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Web of the Golden Spider, The

<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> <h3>The Open Door Closes</h3> It was an excited but happy group of people who sat down that night in the cozy cabin of the yacht after a good day’s rest. Each of them had more than he could tell, for no one would allow the other to omit any details of these last adventurous weeks. Each had been held in the clutch of a widely differing set of circumstances and each had been forced to make something of a lone fight of it. Here in the calm and luxury of this cabin their lives, by the grace of God, had come to a focus. First Danbury, as the host, was forced to begin from the time he was lost at the gate to the palace. He told of how he awoke in a certain house and found himself under the care of the best nurse in the world. But that didn’t last long, for the next thing he knew he was on board his yacht and fifty miles out at sea with a mutinous captain––a captain who refused to put back to port when ordered to do so at once. Instead of that, the fellow ran him into a strange port, took on board a surgeon (shanghaied him, in fact) and refused to obey orders until three weeks later Danbury was himself again plus a limp. Then he had come back to Bogova only to be refused permission to anchor in the 342 harbor. He had come ashore one night in a dory, been arrested and carried before Otaballo who refused to recognize him and gave him the alternative of going to jail or leaving the coast at once. It had all been an incomprehensible mystery to him; the only explanation he could think of being that the Queen was seized by the General who had usurped the throne. He tried once more to land and this time learned of the movement afoot by the Republican party. He had made a dash for the palace, forced his way through the guards, and reached the Queen. Now he’d like an explanation from her Majesty of the unfair advantage she had taken of a wounded prisoner. Her Majesty with an excited, happy laugh said that if boys would get excited and act foolishly, the only thing to do was to keep them out of trouble by force. It was true that she had conspired to have him transported and kept safe aboard his ship, because she knew that if he came back, he would resent a great many things she was forced to bear as a matter of diplomacy, and would end by getting stabbed in the back. She thought it was better to have a live lover, even though he were a hundred miles away, than a dead soldier. He scowled in disgust, but she reached his hand under the table. She had given orders to Otaballo and then she had lain awake all night crying because he had carried them out. Her plan had been to get the kingdom all straightened out and at peace, and then to abdicate. But things had gone wrong and she told them a story of plots and counterplots, of strange men arrested at 343 her very door with knives in their hands, of a bomb found in the palace, that held them breathless. Danbury fairly boiled over with excitement. “And you had me tied up while those things were going on? Trix––I’ll never forgive you. I might have been a regular story-book hero.” “Not in Carlina; you’d have been killed before night.” “Rot! Don’t you think I’m old enough to take care of myself?” “No,” she answered. “And that’s why I’ve come with you.” “I’d have cleared up that trouble in a week,” he exploded. “And as for those beggars of mine––do you know I risked my life to get their pay to them through an agent? And then they turned against us.” “Still for pay,” she said. “Well, their life will be a short one and a merry in that crowd. Once the darned republic is running again, they will be got rid of.” If Danbury squirmed at having missed the excitement at Bogova, he fairly writhed with envy of Stubbs and Wilson. As he listened he hitched back and forth in his chair, leaned over the table until he threatened to sprawl among the glasses, and groaned jealously at every crisis. Wilson told his story as simply as possible from its beginning; the scenes at the house, his finding the map, his adventures in Bogova, the long trip to the cave, his danger there, and their dash back with the treasure, omitting, however, the story of the Priest’s 344 relation to the girl as of too personal a nature. At this point the black coffee was brought on, the steward dismissed, and as a climax to the narrative the contents of the twenty bags of jewels poured out upon the table. They made a living, sparkling heap that held everyone of them in silent wonder. Beneath the electric lights, they took on their brightest hues, darting rays in all directions, a dazzling collection which in value and beauty was greater than any which has ever been gathered at one time. To-day they are scattered all over the world. There is not a collection in Europe which is not the richer for one or more of them. They flash upon the fingers of royalty, they sparkle upon the bosom of our own richest, they are locked tight in the heavy safes of London Jews, and at least four of them the Rajah of Lamar ranks among the choicest of what is called the most magnificent collection in the world. But the two finest of them all, neither the money of Jews nor the influence of royalty was powerful enough to secure; one came as a wedding gift to Mrs. Danbury, and the other was a gift from Stubbs to Jo. For a few minutes they lay there together, as for so long they had lain in the cave––a coruscating fortune of many millions. “Well,” gasped Danbury, “you fellows certainly got all the fun and a good share of the profit out of this trip. But––did you say you left a pile behind?” “In gold. Twenty times what these are worth,” said Wilson. <div>345</div> “And you could locate it again?” “It’s buried under a mountain now, but you’re welcome to the map if you wish to dig for it. I don’t want any more of it. I found what I was after.” He looked at Jo who had become as silent as ever the wife of Flores was. She had learned the same trick of the eyes––a sort of sheep-like content. “But, Stubbs,” broke out Danbury, “will you go back with me? We’ll take dynamite and men enough to blow out the whole mountain. Say, it will be bully and–––” He felt warm fingers close over his own. It sent a thrill the length of him, but also it told him that things were different now––that he must