The Eldorado Courier (Eldorado, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 13, Ed. 1 Friday, October 7, 1910 Page: 3 of 8
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CHAPTER XXIII.—Continued.
Wbli h ••• lb* ulronK'T hta knr* !
fnr ih«- woman or bla balrii] for lb* I
man* If h« «poki> At all. It would *
for b«*r Hake, naught eU®. Would th« I . "—~~ *--• ~~ ^ »*»« "m imn,
man und'-ratand that, would al.nj ! h" ,un,bl«<» »«> •»»" P*tot and pull.d , bul you wi r» u.an at laai. I waan t
Whatever happened, hi- had poaanaaii! I oul » AaU# ph,",.w,!h ?h*k,n* 8,»y I »«ot dlaturb you."
hi»r: ah»» had bi-en hla for brl*f hour*,
about up. If | rould »it 4ow« mm*
«b*r«—"*
"Hit*." rrl*d l*h«rnork
II* half I I'd. half rarrl«'d tb* man.
aupportins biro with bla powerful jrma. I
to a a*at on th* t*rrar* acroa* w blrh I
tbo abadow of th* boua« fell In lb* |
morning
"Thank you." aald Ijingford "Now." i
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world upon tor with aurb i.-rtibl* ron
Mtu*ntea to tor Mhould ah* do II
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tto glaaa one* mor* Vto. lb* abip
waa *till ttor* Hb* waa eo far aaiay
bnib*d It with wntrr and wklaky. and
had forced hhb* of tb* aptrltn down
tb* woaw'a tbroat. but tb* nu'l
tourb. hla pr***nr«. would tor* ««f.
flc*d to call b*r bark to III*.
"Do you auff*rr b« aakrd t*nd*rlp
The ttruggl* Racked and Tare Him In Hla Heart.
you. I ran do It. Mayb* by that 1 ran
•am aocm* forglvem-aa mye*!f. W
wer* boih foola and you wer* knave.
out
' K*r*. "If you will b« kind enough to
Did h* hnv« the atringfh now to glv«topcn ,hnt *nd *1rc m" oa' of ,hw."
her fo aomeone clae even though he
were dead? Helng dead, would be
know?
The atruggle racked and tore him In
hla heart. He could cotne to no de-
rlaion, at leaat not then. What be
would do later would depend upon clr-
rumatancea. One thing he could do
and that waa to go and find the man.
Attending to such matters as were
moat pressing and tnking the precau-
tion to mak<> hlB will, a strange will,
at which hla attorney ventured to
remonstrate tinavailingly, at last he
started on that Journey across the con-
tinent In his private car. He left the
car at Kuffolk, Virginia, and with a
motor which had been transported
with him he ran up the west side of
the inlet until he came to the munor
house which a local guide, picked up
by the way, pointed out to him.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Promise Broken.
It was that same late spring morn-
ing when John Charnock sat on the
porch overlooking the pale waters of
Hampton Roads past Newport News
and Old Point Comfort and the blue
waters of the Chesapeake and the
bluer ocean beyond. The motor car
was stopped outside the great gate
at the end of the long avenue of trees
which led to the river road. It could
have been driven in, but as he ap-
proached the house more nearly with
his mind still in a state of indecision,
Jn order further to collect his thoughts
and because he was tired from the
long ride and because he would not
trespass on Charnock more than w.-\s
absolutely necessary, Langford de-
cided to walk.
Now the sight of a motor car was
not unusual and Charnock glanced at
it indifferently enough until it stopped
at the gate. He did not recognize
the tall, slender figure which came
slowly up the path by the side
of the drive under the great arch
of trees. Still as the man drew
nearer, he arose and with true
Virginia hospitality, a hospitality he
had easily learned since It was in his
blood, he descended the steps to the
terrace and would have descended far-
ther to the roadway but that he sud-
denly recognized the visitor. Ha
stopped dead still, surprised, amazed.
Langford started, hesitated, threw
back his head and came resolutely on.
