he had seen her and he did notnow know what manner of woman she was. But he did know that that doesnot matter. His fate had driven him into the North Woods ten years agothat he might be here when she came; her destiny had brought her toMacLeod's Settlement from New Orleans to him. Because the greatest ofall laws lies hidden under a clutter of little things that law is nonethe less great or real. He had grown to see as a miraculousmanifestation of this law even the fact that he and Ygerne Bellaire hadbeen born in the same generation. . . . Stern-minded men of science,whose creed is to doubt all things until they are proven in such wiseas an objective brain can accept them as incontrovertible, see nomiracle in the fact that a certain female moth, left alone upon amountain top, will draw to herself a male mate from mountainous milesaway. Even in the insect world there is a silent call which is a voiceof destiny. Omnipotence is not above concerning itself with theembrace of two tiny, fragile-winged creatures in the darkness of thesolitudes. Surely there is an urge and yearning of human souls whichknows not distance and obstacles, which brings together man and hismate.

  These were strange, new thoughts to David Drennen and yet they camenaturally as an old knowledge set aside, half forgotten, ultimatelyvividly recalled. He loved Ygerne; she must love him. Therein alonecould lie the explanation of his presence here and of hers. When hehad quitted his dugout this evening there had been more thandetermination in his heart; there had been confidence.

  And now? He wandered aimlessly. Determination and confidence had bothleft him. Garcia had sung to her and the singing had pleased. Garciahad made love to her in his song and she had thrown open her window.Garcia had kissed her hand and she had given him a flower.

  Deep in his troubled thoughts Drennen had stopped a third time. He wasin thick shadow and saw two figures that had followed him. He made outthat here were Lemarc and Sefton as they came on, cautiously andsilently. This thing was to be expected; these men were plucking withgreedy fingers as fortune's robe and for such as they he was one to bewatched. He saw them pass on along the trail; his still form in theshadows was blotted out from them by the tall boles of the trees. Hiseyes followed them a moment, then lost them. Already he had forgottenthem. His thoughts went back to Ygerne Bellaire, to the scene at thewindow.

  The moon pushed a great golden disc up over the ridge. It was at thefull and made glorious patterns of light through the forest. Littlevoices of the night which he had not heard until now began to thrilland quiver under the soft light. It was as though the North Woods werefilled with a secret, pigmy people who were moon worshippers; as thoughnow they greeted their goddess with an elfin chant of praise.

  A strange sadness fastened itself upon the man. The beauty of thenight touched him deeply. It brought with its stillness anunaccustomed emotion of melancholy. He was suddenly lonely. T
he nightwas rarely perfect and yet it wanted something. It was complete yet itwas empty. The moonrise, the golden glory of stars set against thesoft bosom of the sky, brought a sense of lack of something. Ittouched the soul and yet did not satisfy. It awoke a sort of soulthirst and hunger in him. Upon him was the old yearning, the yearningof the man for his mate, that longing experienced never so poignantlyas in a spot like this where a man is alone with the woodland.

  Dimly conscious of many emotions mingled and confused, David Drennenwas keenly awake to the sweeping alteration which a few days hadeffected in him. Not that he fully understood that which herecognised. He was inclined to look upon himself as a different man;like many a man before him whom love or hate, a great joy or a greatdisaster, had appeared to make over, he was but experiencing thesensation resultant from the emancipation of a certain portion of hisbeing which had existed always until now in a state of bondage, silentand hidden.

  He stood a long time, very still. So motionless that when the moon haddriven the shadows back and found him out he looked a brother to theinanimate objects about him. But when at last he moved, while slowly,it was without hesitation. He was going to Ygerne.

  Marquette's store was closed, the doors locked. There was a light fromYgerne's window, another light from a second window, Madden's room.Drennen passed about the house and came to the door of the living room.There was no light shining under the door, but he knocked. In a littleMere Jeanne, a wrap thrown about her, came in answer.

  "May I see Miss Bellaire?" he said simply. "Will you tell her that itis important?"

  Mere Jeanne looked at him shrewdly, with little hesitation made up hermind that he came as a lover, left him at the door and went to thegirl. A moment later Ygerne entered the little living room. Drennenstepped across the threshold.

  "I wanted to talk with you," he said gravely.

  The girl shot a quick, curious look at him and went to a chair.

  "Will you come outside with me?" he asked quietly. "It is quite aprivate matter. We can walk up and down in the moonlight, justoutside."

  A moment she seemed to hesitate. Then she shook her head.

  "We are alone here," she replied. "What is it?"

  "It is many things, Ygerne." He closed the outside door and stood withhis back to it, his eyes very steady upon hers. A sudden pulsing ofblood coursed through him but he held himself steady, forcing his voiceto remain grave and quiet. "To begin with I want to apologise to youfor having been a brute to you since I first saw you. If you can'tfind it in your heart to make any excuses for me at least you can knowthat I am both sorry and ashamed of myself."

  Again she shot that quick, questioning glance at him. She felt as hehad felt: "This is some new David Drennen."

