NEDRA
by
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
Author of _Beverly of Graustark_, _Brewster's Millions_, etc.
Illustrations by Harrison Fisher
1906
CONTENTS
Chapter
I The Inspiration II The Beginning of Flight III The First Obstacle IV Ready for the Sea V Mr. and Miss Ridge Sail for Manila VI Henry Veath VII Glum Days for Mr. Ridge VIII The Beautiful Stranger IX Mr. Ridegway's Amazement X A Sharp Encounter XI Discovered XII The Harlequin's Errand XIII The Confession of Veath XIV One Love against Another XV The Wreck of the _Tempest Queen_ XVI The Night and the Morning XVII Was the Sea Kind? XVIII The Wonderful Land XIX The First Day in the Wilds XX The Sign of Distress XXI Gods from the Sea XXII Flesh Succeeds Stone XXIII The Transformation Begins XXIV Nedra XXV The Coming of the Enemy XXVI On the Eve of Battle XXVII The Lady Tennys ReserveXXVIII To the Victor Belongs--? XXIX The Other Surrender XXX Where There is No Minister XXXI The Wedding Ring XXXII The Cruiser _Winnetka_XXXIII Apparitions XXXIV The Course of True Love XXXV History Repeats Itself
ILLUSTRATIONS
Lady Tennys (Frontispiece)
Grace Vernon
"'Lady Tennys ... You do not know how I thank God you are alive'"
"'Hey, there!' he yelled. 'How are you?'"
"'They have killed you! Let them kill me!'"
CHAPTER I
THE INSPIRATION
A tall young man sped swiftly up the wide stone steps leading to thedoorway of a mansion in one of Chicago's most fashionable avenues. Afterpushing the button sharply he jerked out his watch and guessed at thetime by the dull red light from the panel in the door. Then he hastilybrushed from the sleeve of his coat the telltale billiard chalk, whosepresence reminded him that a general survey might be a wise precaution.He was rubbing a white streak from his trousers' leg when the door flewopen and the butler admitted him to the hallway. This personage relievedhim of his hat, coat and stick and announced:
"Miss Vernon is w'itin' for you, sir."
"How the devil did I happen to let eight o'clock strike nine before Iknew it?" muttered the visitor. He was at the drawing-room door as heconcluded this self-addressed reproach, extending both hands toward theyoung woman who came from the fireplace to meet him.
"How late you are, Hugh," she cried, half resentfully. He bent forwardand kissed her.
"Late? It isn't late, dear. I said I couldn't come before eight, didn'tI? Well, it's eight, isn't it?"
"It's nearly seventy minutes past eight, sir. I've been waiting andwatching the hands on the clock for just sixty minutes."
"I never saw such a perfect crank about keeping time as thatgrandfatherly clock of yours. It hasn't skipped a second in twocenturies, I'll swear. You see, I was playing off the odd game withTom Ditton."
He dropped lazily into a big arm-chair, drove his hands into his pocketsand stretched out his long legs toward the grate.
"You might have come at eight, Hugh, on this night if no other. You knewwhat important things we have to consider." Miss Vernon, tall andgraceful, stood before him with her back to the fire. She wasexceedingly pretty, this girl whom Hugh had kissed.
"I'm awfully sorry, Grace; but you know how it is when a fellow's in aclose, hard game--especially with a blow-hard like Tom Ditton."
"If I forgive you again, I'm afraid you'll prove a begging husband."
"Never! Deliver me from a begging husband. I shall assert all kinds ofauthority in my house, Miss Vernon, and you'll be in a constant state ofbeggary yourself. You'll have to beg me to get up in the morning, begme to come home early every night, beg me to swear off divers things,beg me to go to church, beg me to buy new hats for you, beg me to eatthings you cook, beg me to--"
"I suppose I shall even have to beg you to kiss me," she cried.
"Not at all. That is one thing I'll beg of you. Lean over here, do, andkiss me, please," he said invitingly.
She placed a hand on each arm of the chair and leaned forwardobediently. Their lips met in a smile.
"You lazy thing!" she exclaimed, her face slightly flushed. Then sheseated herself on one of the big arms, resting her elbow on the back ofthe chair beside his head. For a few minutes both were silent, gazing atthe bright coals before them, the smile remaining upon their lips. Hughhad been squinting between the toes of his shoes at a lonely black chunkin the grate for some time before he finally spoke reflectively.
"I can't afford to be lazy much longer, can I? Married men never have aminute's rest, you know."