He mounted the first flight of steps
and as he did so, Charnock turned,
drew back a little to make way for
blm and the two men faced each
other upon the terrace.
"Great God!" cried the Virginian,
at last, "you of all men. What are
you doing here?"
His brow was dark, his hands
clenched.
"Why not I?" answered Langford
coolly, a bitter smile on his lips.
"You say tha't to me after all that
you have done?"
"Man," said the other, "didn't I do
everything under heaven that man
rould do to undo It. She forgave me,
can't you?"
"No!" answered Charnock. moving
toward him.
"Stop'" cried Langford. "Jg your
own record ao clear? Have you
nothing wi'h wbirh to reproach your
*elf? I rained her life: yea. I man!
It. but you drove her to suicide. Why
hare | r.oj the right lo fault you even
aa fax. m to (Uia tto right to fault
ho gasped, I am hardly up to It."
Quickly, deftly, Charnock took the
phial, opened It. placed one of the
tableta in the other's hand and waited
anxloualy. Above on the porch a ser-
vant appeared and him Charnock hade
bring water, wine, restoratlvea. Pres-
ently langford recovered hlmaelf, the
powerful medicine acted, the tearing
pain at his heart abated. If left him
fearfully weak and broken but his own
master.
"Well," he said with cynical bitter-
ness, "you see."
"Yes." answered Charnock gravely,
"I see."
"I am going In one of those some
day and mighty soon now, and it is
because of that that I came to see
you. I wanted to talk to you about
her."
"No man speaks to me about her."
"But you can't refuse the dying, you
know. You can't go away and leave
me here. You can't stop me by force.
'When I am weak. I am strong,"" he
quoted almost sardonically.
"I shall not leave you," said Char-
nock. "You are paying for what you
did. My God, I could envy you your
going. Do you think life is sweet and
pleasant to me with the memory of
what I did rankling?"
"No, I suppose not," said Langford,
"but I didn't really come so much to
talk about her as to talk about you."
"I can't conceive that I am a proper
subject for your conversation."
He said it firmly but not unkindly.
Lapgford was too pitiable a spectacle
for that.
"It's about your project," went on
the other. "Will you tell me about
it?"
"Haven't you read the papers?"
"Yes, but I want to hear from your
own lips what you propose to do. I
am a business man accustomed to
large affairs. I want to hear with my
own ears all about It."
Charnock hesitated. After all, why
not. Standing before the other, he
outlined all his plans. Rapidly, dra-
matically, concisely, he builded before
the other's eyes the castle of his
dreams.
"It is to be for her, a memorial to
her, you see, so that her name shall
be remembered and prayers and bless-
ings called down upon her head by
generations yet unborn."
"It is a practicable scheme," said
Langford, "and a great one. Who has
it in charge?"
"Men you know," answered Char-
nock. rapidly naming them.
"They can make it go if anybody
can. I congratulate you ypon it. It
is a great Idea. As usual." he laughed
bitterly, "you have got ahead of me.
While you have been working and liv-
ing these two years, I have been idling
and dying. But I can make some
amends at least. You will see pres-
ently. Now I must go."
He rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Wait!" said Charnock. "I never
thought to do this. I never thought to
speak to you again. But you can't go
now. You are in no state to travel
even in an automobile. You must
come to the house until you recover
yourself, get a rest over night, let me
send for a physician. I don't mean
that there can be friendship between
ua. There is too much in the past
that keeps us apart. I have never be-
fore been glad that I didn't break you
when I held you in my arms upon the
could do to undo it. Sb« forgave me
"By heaven!" said Langford. fluah
Ing, ' you are man now. No, I won't
atay, but I thank you for your offor.
and I will pay you for It"
Charnock put up his hand.
"I want no pay."
"Nevertheless, you shall have It."
Insisted the other. "I will give you a
word of advice, although to do It
damns me!"
He paused, laid bis hand upon his
heart again, clenched the clothing
about his breast as If he would fain
fear It off. He was white once more,
the sudden flush had gone, but hia lips
were set determinedly.
