"Lord! I look like a peanut," he commenced disgustedly. "I say, Ma.s.sey, when we get back to New York I think I should choke anybody if I were you who dared to say we looked alike. One must draw the line somewhere at what const.i.tutes a permissible insult." He grinned whimsically at his own expense, turned back to the mirror. "Upon my word, though, I believe it is true. We do look alike. I never saw it until this minute. Funny things--resemblances."

"This isn't so funny," drawled Alan. "We had the same great grandfather."

d.i.c.k whirled about staring at the other man as if he thought him suddenly gone mad.

"What! What do you know about my great grandfather? Do you know who I am?"

"I do. You are John Ma.s.sey, old John's grandson, the chap I told you once was dead and decently buried. I hoped it was true at the time but it wasn't a week before I knew it was a lie. I found out John Ma.s.sey was alive and that he was going under the name of d.i.c.k Carson. Do you wonder I hated you?"

d.i.c.k sat down, his face white. He looked and was utterly dazed.

"I don't understand," he said. "Do you mind explaining? It--it is a little hard to get all at once."

And then Alan Ma.s.sey told the story that no living being save himself knew. He spared himself nothing, apologised for nothing, expressed no regret, asked for no palliation of judgment, forgiveness or even understanding. Quietly, apparently without emotion, he gave back to the other man the birthright he had robbed him of by his selfish and dishonorable connivance with a wicked old man now beyond the power of any vengeance or penalty. d.i.c.k Carson was no longer nameless but as he listened tensely to his cousin's revelations he almost found it in his heart to wish he were. It was too terrible to have won his name at such a cost. As he listened, watching Alan's eyes burn in the dusk in strange contrast to his cool, liquid, studiously tranquil voice, d.i.c.k remembered a line Alan himself had read him only the other day, "h.e.l.l, the shadow of a soul on fire," the Persian phrased it. Watching, d.i.c.k Carson saw before him a sadder thing, a soul which had once been on fire and was now but gray ashes. The flame had blazed up, scorched and blackened its path. It was over now, burnt out. At thirty-three Alan Ma.s.sey was through, had lived his life, had given up. The younger man saw this with a pang which had no reactive thought of self, only compa.s.sion for the other.

"That is all, I think," said Alan at last. "I have all the proofs of your ident.i.ty with me. I never could destroy them somehow though I have meant to over and over again. On the same principle I suppose that the sinning monk sears the sign of the cross on his breast though he makes no outward confession to the world and means to make none. I never meant to make mine. I don't know why I am doing it now. Or rather I do. I couldn't marry Tony with this thing between us. I tried to think I could, that I'd made up to you by saving your life, that I was free to take my happiness with her because I loved her and she loved me. And she does love me. She wrote me yesterday she would marry me whenever I wished. I could have had her. But I couldn't take her that way. I couldn't have made her happy.

She would have read the thing in my soul. She is too clean and honest and true herself not to feel the presence of the other thing when it came near her. I have tried to tell myself love was enough, that it would make up to her for the rest. It isn't enough. You can't build life or happiness except on the quarry stuff they keep on Holiday Hill, right, honor, decency. You know that. Tony forgave my past. I believe she is generous enough to forgive even this and go on with me. But I shan't ask her. I won't let her. I--I've given her up with the rest."

The speaker came over to where d.i.c.k sat, silent, stunned.

"Enough of that. I have no wish to appeal to you in any way. The next move is yours. You can act as you please. You can brand me as a criminal if you choose. It is what I am, guilty in the eyes of the law as well as in my own eyes and yours. I am not pleading innocence. I am pleading unqualified guilt. Understand that clearly. I knew what I was doing when I did it. I have known ever since. I've never been blind to the rottenness of the thing. At first I did it for the money because I was afraid of poverty and honest work. And then I went on with it for Tony, because I loved her and wouldn't give her up to you. Now I've given up the last ditch. The name is yours and the money is yours and if you can win Tony she is yours. I'm out of the face for good and all.

But we have to settle just how the thing is going to be done. And that is for you to say."

"I wish I needn't do anything about it," said d.i.c.k slowly after a moment.