not plan for himself alone. “Well,” he added slowly, “perhaps some day we can go––say ten years from now. Are you with me, Stubbs?” “It’s good enough to stow erway ter dream about,” smiled Stubbs, catching a warning glance from Beatrice, “but as fer me, I h’ain’t gut th’ taste of rope outer my mouth yet.” They swept back the jewels into the bags and locked them up in Danbury’s safe. The latter agreed to take them to New York and see that they were properly appraised so that a fair division could be made. Stubbs protested that it wasn’t worth while. “Jus’ give me one bag of ’em an’ I guess thet will last me out.” <div>346</div> But Wilson insisted on the literal carrying out of their bargain, share and share alike. The remainder of the trip was a sort of extra honeymoon for Danbury and Wilson, while Stubbs was content to act as chaperone and bask in the reflected happiness about him. The climax came with the double wedding held on board the ship in Boston Harbor just as soon as they could get a parson on board. The little cabin was a bower of flowers and what the two girls lacked in gowns (both Danbury and Wilson insisting that to prepare a trousseau was a wholly unnecessary waste of time) they made up in jewels. The dinner which followed was worthy of the Astoria, for Togo, the Japanese steward, was given carte blanche. Stubbs was to go on to New York with Danbury, but as to where he should go from there, he was mysterious. “There’s a widder at Lisbon–––” he hinted to Wilson. “If you don’t find her, come back to us.” “Maybe so; maybe so. It’s God bless ye both, anyhow, an’ perhaps we’ll meet in the end at the Home port.” <hr class='tb' /> From the dark of their unlighted room in the hotel Wilson and his wife stood side by side staring down at the interminable procession of shuffling feet in which, so short a time ago, they had been two units. It had been just such a dusk time as this when she had first got a glimpse of this man by her side. The world had seemed very big and formidable to her then 347 and yet she had felt something of the tingling romance of it. Now as she gazed down through the misting rain at the glazed streets and the shadows moving through the paths of yellow lights from the windows, she felt a yearning to be a part of them once more. Once again she felt the gypsy call of things beyond; once again she vibrated attune to the mystic song of the dark. She felt stifled in here with her love. For the moment she was even rebellious. After the sweep of sky-piercing summits, after the unmeasured miles of the sea, there was not room here for a heart so big as hers. Somehow this room seemed to shut out the sky. She wanted to go down into the crowd for a little and brush shoulders with these restless people. It would seem a little less as though she had been imprisoned. It seemed to her as though she would then be more completely alone with him––alone as they were those first few hours when they had felt the press of the world against them. For this night of nights, she craved the isolation which had once been thrust upon them. They were such guarded creatures here. An hundred servants hedged them about,––hedged them in as zealously as jailers. The law––that old enemy––patroled the streets now to keep them safe where once it had thrust them out into the larger universe. Outside still lay the broad avenues of dark where one heard strange passings; where one was in touch with the ungoverned. The rain sifted gently from the uncharted regions above. It was there lovers 348 should be––there where one could swing the shoulders and breathe deeply. The girl snuggled uneasily closer to his side. The two pressed to the window as though to get as far away as possible from all the man-made furnishings about them. “Jo,” he whispered, “we oughtn’t to be shut in.” She found his hand and grasped it with the strength of one who thrills with the deeper understanding. She trembled in the grip of that love which, at least once in a woman’s life, lifts her to a higher plane than can be reached outside a madhouse. She felt a majestic scorn of circumstance. She was one with Nature herself,––she and her man. She laid her hot cheek against his heart. She had not yet been kissed, withdrawing from his lips half afraid of the dizzy heights to which they beckoned. “Let’s get back into the dark, Jo,” he whispered again, drawing her towards him; “back where I found you, Jo. I want to get outside once more––with you. I want to be all alone with you once more.” “David! David!” she cried joyously, “I know.” “I don’t want to start life with you from here. I want to start from where we stood before the fire all wet. It was there I found you.” “Yes! Yes!” she answered, scarcely able to get her breath. “It was meant for us to begin there. We were turned aside for a little into strange paths, but we’ll go back now. Shall we?” <div>349</div> “Now,” she panted. “Let us start now.” “Come,” he said. They hurried out of the room and down the broad marble stairs to the hotel foyer as though fearing something was behind them to seize and hold them prisoner. The smug, well-dressed men and women who were lounging there staring listlessly at the rain, glanced up with a quicker interest in life at sight of their flushed cheeks and eager eyes. They caught in them the living fire which in their own breasts was ash-covered by the years. The man at the swinging doors straightened at their approach. “Shall I get you an umbrella, sir?” “No,” answered Wilson, with a smile. “It is raining hard, sir?” “Yes, it is raining, thank God.” They moved out upon the steps and the carriage porter put his whistle to his lips. Wilson shook his head and gripped the arm of the excited girl by his side. “But, sir–––” gasped the porter. “I’m afraid you don’t belong to the night,” said Wilson. “Lord!” muttered the porter as he saw them step into the wet. “Lord! they’re mad––mad as hatters.” They swung into the damp stream of men and women with a fresh influx of strength. They felt the action of the world––the vibrating pulse of the engines. The Law still stood on the outside like an umpire, but there 350 were still many forces at work which the Law could not detect, many opportunities for Chance to work, for the quick hand to move stealthily. It was something of this they felt, as they brushed along. But they wished freer play even