MacGregor's logic, but he weakly demanded that she should point the way.

"There is then only one thing to do?"

"On the contrary,"--Mrs. MacGregor spoke sharply, for she was losing patience,--"there are three courses open to you. You can go on as you are going and the end is ruin. Ruin to Helen, ruin to Amy, ruin to your work, ruin to yourself. You can break off your relations with Helen Lonsdale and go back to your old life; your life as it was before Helen entered it. Or--" She paused, as one who could go farther, but would not.

"What?" Elijah breathed the word rather than spoke it.

Mrs. MacGregor answered as one wearied with a hopeless burden.

"The laws of the world recognize the fact that the purest impulses of man are often mistaken. They recognize this fact and have provided a way of separation."

Elijah made no reply. They drove on in silence toward his ranch where Mrs. MacGregor was to spend a few days. His thought wandered from his surroundings back to the clear sunlight, the bracing air of his old New England home. There was peace there; the peace of simple lives untouched by the fierce pa.s.sions of the throbbing world. He saw Amy Eltharp, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, walking through the cool woods, her hand in his own, her eyes down-cast, her cheeks delicately flushed, as her trembling lips breathed "yes" in answer to his pa.s.sionate words.

Now it was all gone. He was in a desert land, burned with conflicting emotions as fierce as the sun that beat upon the sands around him.

When they reached the ranch, Amy was standing in the rose-trellised drive-way to welcome them. Fair as the roses that surrounded her, she stood with anxious eyes raised to Elijah. Her purpose to make herself useful to Elijah, was yet strong within her. Perhaps this fact tempered for her the chill of Elijah's absent-minded response to her greeting.

She was feeding her heart on hope. "A little study, a little practice and the thing is done."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Amy Berl was demonstrating the world-old truth, that love, however selfish, enn.o.bles and softens the life into which it enters. With feeble brain but loving heart, she was working out for herself the truth that love which feeds on sensuous beauty or sensuous pa.s.sion alone, dies the death of the brute; that the love which is born not to die, must drink deeper and ever deeper with the pa.s.sing years at the fountain of eternal youth; that to a love thus thirst-quenched, every gray hair that marks a day forever gone, every wrinkle on flesh shrivelling at the touch of time, eyes dimmed with the shedding of many tears, every footstep trembling with the pa.s.sing of the weary milestones of life, are bonds which the fires of h.e.l.l cannot melt, nor the peace of heaven dissolve away. Amy did not know it, she could not have grasped the fact had it been told her, that she was laying hold of the saving element of life, that animated as she had been by a love that was still seeking itself alone, she was yet nourishing a power that would raise her from the ashes of despair.

Amy had not forgotten the task she had set herself. She had obtained "A & B's Elements," and day after day, she was striving to master the simple problems that would enable her to take Helen Lonsdale's place in her husband's life. The coming of Mrs. MacGregor had not interfered with her purpose, nor with her hours of study. Through the day, Mrs.

MacGregor and Elijah were absent, inspecting the desolate stretches of red hillsides, or the struggling green of seeping springs in deep arroyos.

Mrs. MacGregor's plans with Elijah were shaping to a desired end, but,--there was an uncertain element which she could not resolve. There was no lack of keen, exact penetration in Elijah; but there was now a reticence about his personal feelings which she did not dare openly to break. Indirect openings which she gave, he pa.s.sed by without notice.

She was unable to decide whether his reticence was due to wounded pride, in that he had been betrayed into an exhibition of the inner chambers of his heart, or whether it was due to a growing resentment of her attack upon Helen Lonsdale. Another surmise and nearer the truth, had she known it, was that he had been brought face to face with his position as regarded his wife. If Mrs. MacGregor had been sure of Elijah's ultimate decision, her course of action might have been different. As it was, she was fairly confident that she knew every element in Elijah, and that she could predicate its logical end. She was certain that she knew Amy, and that sooner or later a separation would come, and that the sooner it came, the better it would be for her own personal designs.

Mrs. MacGregor soon reached another conclusion which she regarded as final. She had carefully studied Amy in every contact with Elijah. She saw in her every att.i.tude before him, in her every word to him, an eager a.s.surance of confidence and love which in reality was an evident doubt of it, or at least a fear for it. She was in effect, doing in her pitiful way, what she had always done, mirroring to her husband every phase of himself which he presented to her. It was inert, impersonal, and, in Elijah's present state of mind, not only pa.s.sively, but actively exasperating to him. It wholly lacked the power to soothe, much less to inspire.

It was several days after Mrs. MacGregor had reached her conclusion that Amy was impossible, before she began an aggressive campaign against her.

Elijah had been called to Ysleta and had gone alone. Mrs. MacGregor had been invited to accompany him, but for personal reasons, had declined.

Her ostensible reason was that he had kept her so busy that she had had no time in which to give herself up to the beauties of his place.

Poor innocent Amy! She and Mrs. MacGregor were seated on the verandah.

Through the trembling leaves, the tempered sunlight filtered and waltzed to and fro, in dreamy, peaceful measures across the floor. The songs of many birds, the flutter of their wings, the rustle of leaves, these soothed and lulled the senses to a restful peace. There is nothing like it in the world; nowhere but in California, newly awakened. The rank growth of fruit and flower, a growth roused from its fiery sleep, now striving in a day to make up for ages of helpless bondage.