  "You know me pretty well," he went on. "Better than I know you, Ithink. I am a man whose name has been dragged through a lot of muckand mire. I am the son of a thief. My father was without honour. Godknows how good or how bad I am. My life for ten years has been an uglything, a good deal more evil than good. If you are the sort of woman Ilike to think you are, then I suppose that my presence here is littleless than an insult to you, though God knows I don't mean it to be."

  He paused. She watched him as before, save that now a quick light ofunderstanding had come into her eyes, a faint flush to her cheeks.Like Mere Jeanne, she had glimpsed the lover in the man--he couldn'tknow that already he had told her all that he had come to say; but sheknew.

  "I told you the truth the other day, Ygerne. That day when I went mad.I love you. I'd like to be another sort of man, a better sort, comingto tell you this. But if I were a better man I couldn't love you anybetter."

  Despite the surety that the words were coming they must have brought alittle shock to her. She rose swiftly, her hands coming up from hersides until they clasped each other in front of her.

  "I didn't believe in love until you came, Ygerne. I have never seensuch a thing in the life I have lived. You see, to begin with, Ithought my father loved me and that I loved him. I was mistaken. Ithought I had a friend once and again I was mistaken. But now I knowthere is such a thing. I want you and you are all that I want in theworld. I want you, Ygerne, in a way I did not know a man could wantanything. Through you I have come to look at all creation in a newway; it seems to me that there is a God. Am I talking like a madmanagain? Or just like a fool? . . . I feel sometimes that I love youbecause I was created for the sole purpose of loving you; that you mustlove me for the same reason. There are other times when that doesn'tseem possible, when I can't conceive of your coming to me as I come toyou. But in the end I had to know, Ygerne. Am I a fool? Or do youlove me?"

  He had made no movement toward her. He stood very still at the door.He had striven with his emotion so that outwardly he mastered it. Hisvoice had remained calm and very steady.

  "You said a moment ago," Ygerne answered him, and her voice too wascool almost to the point of indifference, "that you had been a brute tome. Knowing you as I do, is it likely that I should have come to loveyou?"

  "No," he said.

  "Then why do you come to me this way, now?"

  "Because I had to come. Because it is not always the likely thingwhich happens. Because I have thought that we were made for eachother, you and I. Because I must know."

  He waited for her answer, an answer which he feared she had alreadygiven him. He hungered for her so that he could only wonder how hecould hold himself back from taking her up into his arms. But hemastered himself so that the girl could not guess how hard he strovefor the mastery.

  "Is love a little thing or a big thing?" she said suddenly.

  "A big thing. I think it is the biggest thing in the world."

  "And still, believing that, you think that I am a girl to let you treatme as you have treated me since we first saw each other, and then tocome to you when you decide to crook your finger to me, giving you mylove? Is that it? Is that why you are here to-night?"

  "Is that my answer, Ygerne?" he said, his tone more stern than it hadyet been.

  "That is no answer at all, Mr. Drennen. It is a question."

  His face grew a little white as he stared at her.

  "I think, Ygerne, that I shall tell you good night now. And in themorning, before you are up, I'll be gone. All my life I hope I shallnever see you again. And you can know that every day of it I'll be madto see you."

  He bent his head to her, turning away, a dull agony in his heart. Hishand was upon the knob of the door. Then she came toward him swiftly.Half way across the room she stopped. Suddenly her face was scarlet,her eyes were shining at him like stars. Her beauty was a new beauty,infinitely desirable.

  "Were I the man," she said with a voice which shook with the passion init, "I'd not want my woman to come to me! I'd want to go to her, totake her with my own strength, to hold her with it, to know that shewas too proud to yield even when she was burning to be taken!"

  "Ygerne!" he said sharply.

  There was a sort of defiance in the sudden, tensity of her erect body,an imperiousness in the carriage of her head. Her eyes met his withsomething of the same defiance in them. But in them, too, was a greatlight.

  Drennen came to her swiftly. His arms tightened about her, drawing herso close that each heart felt the other striking against it. She lethim hold her so, but even yielding she seemed to resist. His lips,seeking her red mouth, found it this time. She gave back the passionof his kiss passionately. He felt a thrill through him like anelectric current.

  "By God, Ygerne," he cried joyously, "we'll make life over now!"

  Suddenly she had wrenched herself free of him.

  "I didn't love you yesterday," she said pantingly, holding him back atarm's length, her wide, half-frightened eyes upon his. "Will I loveyou to-morrow? . . . You must go now; go!"

  He put out his arms for her but she had run back to the door throughwhich she had come to him. He heard the door close, then another. Shehad gone to
her own room.

  Caught up between heaven and hell he made his way homeward. Passingher window he saw that it was dark. He hesitated, then moved on.Suddenly he stopped. He had heard her singing, her voice liltinggaily, quite as though no strong emotion had come into her lifeto-night. A swift anger vaguely tinged with dread leaped intoDrennen's heart. She was humming a line of Garcia's little song:

  "_Dios! It is sweet to be young and to love!_"