Vision House

"Now, here he is in the album again at fifteen. We had the Mooney Molasses Candies – three sorts – for sale in a lot of shops, and we'd a little flat of our own, and money in the bank. Isn't he a fine fellow to look at there? The makings of a man! 'Twas when he was fifteen that he began to study the notebooks his father had left, and to turn his thoughts to inventions of his own. The first thing was an oyster-opener. The second was a fastener to keep shoe-strings from untying. Then there was a big leap, and at eighteen he'd patented a toy pistol that fired six shots, and no danger in one of 'em! That was what began to bring real money in; and Johnny said, 'Mothereen' (he'd called me that name from the first), 'the next step is goin' to take us out West to the place that you love!' So it did! 'Twas that high-speed bullet of his which won him the notice of the War Office. It won him ten thousand dollars, too; and on the strength of it he brought me back to the town where Pat and I settled first, in the happy old days. But little did I dream even then of the destiny ahead of the boy! I was lovin' him too much, and rememberin' the child he'd been, to realise that by me side a real genius was growin' up. I might o' done, though, if I'd kept me eyes open, the way he studied and worked, worked and studied, readin' the classics and learnin' languages and mathematics the while he'd be faggin' out some new invention. But Johnny was never the boy to brag or talk about himself. He was always queer in spots, sort of broodin', you'd almost say sulky, unless you knew him, and a temper, too; though never with me. Then came his discovery of how to make motor spirit out of coke. That finished buildin' this house we're in, and bought his land at Grand Canyon. I mean it did all that in the first few months. Soon afterwards the dollars poured on us by thousands – yes, tens of thousands! You sure heard of the trench motor-tool for diggin', I know, because 'twas in all the English papers after the war had broken out, and Johnny was at the Front. There was all that about his Victoria Cross at the same time, or was it a bit before? You can tell me, I guess?"

"It must have been before. I never knew why he was decorated," Marise said.

"He wouldn't tell you when ye asked?" cried Mothereen, as certain as she was of life that the girl had asked – yes, begged and prayed!

"He never did tell."

"Well, ye shall read the newspaper paragraphs yerself – American papers, mind ye! – for he never sent me the English ones, and I got what I got through his friends. I've columns cut out. And with them there's the praise of the trench machine, and the new kind of steel – Radium steel, he calls it – that they say will make him a millionaire in a year or two."

"A millionaire!" echoed Marise. "I thought he was poor!"

"Poor! Ye thought that – yet ye married him – you, who could get anyone ye liked, from Princes of the Blood down to Cotton Kings! You darlin'! Well, ye'll have yer reward. The boy is not poor. He's rich – what anybody would call rich."

"Then why – " Marise burst out, and stopped herself. If she hadn't bitten back the words, they would have tumbled out: "Why did he marry me?"

She felt very small in spirit and mean of soul compared with humble Mothereen, whose faith and loyalty had bridged the dark years with gold.

Why had a man brought up by Mothereen wanted to play the dummy hand in this ridiculous game of marriage?

CHAPTER XXXII

THE BEREAVED ONE

When his ship docked, two telegrams were handed to Lord Severance. The first which he opened was from Mrs. Sorel, and he glanced through it eagerly.

"Everything going as well as could be expected, but your return and final completion of arrangement eagerly awaited. – Mary S."

This was not quite as reassuring, somehow, as the sender intended it to be. There seemed to be a hidden meaning behind the words, which twanged the wrong chords of Severance's emotions. Hastily he tore open the second envelope, hoping to find a message from Marise herself. But the signature was "Constantine Ionides." Then Severance read with horrified, incredulous eyes, "Œnone died suddenly last night of heart failure."

For a moment Tony did not understand all that the news would mean for him. Œnone dead! Well, he was free, at least! The hateful farce would not have to be gone through. He could sail for New York again in a few days.

But a shock of realisation broke the thought. Not to marry Œnone meant that he would not get his uncle's promised wedding gift. A fortune was lost!

The blow was a staggering one. He felt its full force, as if he had abruptly turned to face a gale from the east.

Wasn't it just his luck? Didn't everything always go like that for him in life? Almost to lay his hand on the things he wanted, to see them slip away from under his fingers!

The journey to London was interminable. He suffered so much during the miserable hours that it seemed as if he must have the consolation of some reward at the end – must learn that Œnone hadn't died after all, or that, better still, Uncle Constantine intended in any case to give him the money which should have been his.

But there was no brightening of the gloom for him. In fact, things were rather worse at the end of the journey, if possible, than he had expected. Uncle Constantine's heart was not softened by sorrow. On the contrary, he turned upon Severance in a rage and blamed him for Œnone's death.