"Listen well to what I tell you." he
said slowly. "I break my word to do
It I am false to my oath in what I
say. Nevertheless 1 say It Go back
to the island!"
"What?" cried Charnock.
"Don't you hear me?" asked the
man, intense bitterness in his voice.
Now that he had made the plunge, he
realized more keenly than ever what
It meant to him even in the very ar-
ticles of death to think of Charnock
and the woman. "Do I have to say it
again?" he went on. "Go back to the
island."
His voice rose until he almost cried
the five words in Charnock's face. The
Virginian stood absolutely appalled.
Langford looked at him a moment,
laughed bitterly, turned, and went
slowly down the steps. More than
ever he hated him. In one bound
Charnock was by his side.
"You have said too much or too lit-
tle," he cried, laying his hand upon
the other. "What do you mean? Why
should I go back to the island? Is she
there?"
In his agitation, he even shook the
frailer, slighter, feebler form of the
man who had just uttered those
words.
"Unless," said Langford coolly, "you
want me tjo die on your threshold, you
would better take off your hand. The
doctors told me that the least physical
violence or exertion would be fatal
to me."
Releasing him, Charnock spoke
again.
"But won't you tell me what you
mean? Great God, man, think what
your words convey?"
'I will tell you nothing, nothing
further. This is my last will and test-
ament to you. Though I die here, I
have nothing further to say to you
than this: Go back to the island.
Damn you!"
He turned away again and went
down the steps leaving Charnock
standing staring after him. He reeled
slightly as he went but he caught
himself and marched on with as great
a resolution as ever any soldier mani-
fested in the point of danger. He had
displayed weakness once in the pres
ence of his enemy. He would not do
It again. And while Charnock stared
at him, he stepped out through the
gate from under the trees, entered the
big car and was whirled away.
Left to himself Charnock sat down
upon the bench and pressed his head
in his hands, his thoughts in a wild
whirl. Go back to the island! Why
had he said that? Who was there?
Did some fantastic spirit of revenge
send him half way round the world on
some fool's errand? Hatred spoke in
the man's voice.
injunction with
wi°a? FJZTL r^lT.? h" kn*W,con th* Ship would Pto. in the night,
what It would b* from tho very nm> „ ,k. 7..b JZTia
went that tb* words had fallen from
Langford a lips, lie must go bach, If
for no other reaaon than to aettle tho
If ah* did light It. the darkneaa would
lend fori** and efficiency to It. No
ablp would dlaregard such a light In
doubt, to anawer ^. qutotlo^ to Mt "uch * »hou,d "h* do |t?
lafjr tbe wild clamor of his soul, to kill
tb* hope that flaahed Into his breast
at tbe other's words
His reverie waa Interrupted by the
arrival of a strange negro. langford
had stopped at a village tavern, it ap-
peared. where ho had procured writ-
ing materials. He had paid the boy
liberally to bring the note to Char-
nock. Tho envelope waa sealed. Be-
neath bis name was written these
words:
"As you are a gentleman and re-
spect the request of a dead man, you
will not open the envelope until you
stand upon the island.'
Never was there such a prohibition.
Never was there such a consuming
desire In the man's heart to defy
it and disregard it. Yet that vague,
Intangible thing we call honor, backed
by a flimsy bit of paper and paste,
held Charnock with fetters of steel.
The envelope decided him. He rose
to his feet, entered the house, sent for
his uncle, told him the story and bade
him get ready to start for San Fran-
cisco that night. Whittaker and the
chaplain, summoned temporarily from
the great undertaking, joined them at
Washington, and the little party went
rushing westward in a private car on
a special train as fast as steam and
steel could take them. And yet to
the heart of the man their progjess
was so slow that every hour he be-
came more frantic with impatience.
Back In the little village inn by the
roadway Langford, alone, lay dying.
