The Candidate: A Political Romance
niece, Sylvia; perhaps she can persuade you. Sylvia, Mr. Churchill
speaks of leaving us; he thinks that he ought to do so because he is a
critic of us. Sylvia, I leave him in your hands, and I want you to
persuade him that it is only his exaggerated sense of honor."
Sylvia was not averse to the task. She was wholly feminine, and hence
there was in her a trace of cajolery which she now used. She told
Churchill that her uncle and all his friends felt the truth and edge of
his criticisms, but they felt, too, that although he was in the
opposition now, they might, nevertheless, profit by them. And there was
the influence of his personal presence on the train--his gravity of
manner and his weighed and measured speech were a useful antidote to the
flippancy and levity of his associates.
Sylvia said these things rather by indirection than by plain words, and
under the influence of such soothing speech Churchill gradually melted
and became forgiving; he would stay, but it was partly for the sake of
Miss Morgan that he stayed, and later in the day he confided to Mr.
Heathcote that he was surprised at the way Sylvia was coming out; she
really had strong and attractive qualities; if she were to marry a man
of refinement and knowledge of the world who would exercise a
stimulating and also a corrective influence upon her, she might become a
very fine woman. Mr. Heathcote bowed assent, but looked away from
Churchill and out of the window. Churchill's opinion of Mr. Heathcote
also improved.
There was yet one element in the situation that was not clarified. Mr.
Plummer not only failed to appear upon the scene, but did not
communicate in any manner with either the Graysons or Sylvia. They heard
of him as floating about the Northwest and full of hot talk, but no one
could put his hand upon him, and they were puzzled, because they had
expected decisive, straight-from-the-shoulder action from the "King."
In this week Harley saw Sylvia almost every hour in the day, but never
once did he speak of the subject that was nearest both their hearts.
Sometimes he thought that it would have been better had the Graysons
granted her request to go, because he could see that she was suffering
from a constant nervous strain, and that her gayety with the group was
often forced.
They came at last to Grafton, a village in the corner of North Dakota,
where a sweep of low mountains opens out for a space and forms a wide
valley. In that hollow lies Grafton, and to Harley it looked warm and
inviting. The candidate was to speak here, and as Harley ascertained in
advance that Mr. Grayson did not intend to say anything new, merely
repeating a speech of the day before, he did not consider it necessary
to be present; instead, he chose to take a walk through the town and its
outskirts for the sake of fresh air, exercise, and some solitary musing.
The autumn was far advanced in that Northern latitude, but the chill of
winter had not yet come. The wide sky of glittering blue hung high, and
in the thin air the mountain-peaks that stood far away came near; the
wooden houses of the new town were gilded and softened by the yellow
sunshine.
Harley saw the usual audience--the ranchmen, the sheep-herders, the
miners, and the railroad-men--all flocking towards the stand where the
candidate would speak, and exchanging jocose or admiring comment,
because this was to them both a holiday and a ceremony.
Only a minute or two sufficed to carry him to the outskirts of the
little town, and he would have paid no further attention to the crowd,
but he thought he saw on its fringe a broad, powerful back that he knew.
When he undertook to take the second look and make sure the back was
gone, and Harley went on, telling himself, as one is apt to do, that it
was only his fancy. The echo of cheering came to his ears, and he knew
that the candidate, as usual, held the audience in his grasp. Presently
the echo died, and those that followed it did not come to him, as he had
left the town behind; although from the low crest of a swell he could
see the heads of the people surrounding Jimmy Grayson, and by the way
they bobbed back and forth he knew that the enthusiasm was boiling.
He went down the far side of the swell, passed a clump of bushes, and
came face to face with Sylvia Morgan. She, too, leaving the speech, had
been walking, and the color of her face was deepened by the exercise and
the crisp, bracing air. It had given her, also, an obvious exhilaration,
probably physical, that Harley had not seen before in a long time, and
her smile was of pure welcoming joy.
Harley's was an answering smile, but his heart was full of a longing and
an anger equally fierce. Never had she seemed to him more to be desired
than on that morning; tall, straight, and young, instinct with the life
and strength of the great upland reaches upon which she lived, her pure
soul looking out of her pure eyes, she was a woman to be won by the man
to whom her love was given, and he rebelled because he did not have the
right. Temptation was strong within him, and he had excuse.
"Speeches, however good, do not appeal to you to-day?" he said.
"No, I prefer the mountains."
She pointed to the line of peaks that formed a border of darker blue on
the horizon.
"So do I," said Harley, with emphasis, but he meant, at that moment,
that he was glad to be alone with her.
"Since chance has brought us together," he said, "why should we not
continue in this way?"
They walked on, and he was very close to her, so close that when a
wanton wind caught a stray ringlet of her hair it brushed lightly
against his cheek. Faint and fleeting as was the touch, every nerve
thrilled. He said fiercely to himself that she was his and should remain
his.