The girl had faded visibly after her cousin left England. She knew one or two people who thought it for her good to be told that Tony's "mission" was to follow Marise Sorel. Œnone had subscribed for several American papers, in order to read of Lord Severance's doings on the other side. One was a weekly gossip rag, and she had been turning over a copy when she died. In fact, the thing was found in her hand, open at a page where Severance's name was coupled in a sneering way with that of Marise Sorel. The actress was said to have jilted him for a Major Garth, V.C., of his own regiment, and the rumour was reported that out of pique Severance would now marry his rich Greek cousin in London.

"It was enough to kill her – and it did!" said Ionides. "Damn you, Severance! I wish to Heaven you were dead instead of my poor girl who loved you. And I wish to hell I could upset her will in your favour. I can't do that. But not a shilling of my money will you ever get."

So Œnone had left him her own private fortune, as she had told him she meant to do if she died! That was something – probably the equivalent of the pledged million dollars – not allowing for the vile exchange. But of what use was one million dollars to him, in his present plight? The least he could do with was double that sum.

To carry out the bargain with Garth and free Marise he would have to hand over a cool million. But how was he going to pay even his most pressing debts and live – much less marry– if he cleaned himself out of his whole inheritance at one stroke?

On the other hand, if he kept the million doubtless coming to him by Œnone's will, he would have nothing to offer Garth. The whole plan would be a colossal failure: worse than a failure – a catastrophe. Garth would stick to Marise from motives of spite, if nothing worse. The girl's life would be ruined, and she would be lost to him unless he killed Garth, or unless the man laid himself open to divorce proceedings – which was the very thing he would be careful not to do – unless well paid.

Of course, a woman could divorce a man for incompatibility of temper and things of that sort in one or two states out West, in America, Severance had vaguely heard. But a hocus pocus affair of that sort wouldn't be considered legal in England, and Marise could never, in such circumstances, become the Countess of Severance, even if they had money to marry on – which they wouldn't have!

Severance had not known or guessed how the girl had said to herself that, if there were a question of jilting, she wished to be the jilter, not the jilted. Had he known, he would have felt even more bitter against Fate. As it was, he pitied Marise, although the disasters which had fallen on them both came through her impulsiveness. If only she hadn't rushed off and married John Garth on an hour's notice, that beastly paragraph would never have been printed, and Œnone would still be alive. It had been foolish, rash, passionately mistaken. Severance felt hotly. But there was little resentment in his pain. He blamed himself almost, if not quite, as much as Marise, and all that was Greek in him accepted, while it writhed at, the fatality.

When Œnone's funeral was over and the contents of her will known, the legacy reached the amount promised. But – the exchange, the awful exchange between England and America! And the equally appalling death duties! Even if Severance decided to plunge, and offer all to Garth, the sum would fall far short of a million dollars. Besides, he couldn't offer all, or nearly all. He was dunned on every side.

There were moments – moments when he was most Greek – when Tony said to himself that he would have to leave Marise to her fate. She had made her bed. She must lie on it. He would stay in England, pay his debts, and be extremely comfortable on what was left over out of Œnone's gift. But there were other moments, burning moments, fanned to molten fire by Mrs. Sorel's letters and telegrams. He couldn't give up Marise! Something must be done. And at last, through the red mists he saw a way to bluff himself out of the depths.

"Coming back at once," he cabled Mary Sorel at Bell Towers, and started the same day (the fourteenth day after Œnone's funeral) in a cabin given up at the eleventh hour by its purchaser.

The legacy was not yet in his hands, nor would it be for months to come, but Severance had been able to borrow a substantial sum on the certainty of his prospects. The voyage was stormy, and not being a good sailor, he arrived in New York a wreck. He had courage enough, however, to start at once for Los Angeles, where he meant to see his friend and well-wisher, Mrs. Sorel. With her counsel he would consolidate his plans, and start the campaign against Garth.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE VISITORS' BOOK

"Oh, Tony, what a downfall of our castle in the air!" were Mary's first words, as she held out her hands to Severance. "This beautiful Bell Towers, where we hoped we should be so happy – you and Marise and I – wasted – wasted! Our dream broken! The best prospect for my poor child now is, that she can go back to the stage and begin again where she left off."

Severance had come to her for comfort, but found he had to give instead of get it.

"Oh, I say! Things aren't as bad as all that!" he protested. "Tell me exactly how matters are, so far as you know, with Marise. Then I'll tell you how they are with me. You must remember, I'm not without resources – or ideas."

They were standing together on a rose-hung loggia, looking over a fountain terrace where oranges shone in the sun and a hundred flowers poured forth perfume like a hymn of praise. As Mary Sorel had said, the place was a perfect setting for romance. But all hope wasn't over yet!

Tea was brought to the loggia; and when the maid had gone, Mary began to tell Severance – not only the news he wanted to hear, but, alas! much news that made sorry hearing indeed.