"We're not married."
"No; but we're going to be, let me remind you. We are to--to announce itto-morrow night, are we not? It has come to that, you see." He did notlook very cheerful, nor did she.
"Yes, I suppose it's imperative. That is why aunt is giving herreception,--just to tell everybody we're engaged."
"And then everybody will shake hands with us and say,'Congratulations,' 'How lovely,' 'So surprised,' 'Howdy do,' and soforth, and we say 'Thanks,' 'How good of you,' and more so forth. Itwill be great!" Another silence and inspection of the fire, he taking analtered aim at the black chunk. "Say!" he exclaimed, "wouldn't it dojust as well if I didn't put in an appearance to-morrow night? Your auntcan announce the thing, as agreed, and you can tell 'em that I have asick uncle in Indianapolis, or have had my leg broken, or something likethat. Now, there's a good girl."
"No," she said. "We fell in love because we couldn't help it, and thisis the penalty--an announcement party."
"I'll never quite understand why _you_ fell," said he dubiously.
"I think we were both too young to know," she responded. "It seems to methat we've been in love ever since we were babies."
"And it never hurts a baby to fall, you know," said he, with fine logic."Of course it may cripple 'em permanently, but they don't know how ithappened."
For some moments she caressed his brown hair in silence, the smilelingering on her lips after it had left her eyes. His eyes closeddreamily under the gentle touch of her fingers. "But, dear," she said,"this is no joking matter. We have been engaged for nearly three monthsand not a soul knows of it. We'll have to tell them how we managed tokeep it a secret for so long, and why,--and all that. And theneverybody will want to know who the bridesmaids are to be."
"I believe I'd like to know that myself, as long as I'm to walk out ofthe church ahead of them--provided I don't get lost."
"Helen Grossman is to be the maid of honor. I believe I'll ask JeanRobertson, Eloise Grant, Harriet Noble, Mayme McMurtrie, EllenBoyland--"
"Are we to have no guests?"
"--and Effa Samuels. Won't it be a pretty set of girls?"
"Couldn't be prettier."
"And now, who is to be your best man?"
"Well, I thought I'd have Tom Ditton," a trifle confusedly.
"Tom Ditton! I thought you did not approve of him," she cried. "Youcertainly did not when he came to see me so frequently."
"Oh, he isn't such a bad sort, after all. I'd just as soon have him asany one. Besides, he's an expert at it. If it was left to me, I'd muchrather sit behind the pulpit until it is all over. People won't miss mewhile they've got you to look at."
"We could be married so quietly and prettily if it were not for AuntElizabeth," pouted Miss Vernon. "She insists on the church wedding, theteas and receptions and--"
"All that sort of rot," he interjected, as if fearing she might notexpress herself adequately. "I like your Aunt Elizabeth, Grace, butshe's--she's an awful--"
"Don't say it, Hugh. I know what you mean, but she can't help it. Shelives for society. She's perfectly crazy on the subject. Aunt Elizabethmade up her mind we should be married in church. I have talked myselfblack in the face--for your sake, dear--but it
was like trying toconvert a stone wall. She is determined. You know what that means."
"No wonder she's a widow," growled Hugh Ridgeway sourly. "Your fatherserved you a mighty mean trick, dear, when he gave you over to hertraining. She might have spoiled you beyond redemption."
"Poor father! He loathed display, too. I've no doubt that is why he leftme in her care until I reached the age of discretion. She was not alwayslike this. Father's money has wrought the change. Aunty was as poor as achurch mouse until father's death put her at the head of myhousehold--it was mine, Hugh, even if I was only six years old. You knowwe could live pretty well on forty thousand a year."
"You'll have a million or so when you're twenty-three, dear, and I'llventure to say your aunt has saved something in all these years."
"Oh, she had at least two hundred thousand dollars by the will. It hascost her nothing to live all these years as my guardian and trustee. Wejust had to do something with my income, you know."
"I don't see why you should let this fortune stand in the way, Grace,"growled he. "Haven't I enough of my own to take its place?" HughRidgeway had a million in his own right and he could well afford to beunreasonable. "The will says you are not to have your father's moneyuntil you are twenty-three years old. He evidently thought that was adiscreet age. You are not to marry before you have reached that age.I've been waiting for two years, Grace, and there still remainstwo months--"
"One month and twenty-eight days, Hugh," she corrected.