A strange lawyer wrote a few letters
for him confirming a will made in San
Francisco leaving ever dollar he pos-
sessed to Charnock's great undertak-
ing on condition that his name be not
mentioned in it and that those who
cared for him might regard it as the
end of a great expiation. And so min-.
instered unto by a strange clergyman,
he passes out of sight, having made
what amendment he could. He loved
much in the end, surely in the end
much would be forgiven him! Poor
Langford!
CHAPTER XXV.
United.
How awful had been those two years
upon that island! They would have
been completely insupportable had it
not been for the forethought and kind-
ness of Langford. The books were not
such as she would have chosen, but
they were books, at any rate, and she
knew them by heart Of the cloth
that he had left, she had fashioned for
herself such simple garments as were
suitable to her situation, rejoicing that
she was no longer compelled to wear
the rough, coarse, chafing grass tunics
of the past.
The greatest blessing, however, of
all that had been left to her was the
writing paper, the note books and
pencils. They had given her occupa-
tion after all other things had failed
her, for she had written down the
story of her life. Not imagining that
they would ever be seen by human
eyes, she had poured her whole soul
out on the pages. Every incident had
been gone over. Not Rousseau him-
self had been franker in his "Confes-
sions," but here was only sweetness
and light. She had restricted her
He bad coupled his I writing to a certain number of mo-
curse which wasjments daily in order to prolong the
sufficient attest to th« bitterness of hia i occupation as much as possible, and since,
feelings. And yet truth spoke there. #he bad carefully considered avery- back.
In one swift moment her resolution
waa taken. She dropped tbe glaaa.
turned to tbe box of matches which
abe had hoarded for this very purpose,
knelt down, struck one ot them,
watched tbe blue flame develop and
swell out In the still air, paused for a
moment hesitant, touched the light-to
tbe Inflammable mass of dead wood at
the base of the pile.
As the flames crackled up through
the wood, roaring and catching, .the
sun sank and tbe darkness fell. Her
last act ere the curtain of night shut
her In had been to flx her glass upon
tbe faint blur of smoke. Now she could
see nothing. It was a moonless night,
but bright with stars. She moved
away from the flre and sat down as
she had sat before, sheltered by the
peak, to watch the sea. Now that she
had done what she bad sworn not to
do, she was eager for the success of
her attempt.
And so she waited wondering
through long hours while the flames
exhausted themselves and by and by
fell to a heap of glowing ashes. Sud
denly there leaped out through the
darkness a distant twinkle of light It
was too low for a star. Feeling for.
the telescope, she found It and with
difficulty focused it on the tiny spark.
It was a red light, the light of a ship!
The vessel had seen the signal. It was
nearer, much nearer now. She knew
about how far such a light could be
seen. The ship was coming toward
her. She almost fainted from the re-
vulsion of feeling from hope to cer-
tainty, from anxiety to assurance.
It was close at hand now. She must
go down to the beach to meet It She
rose to her feet and started down the
hill. She went slowly, cautiously at
first, but finally she broke into a
reckless run. She strayed from the
path in her excitement, her foot caught
in a projecting root. A sharp, excru-
ciating pain shot through her. Some-
thing seemed to break in her ankle.
She pitched forward on her face and
lay still.
When she came to her senses light
was shining in her eyes. Men stood
about her holding ship's lanterns.
Some one bent over her as some one
had bent over her five years before
when she lay senseless on the sand.
A voice she knew called to her; arms
to whose touch she thrilled gathered
her up; she felt a heart beat against
her own. He had come back. He was
there.
"Woman," said the man, "I have
come back to you."
"Man," returned the woman, oblivi-
ous of those who stood around, hold-
ing the lights, to whom she gave no
Bingle thought—indeed they were
those who knew her well—"Man," she
asked, true to her resolution, "do you
love me as much as on that night?"
"More, a thousand times!"
"And do you think me worthy—?"
"Do not ask! It is I who am un-
worthy of you."
"I can die now," said the woman
softly, lasping into unconsciousness
again.