"I don't want the money. I am almost afraid of it. It seems accursed somehow considering what it did to you. Even the name I don't seem to care so much about just now thought I have wanted a name as I have never wanted anything else in the world except Tony. It was mostly for her I wanted it. See here, Alan, why can't we make a compromise? You say Roberts wrote two letters and you have both. Why can't we destroy the one and send the other to the lawyers, the one that lets you out? It is n.o.body's business but ours. We can say that the letter has just fallen into your hands with the other proof that I am the John Ma.s.sey that was stolen. That would straighten the thing out for you. I've no desire to brand you in any way. Why should I after all I owe you? You have made up a million times by saving my life and by the way you have given the thing over now. Anyway one doesn't exact payment from one's friends. And you are my friend, Alan. You offered me friendship. I took it--was proud to take it. I am proud now, prouder than ever."

And rising d.i.c.k Carson who was no longer d.i.c.k Carson but John Ma.s.sey held out his hand to the man who had wronged him so bitterly. The paraquet in the corner jibbered harshly. Thunder rumbled heavily outside. An eerily vivid flash of lightning dispelled for a moment the gloom of the dusk as the two men clasped hands.

"John Ma.s.sey!" Alan's voice with its deep cello quality was vibrant with emotion. "You don't know what that means to me. Men have called me many things but few have ever called me friend except in lip service for what they thought they could get out of it. And from you--well, I can only say, I thank you."

"We are the only Ma.s.seys. We ought to stand together," said d.i.c.k simply.

Alan smiled though the room was too dark for d.i.c.k to see.

"We can't stand together. I have forfeited the right. You chose the high road long ago and I chose the other. We have both to abide by our choices. We can't change those things at will. Spare me the public revelation if you care to. I shall be glad for Tony's sake. For myself it doesn't matter much. I don't expect to cross your path or hers again. I am going to lose myself. Maybe some day you will win her. She will be worth the winning. But don't hurry her if you want to win. She will have to get over me first and that will take time."

"She will never get over you, Alan. I know her. Things go deep with her.

They do with all the Holidays. You shan't lose yourself. There is no need of it. Tony loves you. You must stay and make her happy. You can now you are free. She need never know the worst of this any more than the rest of the world need know. We can divide the money. It is the only way I am willing to have any of it."

Alan shook his head.

"We can divide nothing, not the money and not Tony's love. I told you I was giving it all up. You cannot stop me. No man has ever stopped me from doing what I willed to do. I have a letter or two to write now and so I'll leave you. I am glad you don't hate me, John Ma.s.sey. Shall we shake hands once more and then--good-night?"

Their hands met again. A sharp glare of lightning lit the room with ominous brilliancy for a moment. The paraquet screamed raucously. And then the door closed on Alan Ma.s.sey.

An hour later a servant brought word to d.i.c.k that an American was below waiting to speak to him. He descended with the card in his hand. The name was unfamiliar, Arthur Hallock of Chicago, mining engineer.

The stranger stood in the hall waiting while d.i.c.k came down the stairs.

He was obviously ill at ease.

"I am Hallock," announced the visitor. "You are Richard Carson?"

d.i.c.k nodded. Already the name was beginning to sound strange on his ears.

In one hour he had gotten oddly accustomed to knowing that he was John Ma.s.sey. And no longer needed Tony's name, dear as it was.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, Mr. Carson," the stranger proceeded. "You have a friend named Alan Ma.s.sey living here with you?"

Again d.i.c.k nodded. He was apprehensive at the mention of Alan's name.

"There was a riot down there." The speaker pointed down the street. "A fuss over an American flag some dirty German dog had spit at. It didn't take long to start a life sized row. We are all spoiling for a chance to stick a few of the pigs ourselves whether we're technically at war or not. A lot of us collected, your friend Ma.s.sey among the rest. I remember particularly when he joined the mob because he was so much taller than the rest of us and came strolling in as if he was going to an afternoon tea instead of getting into an international mess with nearly all the contracting parties drunk and disorderly. There was a good deal of excitement and confusion. I don't believe anybody knows just what happened but a drunken Mexican drew a dagger somewhere in the mix up and let it fly indiscriminate like. We all scattered like mischief when we saw the thing flash. n.o.body cares much for that kind of plaything at close range. But Ma.s.sey didn't move. It got him, clean in the heart. He couldn't have suffered a second. It was all over in a breath. He fell and the mob made itself scarce. Another fellow and I were the first to get to him but there wasn't anything to do but look in his pockets and find out who he was. We found his name on a card with this address and your name scribbled on it in pencil. I say, Mr. Carson, I am horribly sorry," suddenly perceiving d.i.c.k's white face. "You care a lot, don't you?"