"And in the meantime we have to stay here and face all this ante-nuptialwretchedness. It's sickening, Grace. We hate it, both of us. Don't we? Iknew you'd nod your head. That's why I can't help loving you. You've gotso much real good hard sense about things. If your confounded AuntLizzie--Elizabeth, I should say--would let us get married as wewant--Hang it all, Grace, it's our affair anyhow, isn't it? Why shouldwe permit her to dictate? It's not her wedding. She's been marriedtwice; why can't she let well enough alone?"
"She loves me, Hugh, after all," gently.
"Well, so do I. I'm willing--not perfectly willing, of course--butreasonably so, that we should wait until the twenty-third of May, but Idon't see why we should have the whole town waiting with us. Why don'tyou assert yourself, dear, before it is too late? Once she pulls offthis announcement party, it's all off with peace of mind and contentmentso far as we are concerned. Of course, she'll be enjoying it, but whatof us? Are you afraid of her?"
"Don't bully me, Hugh," she pleaded. He was contrite at once andproperly so. "She has lived for this time in her life. She never hasbeen crossed. I can't--honestly I can't go to her now and--quarrel.That's what it would mean--a quarrel. She would never give in."
"Well, then, all hope is lost," he lamented. For some minutes MissVernon gave no response, sitting upon the arm of the chair, a perplexedpucker on her brow and a thoughtful swing to her slippered foot.
These young people had known each other since earliest childhood. Theyhad played together with the same neighborly toys and they had grown uptogether with the same neighborly ideals. Both had whirled in the socialswing until the sensation palled. The most exclusive set in townregarded them as among its most popular members. It was quite naturalthat their wedding should be the most brilliant and fashionable of theyear. Their position in society demanded the sacrifice, and her aunt sawthe urgent need for making it, notwithstanding the opposition of theyoung people themselves.
Ridgeway was a couple of years older than his affianced bride, and shewas just short of twenty-three. She, an orphan since early childhood,lived with her widowed aunt--the social gourmand, to quote HughRidgeway--and he made his home next door with his sister and herhusband. The two brown stone houses were almost within arm's reach ofeach other. She had painted dainty water colors for his rooms and he hadthrown thousands of roses from his windows into her boudoir. It had beena merry courtship--the courtship of modern cavalier and lady fair.Ridgeway's parents died when he was in college, and he was left toenlarge or despise a fortune that rated him as a millionaire and thebest catch in town--at that time.
He was a member of the Board of Trade, but he was scarcely an operatorin the strictest sense of the word. If he won he whistled, if he lost hewhistled. It mattered little. Good looking, well dressed, generous to afault, tainted but moderately with scandal, he was a man whom everybodyadmired, but who admired few in return--a perfectly natural and propercondition if one but stops to consider.
Miss Vernon was beautiful--of that there was no question. Tall, fair,brown-eyed and full of the life that loves, she ruled the hearts of manyand--kept her hand for one. Her short, gay life had been one of luxuryand ease. She had known few of its cares; its vicissitudes belonged tothe charities she supported with loyal persistency. Her aunt, societymad, was her only mentor, her only guide. A path had been made for her,and she saw no other alternative than to travel it as designed. Acareless, buoyant heart, full of love and tenderness and warmth, alloweditself to be tossed by all of the emotions, but always sank back safelyinto the path of duty and rectitude. It was not of sufficient moment tocombat her aunt's stubborn authority; it was so much easier to do herown sweet will without conflict and then smile down on the consequences.
Possibly it is true that she did not love her aunt. If that were thecase, she kept it well to herself. She could not have been blamed,however, for disliking the dictator. Hugh Ridgeway was more or lessright when he said that no one in town admired the old lady. She washard, devoid of humor, wrapped up in her own selfishness; shrewd,capable and resourceful. Her brother, on his deathbed, signed theinstrument which made this arrogant relative the arbiter of the girl'sfuture for many years to come. She was appointed guardian and trusteeuntil legal age was attained, and as such she was absolute in her power.The large fortune was to be held in trust by this aunt, Mrs. Torrence,and the Hon. Stanley Goodland, until Grace was twenty-three years ofage. The income from the investments in bonds, real estate andhigh-class securities was to be handled by Mrs. Torrence as she saw fitin the effort to better the young woman's mental and social estate. Todo her justice, she performed the duties well and honorably, even thoughher measure of human nature was not full to overflowing. Grace, with amind and heart of her own, undertook to cultivate human nature from herown point of view after years of tolerance, and she succeeded so wellthat her aunt was none the wiser.