"Céline writes me, as often as Marise does," Mrs. Sorel explained, a little shamefacedly. "I arranged that she should do so. Marise is odd in some ways, you know. Not secretive exactly. No. But she has sudden, unexpected sort of reserves. And I wanted an unbiased account of affairs, from – well, from more than one point of view. They've left Albuquerque, near where the adopted mother lives, and gone to the place I wrote you about – the Grand Canyon. At least, Garth's property isn't far from the Canyon. You can see it from the windows. 'Vision House,' he calls the place; but I think it's more because getting the land was the fulfilment of some old dream than because of the view. Marise says that's wonderful, though – the view, I mean."

"You can't expect me to care about the view from Garth's damned house, where he keeps Marise a prisoner!" exploded Severance.

"No, dear boy – forgive me! I was wandering from the point, thinking of her letters. They wander, too. She tells me all kinds of things about the place. She says it's amazing. She talks more of everything else than herself."

"What does she say about Garth?"

"Not more than she can help. But – oh, one thing! Tony, she tells me he's rich – very rich."

"Rot! He wants her to believe that."

"No. Someone else told her, not he. And the house, though it's simple, is the house of a rich man, she says. I should have been there by this time, if you hadn't wired me you were coming here to get my advice before – before deciding what to do next. And – besides, I was a little delayed by the visit of a charming Comtesse de Sorel who came to Los Angeles, and thought she might be distantly related to poor dear Louis. We fagged up the family tree together. It appears that Louis just missed being a comte himself, by descent, because of – ah – a family accident: a marriage that didn't take place. Think of the difference to us if – "

"I'm thinking of the difference to me because of a marriage that did take place!" Severance cut her short. "I shall start for the Grand Canyon at once. I suppose there's an hotel there."

"Marise says there's a dream of an hotel, close to the abyss, or whatever you call it. The name is El Tovar, after some old Spanish general who seems to have been even more of a brute than Garth. You'll go there – naturally. Yet I thought from what you said that all was over – that you couldn't pay Garth, and – "

"I'll do something! You don't suppose I'm going to stand quietly by and leave him in possession, do you?"

"Well, he's not exactly in possession. To put it like that is to exaggerate – "

"He's got the legal power of a husband over Marise, and, one way or another, he'll have to be kicked out!"

"That, at least, will be something to the good – if you succeed, dear boy. But this terrible disappointment over the money… What do you think of doing?"

Severance put into words what he thought of doing. Mums listened earnestly, weighing each pro and con as he talked. For a wonder, she didn't interrupt. It was only when he had finished and awaited an opinion that she spoke.

"Very good! Very good indeed!" she praised him. "It seems to me that you've analysed the man's character, and formed your plan on the analysis. Marise – ah, well, she's more complicated than he is, of course! But I think this idea of yours will appeal to her romantic side. Like all girls, she is romantic."

"Everything depends upon how she feels towards me," said Severance. "She did care a little – once. You don't think that what I – what's happened has changed her?"

"I don't see why it should have done," answered Mary. "After all, she consented."

"I'm afraid your influence was for something in that!"

"Naturally a mother has influence. But Marise's mind is her own. She's very individual. Besides, the time is so short since then."

Yes, Mums was right there! The time was short – very short. Only a few weeks had passed since the day when Marise had been persuaded to accept the first Great Plan, though it felt more like several years. She couldn't have changed – unless association with a man like Garth had made her value Severance more than ever.

The one amendment Mary had to make was that she should travel with Tony, and be on the spot to help in the carrying out of this new, second plan. But her suggestion was received with an ill grace. "I want to do it all on my own," he objected. "If Marise is romantic, as you say she is, it would spoil the whole show to have her mother in the background. No, what's got to be done I want to do myself. You must wait here. I'll bring her to you when I can, if things turn out the way I expect. Anyhow, you trust her to me, don't you?"

"Of course, dear Tony," Mums assured him. Her voice didn't sound quite sincere, but then, it seldom did, unless she was in a temper. And after all, Severance didn't care a hang whether she trusted him or not, so long as she did not interfere. The mother of Marise bored him with her pretensions and affectations, though she was useful at times; and in the future – that future which he hoped to share with Marise – he didn't intend to see a great deal of Mrs. Sorel.

Bell Towers was as beautiful as it had been described, and it was his own for the next few months. But weary as he was, Severance left the place that night, taking a stateroom in the train for Williams – "Williams" being the prosaically-named junction for perhaps the most romantic place in the world, the Grand Canyon.

Getting out at the small station Severance saw no Canyon at first. It couldn't be so huge or wonderful as people said, he thought, and anyhow, he didn't care for scenery – especially now. There was a pine wood, and ascending out of it for a short distance he came to the hotel – a glorified loghouse, it was – such a loghouse as the Geni of the Lamp might have created for Aladdin by request. It was very big and very beautiful. Even Severance, tired and out of temper, couldn't help admitting its charm. Then, on the plateau of the hotel, above the wood, he found himself gazing straight down into the canyon, and far across a gulf of gold and rose.