than this,––they wished to get where the Law alone stood between them and their ego––and then once more face down the Law. They turned into the big, dripping park with its primeval furnishings of earth and grass and trees and deep shadows. It was amid such surroundings alone that their own big, fundamental emotions found adequate breathing space. They plunged into the silent by-paths as a sun-baked man dives to the sandy bottom of a crystal lake. And into it all they blended as one––each feeling the glory of a perfected whole. Each saw with his own eyes and the eyes of the other, too. It was as though each were given five new senses. Near one of the large trees a shadow detached itself and stepped towards them. It was a man in a rubber coat and a helmet. “See,” she whispered to him, “it is one of them!” He saw and the old fighting instinct returned––the old rebellion. But with it came a new responsibility. It was no longer just himself against this thing––no longer the same wild freedom that took no account of consequences. “See,” she trembled. “Shall we run?” Then she clutched his arm more tightly. There was no need of running now. He was there to face things––to stand firm and batter off. <div>351</div> “Oh, David!” she broke out, “we––we can’t run any more.” “No,” he answered steadily, “we must go straight ahead and pass him.” So they did, and as the policeman stooped a little the better to see their faces, they each lifted their eyes to him and laughed. He tipped his helmet. “A bad night, sir,” he said genially. “A bully night,” answered Wilson. They went on more slowly after this, across the park and toward the broad avenue. They came to where the brownstone houses blinked their yellow eyes at them. The boards were all down now and the street all a-twinkle with fairy lights. “Do you remember how they did that before?” he asked. “And how warm it looked inside? David––David––they can’t make me feel lonesome any more.” “No, but we can’t laugh at them; we must laugh with them.” She made up a little face at a big French window which seemed to stare insolently at them. “We don’t need you any more,” she said to it. They came to the only house on the street which was still boarded against the heat of the summer. Here they paused. She seized his arm. “That is it,” she exclaimed. “That is where we began!” “Yes, but––it looks different, doesn’t it?” “It has grown older––more sober.” <div>352</div> “Shall we go in?” She looked up and down the street. “If only we could get chased––once more!” “We can pretend.” “And go in the back way as we did before?” “Yes.” “That is good. Come.” She placed her hand within his and they turned down the alley which led to the back street facing the water front. The lights still blinked in the mist––the waves still pounded against the stone walls throwing up salt spray, but they no longer came from out an unfathomable distance. They seemed like very petty waves and the two knew the boundaries, before and back of them, as they had not before. “Now,” she said, “run––run for all you’re worth!” She led the pace, he falling back to keep with her instead of dragging her on. So they ran until they were breathless. Then as before they moved a-tiptoe. They knew the little door when they reached it. “I must break it in again,” he said. So she stood back while he threw his weight against it, meeting it with his shoulders. She watched him with a thrill––her heart leaping with every thud of his body against the wood. It was her man forcing a path for her,––her man beating down a barrier. She felt the sting of the wind-driven spray against her cheek, but the depths from which it came no longer called to her. Rather they drove her in. She was content 353 to be here with her man. Life opened big to her from just where she stood. The door gave finally, as she knew it must, and hand in hand they entered the paved yard. He fastened the door behind them and yet as he put the joist in place, it was not as it was before. There was no one in pursuit now. She found herself, however, as anxious to see his face and learn what this meant to him as she had been the first time. For after all, even if it were different, it was just as new and unpathed a world they were entering as the other. She took his hand. “Stoop nearer to me, David.” She saw that his lips were less tense, that there was less of a strain to his shoulders, but that his eyes burned no less brightly. “Come,” she said. He went in through the window and opened the door for her. The house smelled just as musty as before, but there was less thrill to the dark. They lighted a bit of candle and made their way along the lower hall, up the broad stairs and so into the very room where they had stood a few months before. There were no strange creakings now, no half-guessed movements among the curtains, no swift-gliding shadows more felt than seen. There were no such vast spaces above, and no uncertain alleys of dark. They were among the known things, the certain, the sure. He found kindling and lighted the fire. It flared up briskly and threw flickering rays into the big room. The two pressed close to it, for their clothes were wet. 354 Not a thing was altered in the room and yet it was a different room. The room was now a part of this house, the house was part of the street, the street was part of the city, the city part of the man-made world. For a moment the walls pressed in upon them as the hotel walls had done, and the ceilings shut out the stars. Then he turned and met her eyes. They were clear now––unshadowed by doubt, fear, or question. He knew what it meant,––at length she was altogether out of the web. It was odd but he had never kissed her lips. He had waited for this. She looked up at him and as she looked, she seemed to sink deeper than ever into the golden, misty region which lay below the outer dark of his eyes. She felt a tingling warmth suffuse her whole body; she felt the room about her quicken to new life; and above her head she knew the stars were shining again. She came into his arms putting her hands upon his shoulder, throwing back her head with half-closed eyes. He stooped, his lips brushed her lips; then met firmly in a clinging kiss which set the world about them into a mad riot.   <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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