On one point, however, the paragon was so firm and unassailable thatGrace was obliged to confess failure to her lover, after weeks and weeksof splendid argument. Her aunt forced an issue. The marriage of herniece was to be brilliant to the verge of confusion and the ante-nuptialseason was to be one which the city should not forget while its promoterlived to enjoy the emoluments. She knew she was making her nieceunhappy, but she argued that her niece was too deeply in love toappreciate the value of opportunity. Besides, on her wedding day, GraceVernon would be twenty-three years of age, mistress of herself, herfortune, and her husband's home. That day would end the reign ofElizabeth Torrence. The arbiter was determined that the reign should endin a blaze of glory.
As for Grace and Hugh, they were to be married. That had been decidedupon by destiny years and years ago and ratified after Hugh had reachedan age of discretion. He said that twenty-five was the year ofdiscretion, if not of reason.
After the first transports, each began to consider the importance of theunion, not only to themselves, but to the world at large. In theirreflective moments they realized that the marriage would be the mostwonderful event in the whole history of the homes of Vernon andRidgeway. Never before had a Vernon married a Ridgeway, and--vice versa.Therefore, the whole world would visit upon such a union its undividedattention. That is the view all engaged people take of marriage.
Miss Vernon had employed six weeks of argument in convincing Mr.Ridgeway that a church wedding was imperative, although she admittedlypreferred the simpler form, where the minister conducts the ceremony inthe presence of two witnesses and a ring. Society demanded theexhibition. Mr. Ridgeway warned her that he co
uld not survive the ordealand would leave her a widow at the altar.
Their difficulties had at last resolved themselves into that conditionwhich confronts every engaged pair; and they, like others, werepreparing to inform the world of their intentions.
"There's no way out of it, Hugh," she finally sighed, "unless we decideto give up the hope of getting married. That would break my heart," shesaid, with her rarest smile.
"This would be the most delightful period of my life if it were not forthat distressing announcement, the two months of purgatory between nowand the day of the wedding, and then the--calamity. I know it will be acalamity. I can't get through it alive."
"You poor boy! I wish we could have a quiet little Wedding. It would beso sweet, wouldn't it, dear?" she said plaintively, wistfully.
"But instead we are to have a hippodrome. Bah!" he concluded spitefully."I wouldn't talk this way, dear, if I didn't know that you feel just asI do about it. But," and here he arose wearily, "this sort of talkisn't helping matters. It's a case of church against choice. To-morrownight we'll tell 'em, and then we'll quit sleeping for two months."
"There's only one way out of it that I can see. We might elope," shesaid laughingly, standing before him and rubbing the wrinkles frombetween his eyes.
Gradually his gray eyes fell until they looked into hers of brown. Amutual thought sprang into the eyes of each like a flash of lightplainly comprehensive. He seized her hands, still staring into her eyes,and an exultant hope leaped to his lips, bursting forth in these words:
"By George!"
"Oh, we couldn't," she whispered, divining his thought.
"We can! By all that's good and holy, we'll elope!" Hugh's voice wasquivering with enthusiasm, his face a picture of relief.
"Honestly, do you--do you think we could?" The girl's eyes were widewith excitement, her cheeks burning.
"Can we? What's to prevent? Will you do it, Grace--will you?" cried he.
"What will everybody say?"
"Let 'em say. What do we care? Won't it be the greatest lark that everhappened? You're the smartest woman in the world for thinking of it."
"But I wasn't in earnest," she protested.
"But you are now--we both are. Listen: We can slip away and get marriedand nobody will be the wiser and then, when we come back, we can laughat everybody."
"And get our pictures in the papers."
"Then, by Hokey! we won't come back for five years! How's that? That'llfool 'em, won't it? Say, this is great! Life is worth living after all.You'll go, won't you, Grace?"
"I'd go to the end of the world with you, Hugh, but--"
"Oh, say you'll go! Now, listen to this," he urged, leaping to his feet."We're going to be married anyway. We love one another. You can't bemarried until the twenty-third of May. Lots of people elope--even in thebest of families. Why shouldn't we? If we stay here, we'll have to faceall the sort of thing we don't like--"
"Yes, but it won't take us two months to elope," she protested. "Sh!Don't speak above a whisper. Aunt Elizabeth has wonderful ears."
"By Jove, darling, I believe you're two-thirds willing to try it on," hewhispered.