They came to a little brook, a stream of ice-cold water flowing down
from the distant mountains, and he helped her across, although a single
step would have carried her from bank to bank. Then, too, he held her
hand in his longer than the case warranted, and again he tingled. He
said nothing, nor did she, but she glanced at him and she was a little
afraid; his lips were closed in the firm fashion that she knew, and his
eyes were on the distant mountains. Behind them came a broad shadow, but
neither looked back.
Jimmy Grayson was a great man, but Caesar and his fortunes were now
completely forgotten by both Harley and Sylvia; each was thinking only
of the other, and though they were still silent, they wandered on and
on, Sylvia content that Harley was by her side, and Harley happy to feel
her so near that her hair blown in the wind had touched his face. Had
they looked back they would have seen the shadow come a little nearer
and raise its arm in an angry gesture. The town sank behind the swells,
and before lay only a brown expanse of country that rolled away with
unbroken monotony. A slight grayish tint, as of a mist, crept into the
glittering blue of the sky, but Harley and Sylvia did not notice it.
Sylvia felt, in a way, as if she were in a state of suspended animation.
The world had paused for a moment, and for that reason she knew that
fate was impending; she, too, felt a thrill running through every nerve,
and she felt the presence, so near her, of the man whom she loved, and
would always love. He was master to-day, and she knew that she would do
whatever he should ask her; all her resolves, all the long course of
strengthening through which she might put herself would melt away in the
heat of an emotion that was too strong for her; if he said that they
should slip back to the town, take a train to the next station and get
married there, forgetful of her promise, "King" Plummer, the campaign,
her uncle, and everything else, she would go with him. But she
remembered to pray that he would not say it.
Harley still did not speak. He, too, was struggling with himself, and
saying, over and over under his breath, that he should remember his
duty. Sylvia glanced at him covertly from time to time, and, while she
yet felt a little fear, she admired the firm curve of his chin and the
clear cut of his face. They came at last to a clump of dwarfed trees,
sheltered between the swells, and they stopped.
"Sylvia," said Harley, "I felt only joy when I met you, but I am sorry
now that the chance brought us together this time, because it is a
greater grief to see you go. I thought once that we might be together
always, because I know that you are mine, mine in spirit at least, no
matter to whom the law may give you, but now--"
He broke off and looked at her with longing.
"It is better that I should leave you and go alone," she said.
She held out her hand.
"This is a good-bye," she said.
"But it shall not be so cold a one!" he exclaimed.
He put his arms around her, and kissed her full upon the lips.
"Oh, John!" she cried, and when he released her she ran back upon their
path, her face very red, although she was in no wise angry with him.
Harley walked on, and he did not raise his head until the shadow that
followed them stood across his way. Then, when he looked up, he found
himself gazing into the muzzle of a very large revolver, held by a
large, brown hand. Behind the hand, and lowering at him, was the
inflamed and determined face of "King" Plummer.
In this crisis neither of the two wasted words. Each was a man of
action, and each knew that long speech was vanity of vanities.
Harley was pale; life was sweet, never sweeter than when it seemed to be
leaving, but he did not flinch.
"You have stolen her from me," said the "King." "I saw what you did
there; you ought to be willing to pay the price."
"I object to the word 'stolen,'" said Harley, calmly. "The love of
Sylvia Morgan is not a thing that could be stolen by anybody."
"Words differ, but acts don't. I've been a border man, and I've got to
do things in the border way."
"One of which is to come armed upon an unarmed man?"
Harley saw the "King" flinch, but the finger did not leave the trigger.
"You took from me when I wasn't looking all that I love best, and I'll
take from you all I can."
The red face of "King" Plummer suddenly turned gray, and Harley saw it,
but he did not see what caused it. There was the light, swift tread of
footsteps behind him, a warm breath upon his face, and then Sylvia's
arms were around his neck and she was upon his breast.
"Shoot if you want to," she said to the "King," "but your bullet will
strike me first."
Her eyes, for the first time in her life, sparkled defiance at him, and
their gaze stabbed the "King" to the heart.
Harley strove to put her aside, but she clung to him with strong, young
arms.
The "King's" face, pale before, now became white. It was, perhaps, the
first time in his life that all the blood had left it, and it showed the
power of this new and sudden emotion. "King" Plummer, in a flash, saw
many things. The finger that lay upon the trigger trembled, and then,
with a cry of fear, this man who feared no other man threw his pistol to
the earth.
"My God, Sylvia!" he exclaimed. "What do you think I am?"
"Not a murderer!"
"No, I am not; but I came very near to being one."'
He looked at the two, in each other's arms as it were, and turned away,
leaving the pistol upon the ground. "King" Plummer had seen enough for
one day.
They watched him until the broad back passed over a swell and was lost.
Then Sylvia, blushing, remembered, and took her arms from Harley's neck.
"You have saved my life," said Harley.
"I do not think that he would have fired."
"You have saved it, anyhow. Now it is yours, and you must take it. He
cannot claim you after this."
The blush became brilliant.
"He has not given me up. He has not said so."
"But he will give you up. He shall. You are mine now. Come!"