The Angel of the Gila Part 51

"What's that I hear about not coming back?" asked Kenneth Hastings, who, at that moment, joined them.

"I said I was afraid Miss Bright wouldn't come back," explained Edith.

"I hope you are not thinking of going East soon," said Kenneth quietly.

When she announced that she should, he protested vigorously.

That evening, Esther rode with him through beautiful mountain scenes.

The heavens were still colored with the soft afterglow, as they sped along the upland road. Later, the moon rose, flooding the earth with its weird, transfiguring light.

Once more, Kenneth told Esther his past. He wanted her to know all there was to know, he said simply.

Then he poured into her ears the old, old story, sweetest story ever told, when love speaks and love listens. But Esther's eyes were haunted by a sudden fear.

Kenneth paused, and waited for her to speak.

Then, with a tightening of the lips, he listened to her answer.

She had not thought of love and marriage. She had naturally grown into thinking that she would devote herself to philanthropic work, as her grandfather, before her, had done.

"Yes," Kenneth said; "but your grandfather married; and his children married, and you, I take it, are the joy of his life. Suppose he had not married. Would his philanthropic work have been greater?"

Then there was more talk, that seemed to give pain to both, for Esther said:

"I will go soon, and not return; for my presence here would only make you unhappy."

"No," he urged, "return to Gila.

"You say you regard marriage as very solemn. So do I. You say you would feel it wrong to marry one you did not love. So should I."

"I have been candid with you," she said in evident distress. To which he responded bitterly:

"You think me a G.o.dless wretch. Well, I guess I am. But I had begun to grope after G.o.d, and stumbled in my darkness. I have been beset with tormenting doubts. The idea of G.o.d is so vast I cannot grasp even a fraction of it. You are right. I am G.o.dless."

"No, no, not G.o.dless," she said. "Jesus of Nazareth, what of Him?"

"I am coming to look upon him as a brother. I could have loved him profoundly, had I known him when he was on earth. But it all seems so far away in the past. To tell the truth, I have read the Bible very little."

"Read it," she urged.

"I should feel all the time that religion had placed a great gulf between you and me, and hate it in consequence. Ought religion to place a gulf between human souls?"

"The lack of religion might." Silence followed. Then she continued, "If I loved you, loved you deeply enough, that would sweep away all obstacles."

"And perhaps," he added, "if I had always lived up to the highest ideals of life, I might now be worthy of you. I _am_ unworthy, I confess it."

"Oh, don't put it that way," she said in distress. "Let it be that I am not worthy of the love you offer me, not capable of loving enough to--to--marry."

"Miss Bright, you are capable of loving, as few women are. It is my misfortune that I have not won your love. I need you to help me live my highest and best. All these months, because of your unconscious influence, I have been learning to see myself as I am, and as I might be. For the first time in my life, I have come in contact with a deeply religious soul, and have felt myself struggling towards the light. I have wrestled with doubt, again and again, bewildered. You teach us that the founder of the Christian religion had compa.s.sion on sinful men."

"Yes."

"But _you_ have no compa.s.sion on _me_."

"You misunderstand," she said. "You see it sometimes happens that there is little real happiness, real union, where the wife is a believer in G.o.d, and the husband seeks--"

"The devil," supplemented Kenneth. "I confess I have followed the devil to some extent."

"Don't," she said. "It hurts me to the heart to hear you speak so. I meant to say if he had no sympathy with her spiritual life."

"If I were a professing Christian, do you think you would care more for me?"

"I might."

"Suppose I pretended to be a Christian. Many make that pretense, and are accounted the real thing."

"Dear Mr. Hastings, let me be a sincere and loyal friend to you, no more. Some day, I hope, you will win, in marriage, some rare woman who will make you happy."

"Some rare woman? You are that one, Miss Bright. I want no other."

"But you mustn't think of me, Mr. Hastings."

"Do you know what you are, Miss Bright? You are an iceberg."

She laughed.

"That's fortunate. You will not long care for an iceberg. I will go soon, and you will forget me."

He turned upon her.

"Forget you? Do you really wish me to forget you?" Did she? She wondered.

"No," she answered. Then over her face, lifted in the moonlight, he saw the color come.

Their talk drifted to many subjects touching the life in Gila, and the larger world outside, to which she was soon to return.

"Will you write to me?" he asked.

"That would make it harder for you to forget," she said, navely.

"I do not wish to forget," he said gloomily. "Why should I forget the happiest hours I have ever spent?" Why should he?

Back at Clayton Ranch, an older pair of lovers, married lovers, walked up and down the veranda in the moonlight.

"John," a soft voice was saying, "I just hope Kenneth will propose to Miss Bright to-night."

He laughed.

"You women! Always interested in a love story! How do you know Kenneth hasn't proposed to her already?"