"We must be sensible, Hugh. You see, I can't be married until thetwenty-third of May. Well, aunt is determined to announce the engagementto-morrow night. Don't you see we couldn't elope until the twenty-secondat best, so we're doomed for two months of it in spite of ourselves. Ifwe get through the two months why should we elope at all? The worstwill be over?"
"We can't escape the announcement party, I'll admit, but we can getaway from all the rest. My scheme is to elope to a place that willrequire seven or eight weeks' time to reach. That's a fine way to killtime, don't you see?"
"My goodness!"
"Why not? We can do as we like, can't we? And what a bully lark! I'd bea downright cad to ask you to do this, Grace, if I didn't love you as Ido. We can use assumed names and all that!"
"Oh, dear, dear, doesn't it sound lovely?" she cried, her cheeks redwith excitement.
"The twenty-third of May isn't so far off after all, and it won't behalf so far if we're doing something like this. Will you go?"
"If I only could! Do you really think we--we could?"
"Whoop!" he shouted, as he seized her in his arms and rained kisses uponher face. Then he held her off and looked into her eyes for a moment.Then he gave another whoop, kissed her, released her and did a wilddance about the room. She stood beside the big chair, equally asexcited, laughing unrestrainedly at his hilarity. At last he brought upat the other side of the chair.
"But where could--I mean, shall we elope to?" she finally asked.
"Anywhere. Bombay--Australia? Let's make it a stunner, dear--let's do itup right."
"And be married away over there? Oh, Hugh!"
"Certainly. They can marry us over there as well as anywhere. Here,I'll write the names of ten places and we'll draw one from my hat." Hesat down before a table and feverishly wrote upon the backs of a numberof his calling cards the names of as many cities, his companion lookingover his shoulder eagerly. Without ado he tossed the cards into ajardiniere in lieu of a hat. "Draw!" he said tragically.
"Wait a minute, Hugh. What have we to elope from? There isn't thefaintest objection in the world to our marriage."
"There you go--backing out!"
"No; I'm just as willing as you, but doesn't it seem rather absurd?" Herhand hung over the jardiniere irresolutely.
"It will be the greatest wedding tour that mortals ever took. Draw!"
"Well, then, there's the card. Mercy!" she cried, dropping a card on thetable. "That's a long distance, Hugh."
He picked up the card and his face paled a little as he read:
"Manila!"
They sat down in the chair, she on the arm as before. After a moment heglanced at her perplexed face, and asked:
"Are you afraid to go, Grace?"
"It isn't that, Hugh. I was just wondering if we could reach Manila bythe twenty-third of May. It is unlucky to change the wedding day afterit has been once selected," she said softly.
"Grace Vernon, you are an angel. I was afraid you would show the whitefeather. It's a go, then--Manila! We can start next week and get therein good time."
"Next week? Impossible!" she cried in alarm.
"Nonsense! You can get ready for a trip to New York, making yourpreparations for a sea voyage secretly. I'll attend to all the details.It will be easy. No one will ever dream of what we are doing until wecable the news home to your aunt."
"Oh, I must tell Aunt Elizabeth!"
"Not much! That's no way to elope. We must do it correctly or not atall. Nobody is to know until we are really married. Can you get readyin a week?"
"If I really must."
"Can't take any more time than that if we want to reach Manila in timefor the wedding."
"Oh, Hugh! We can't go to Manila!" she cried, suddenly starting to herfeet in distress. "My Uncle Harry lives there. He is my mother's onlybrother and he's been there since the close of the war. He's in the hempbusiness. Oh, dear! How provoking!" she concluded almost piteously.
"It's fine!" he exclaimed jubilantly. "We can be married at his home.I'm sure he'll be happy to have us. You can write and tell him we'recoming, dear. Lord!" with great relief in his voice, "that simplifiesmatters immensely. Now we have an excuse for going to Manila. But aboveall things don't cable to him. Write a nice long letter and mail it justbefore we start."
She was silent a long while, staring soberly at the blaze in the grate.
"There'll be no bridesmaids and ushers over there, Hugh."
"We don't want 'em."
Silence for a few minutes.
"In a week, did you say?"
"Positively."
"Well, I'll be ready," she said solemnly.
He kissed her tenderly, lovingly, pressed her cold hand and saidencouragingly:
"We'll meet in New York next Monday afternoon. Leave everything to me,dear. It will be much pleasanter to go by way o
f London and it will helpto kill a good deal of time."
"Hugh," she said, smiling faintly, "I think we're proving that fatherwas right. I can't possibly arrive at the age of discretion until I amtwenty-three and past."