Mrs. MacGregor was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, but her thoughts were busy. At last she spoke.

"Are you happy in California?"

Amy looked up in unfeigned surprise.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

A trained diplomat could not have parried the thrust more deftly. Mrs.

MacGregor looked fixedly but calmly at Amy. Was that answer accidental or designed?

"Because," she spoke deliberately, "in California there is not a single thing to suggest your New England home."

"Except Elijah." Amy did not look up this time. She was taking her guest and her words as a matter of course.

"Haven't you noticed any change in Elijah?"

"No-o." Amy's voice faltered, for she was truthful. She was wondering if it was wicked to tell this lie. It did not occur to her to resent the necessity for it.

"It would not be strange if he had changed. California has changed, is changing. Those who come here must change,--for better or for worse."

"Elijah could not change for worse."

Amy's meaning was plain, but Mrs. MacGregor smiled at her words.

"I knew Elijah as a boy and as a young man. Then our paths diverged for six years. They have come together again and I am astonished at the change. He was strong, but his strength had not found a worthy purpose.

It has found it here."

Amy was beginning to take an active interest in the conversation.

"Yes, when we first came here, the people laughed at us. Now, Elijah has got more than ten thousand orange trees growing where no one thought of their growing. People are after him all the time now. He is going to bring water to thousands of acres of desert land."

Mrs. MacGregor listened impatiently to a recital of Elijah's labors, as dreary as Homer's catalogue of ships.

"Yes, I know. Elijah has told me something of this and I have seen more.

His strength has found a purpose. He has done a great work; but it is only a beginning, a preparation for a greater." Mrs. MacGregor began to launch forth into generalities. "At rare intervals in the progress of the world, great opportunities arise and only one man who is equal to the grasping and working out of the opportunity. Such a man, we call a genius. A genius transcends the limitations of his fellows and he also transcends their laws. It is his right; he cannot work without it. He must not be hindered or obstructed. At whatever cost of pain to those who are near and dear to him, his work must go on. It is for the good of unknown and unnumbered humanity; humanity is everything, individuals do not count. You doubtless have thought of all this; possibly have decided upon your course of action. The question is, are you ready to sacrifice yourself even, for the sake of Elijah's work?"

Amy caught eagerly at the last sentence of Mrs. MacGregor's words. The more eagerly, because they were the only words that had to her the slightest meaning.

"I _have_ sacrificed myself and I have never complained once. Not even when we were traveling around from place to place in a covered wagon, and sleeping on the ground, and when we had only oatmeal to eat day in and day out; not even when our babies were sick and we had no money to pay a doctor. I was afraid they were going to die, but Elijah did not know; he was busy with his work. That was after we came here, and I never told him." Amy did not look up, but Mrs. MacGregor was watching her. From under the veiling lids, she saw the tears gather, roll across the pink cheeks and fall on the work in her lap. Mrs. MacGregor did not know, perhaps Amy did not, whether the tears were for the past she was reciting, or for the future which she was fearing. Without looking up, she drew her hand across her eyes. "I don't know why I am telling you all this. I have never told any one before; not even my mother."

Unflinchingly Mrs. MacGregor turned to Amy.

"I have no doubt that you have done your duty so far as you have seen it; but here is the point. Are you willing to make further sacrifices, from your standpoint, the supreme sacrifice?"

Amy's mind had been overstrained in an effort to follow even the small part of Mrs. MacGregor's words that was at all intelligible to her; there was a suggestion of petulance in her reply.

"There is no need of any more sacrifice. Just see." She pointed through the roses to the dark green orange trees full of golden fruit which covered the hillside below them. "Elijah has no need to do more. He has enough for us all now. Even if he should leave the Water Company, he would have enough. When that is done, he will come home to me and I shall have him all to myself; I and the children."

"Elijah's work is only begun. What he has done, is only a preparation for the work that is to be done, that he alone can do. Nothing must stand in his way, not even wife and children."

Amy answered pa.s.sionately.

"He has done enough!"

Mrs. MacGregor's eyes were cold and merciless as those of a snake watching its victim. She thought long before speaking. She was conscious that there was danger in handling for one's own purposes a mind so feeble and hesitating as Amy's, but she must make the attempt. Should she rest content with having instilled the subtle poison in Amy's mind, leaving it to work slowly to a doubtful end? Could she be sure that it would do its work? On the other hand, to one of Amy's mental caliber, would the plain, brutal statement, stripped of ambiguity, be more than a suggestion? In this latter course there lay the danger that Amy would grasp the full import of her words and that in the mental agony that would surely follow, she would go to Elijah at once. Would she go to Elijah? Mrs. MacGregor felt sure that she would not. Weak as Amy was, she would intuitively feel the hopelessness of an appeal to him. Already she was vaguely conscious that her hold upon him was slight, how slight she would not dare to put to the test. She would not openly acknowledge this fear to herself, much less to others, least of all to Elijah. She had a fixed purpose in her mind, to fit herself to take Helen's place and upon its success she had staked all. To abandon her secret efforts would leave her again wandering, wavering, to go over the whole weary ground again. Mrs. MacGregor made her decision. Her voice was modulated, almost sympathetic, but it was firm and decided.