"I care a lot," said d.i.c.k woodenly. "He was my cousin and--my best friend."

"I am sorry," repeated the young engineer. "Mr. Carson, there is something else I feel as if I had to say though I shan't say it to any one else. Ma.s.sey might have dodged with the rest of us. He saw it coming just as we did. He waited for it and I saw him smile as it came--a queer smile at that. Maybe I'm mistaken but I have a hunch he wanted that dagger to find him. That was why he smiled."

"I think you are entirely right, Mr. Hallock," said d.i.c.k. "I haven't any doubt but that was why he smiled. He would smile just that way. Where --where is he?" d.i.c.k brushed his hands across his eyes as he asked the question. He had never felt so desolate, so utterly alone in his life.

"They are bringing him here. Shall I stay? Can I help anyway?"

d.i.c.k shook his head sadly.

"Thank you. I don't think there is anything any one can do. I--I wish there was."

A little later Alan Ma.s.sey's dead body lay in austere dignity in the house in which he had saved his cousin's life and given him back his name and fortune together with the right to win the girl he himself had loved so well. The smile was still on his face and a strange serenity of expression was there too. He slept well at last. He had lost himself as he had proclaimed his intent to do and in losing had found himself. One could not look upon that calm white sculptured face without feeling that.

Alan Ma.s.sey had died a victor undaunted, a master of fate to the end.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

THE SONG IN THE NIGHT

Tony Holiday sat in the dressing room waiting her cue to go on the stage.

It was only a rehearsal however. Miss Clay was back now and Tony was once more the humble understudy though with a heart full of happy knowledge of what it is like to be a real actress with a doting public at her feet.

While she waited she picked up a newspaper and carelessly scanned its pages. Suddenly to the amazement and consternation of the other girl who was dressing in the same room she uttered a sharp little cry and for the first time in her healthy young life slid to the floor in a merciful faint. Her frightened companion called for help instantly and it was only a moment before Tony's brown eyes opened and she pulled herself up from the couch where they had laid her. But she would not speak or tell them what had happened and it was only when they had gotten her off in a cab with a motherly, big hearted woman who played shrew's and villainess'

parts always on the stage but was the one person of the whole cast to whom every one turned in time of trouble that the rest searched the paper for the clew to the thing which had made Tony look like death itself. It was not far to seek. Tony looked like death because Alan Ma.s.sey was dead.

They all knew Alan Ma.s.sey and knew that he and Tony Holiday were intimate friends, perhaps even betrothed. More than one of them had seen and remembered how he had kissed her before them all on the night of Tony's first Broadway triumph and some of them had wondered why he had not been seen since with her. So he had been in Mexico and now he was dead, his heart pierced by a Mexican dagger. And Tony--Tony of the gay tongue and the quick laughter--had the dagger gone into her heart too? It looked so.

The "End of the Rainbow" cast felt very sad and sober that day. They loved Tony and just now she was not an actress to them but a girl who had loved a man, a man who was dead.

Jean Lambert telegraphed at once for Doctor Holiday to come to Tony who was in a bad way. She wouldn't talk. She wouldn't eat. She did not sleep.

She did not cry. Jean thought if she cried her grief would not have been so pitiful to behold. It was the stony, white silence of her that was intolerable to witness.

In her uncle's arms Tony's terrible calm gave way and she sobbed herself to utter weariness and finally to sleep. But even to him she would not talk much about Alan. He had not known Alan. He had never understood--never would understand now how wonderful, how lovable, how splendid her lover had been. For several days she was kept in bed and the doctor hardly left her. It was a hard time for him as well as his stricken niece. Even their love for each other did not serve to lighten the pain to any great extent. It was not the same sorrow they had. Doctor Holiday was suffering because his little girl suffered. Tony was suffering because she loved Alan Ma.s.sey who would never come to her again. Neither could entirely share the grief of the other. Alan Ma.s.sey was between them still.