"Great God!" cried the man. strain-
ing her to his breast again, "have I
found her only to lose her!"
"Let me look." said the surgeon,
whom by good chance they had picked
up at San Francisco. "She didn't
look like a dying woman a moment
Lay her down. man. and stand
Indeed that th- abort lime whirl! had as ronarlouan*«s returned to tor
alapaed would have mad* no change la n "Not alnr* you are her*." ah* aald.
b*r apparent poalilon | "I ran lo meet tbe ablp and fell and
Hb* look*d bark lo th* we*iward.' ',urt T ankle"
The aun waa aettlng Th*r* would to "Th* doctor has Used It up for yoa.
no twilight Darkneaa would rone have a*nt to the ahlp for band-
awlftly. If abi* did not light that bea-
Man." *he aald. "whoae ahlp la Itf"
"Mine."
"Did you Bee my signal?"
"Yea. and we were glad becauM It
told ua that you were alive, but we
were coming directly here."
"And did you come for me?"
"For you only."
"How did you know that I waa
here?"
"I didn't know It"
"Why did you come then?"
"I was aent here."
"Who sent you."
"Langford."
"Did he tell you I was here?"
"No, he told me to go back to the
Island, that was all."
"Nothing more?"
"He gave me a letter which I waa
to open when I set foot upon It"
"Open It now," said the woman.
She had riBen to a sitting position.
He knelt beside her, his arm around
her supporting her. He carried the
letter in his pocket. He had slipped it
there as he started for the shore. He
took It out and handed it to her.
"You may open it," he said.
With trembling fingers she tore the
envelope. Inside there was nothing
for him, but a smaller envelope ad>
dressed to her. The chaplain held
the light close to enable them to see.
"It is for me," she said, "not for
you."
"Yes," said Charnock gravely, atl>
fling a spasm of jealousy in his heart
"You may open it."
"Not I," returned the man touched
by this confidence. "It is for you."
Without more ado she tore the sec-
ond envelope. A little slip of paper
fell from it. His message was aston-
ishingly brief. While Charnock reso-
lutely averted his head, she read these
words:
"I broke my word once to your sor-
row; I break it again to your Joy.
Won't you try to remember now that
I am gone that I tried to make amends
and that I gave him back to you?"
She glanced at the paper and then
she read the simple words aloud.
Charnock understood vaguely that
in some way Langford had known that
the woman. was alive—how he could
ascertain later—and that she had
made him promise not to tell; that
he had broken his promise and died.
"I don't understand the last words,"
said the woman.
"They are his last words, I take It"
answered the man. "He looked like a
dead man when he came to me at my
house in Virginia and told me to go to
the island."
"Poor Langford," said the woman.
"May God have mercy on him!*
added the chaplain, solemnly. Ha
knew the story, too. "Do you forgive
him, my child?" asked the old man as
he, too, turned away to leave these
two alone.
"With all my heart," answered the
woman.
"And do you forgive me?" asked
Charnock softly.
"With all my heart" again an-
swered the woman, but with a change
in the intonation that made all the dif-
ference in the world between the two
statements.
She turned her face toward him.
reaching her arms up to his neck, for-
getting the pain in her foot In the
long kfts he pressed upon her up-
turned lips while he held her cIom
there in that still and starry night oa
that gemlike island of regeneration la
the far Pacific sea.
THE END.
too. Go bark to tbe island! What] thing ere she put It down.
could it mean? Twice daily abe had gone to the
A long time he aat resolving la hla J heaven hissing hill high ia the center
Whittaker and tbe chaplain pulled
Cbarnork vide. Tto surgeon took his
place by th« proetral* figure^
Joy.
Some people get married merely tor
the purpose nf having a good time tor
three or four wwka before tto *M
ding.
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Thacker, John Riley. The Eldorado Courier (Eldorado, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 13, Ed. 1 Friday, October 7, 1910, newspaper, October 7, 1910; Eldorado, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc403905/m1/3/?q=music: accessed July 1, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.