The man was amazed, almost stunned, for a moment. Constitutionally he dreaded great heights and depths, and though the place was stupendously magnificent, the moment his eyes saw its majesty Severance longed to escape from it. With relief, he turned his back upon the flaming rocks and sapphire depths, and almost ran into the hotel.

There was a vast, low-ceilinged hall, with just the right sort of furniture, and an odd invention – a cross between hammocks and hanging sofas – suspended here and there by chains from the roof. In these things girls sat; and there were several extremely handsome young men lounging about, dressed like cowboys. Severance caught snatches of conversation about ponies, and the "long trail" and the "short trail." Everyone had either just made the descent into the canyon, or intended to make it; but Severance had no wish for the adventure which brought most people to this abode of wonders.

The hotel, it appeared, was nearly full, but there were two or three rooms free for that night, and Tony engaged one. He then inquired the way and the distance to "Vision House."

"Oh, Major Garth's!" exclaimed the hotel clerk. "It's about a mile or a mile and a half from here. It's on the edge of the pine forest – has just a group of big trees between it and the canyon – not enough to hide the view, though. Some think the trees improve it – make a sort of frame. You can walk, easily. But I saw Major Garth in the hotel half an hour ago, with a friend who's convalescing here after being ill. I'm sure he's not gone yet. I can send and see if he – "

"Please don't do that!" Severance broke in. "I am – a relative of Mrs. Garth, and I have a message to deliver from her mother. There's no need to disturb Major Garth if he's with a friend."

Severance had intended to bathe, change into fresh clothes, and have a long, cool drink – the drink of his life – before starting out to call at Vision House. He could thus have been at his best, and have felt sure of doing himself justice in any ordeal he might be destined to go through. But with the certain knowledge that Garth was out of the way – perhaps only for a short time – it would have been tempting Providence to delay for one unnecessary second.

He inquired just how to go, and vetoed the suggestion that he should first look at his room.

"If you'll register, I'll ring for a chap to show you where you start from," said the clerk, pushing a big book forward and handing the guest a pen.

"Earl of Severance," Tony wrote, expecting to see the man look impressed, but no such emotion was visible. Instead, he turned back a few pages to show the signature of an Indian rajah and a Scottish duke. A mere earl looked small fry compared with them!

On the same page with the duke, Severance happened to catch sight of a name which was vaguely familiar to him, and he kept the book open to refresh his memory.

"Miss Zélie Marks," he repeated to himself. "Now where have I heard…"

Then, suddenly, he knew.

Zélie Marks's face rose before his mind, and he recalled where he had seen it last – recalled also a look he had caught in a pair of handsome eyes fixed upon Garth the day of the first visit.

Mrs. Sorel had tried to send the two off together, and Severance had said to himself, "That couple know each other pretty well. The girl's in love with the fellow!"

So she was out West, at this hotel, close to Garth's house! Why? What did it mean? It must mean something… Did Marise know?.. Had Miss Marks been brought here purposely to give the wished-for – the arranged-for – excuse for a divorce? Or was the reason for her presence more subtle and more complicated?

Severance felt excited, as if he had picked up something of unexpected value.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE TERRACE

Marise stood on the high terrace which looked towards the rose-and-gold gulf of the Canyon. Gazing out, between the dark slim trunks of pines, she saw the sunlight moving slowly from rock to rock. "It's like stray sheep of the golden fleece," she thought, "being herded by an invisible shepherd to join the flock."

Yes, the moving gleams were all massed together now. But they were travelling on. Suddenly they had ceased to be a flock of sheep. They were shining bricks, built into a citadel.

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately palace dome decree," Marise quoted to herself.

How astonishing that so marvellous a place had existed for thousands upon thousands of years, and she had hardly heard of it, until John Garth had brought her to this house of his!

"Vision House" was the right name for it. Garth hadn't meant it like that – or if he had, he'd not told her so! – but one had visions here. One couldn't think little ordinary, foolish thoughts. Life seemed to be upon its highest plane, and whether one wished to do so or not, one had to try and reach that plane. One wanted to be at one's best, to be "in the picture" – and the best must be very good. It must even be noble.

Whoever had designed Vision House and chosen its furnishings had felt that. There were great windows bowed out in generous eagerness towards the Canyon. There were wide loggias, upheld by clear-cut, pale stone pillars. In the rooms were no brilliant colours to jar with the rainbow glory just beyond the delicate green veil of pines. The curtains of grey or cream fell in soft, straight lines that framed a glowing picture – rocks of every fantastic form and flaming colour, under the blue of heaven: rocks like castles carved of coral and studded with lapis lazuli: statue rocks of transparent amethyst, or emerald, glittering where the sun touched them or fading to the smoky blue of star-sapphires as the shadows crept up from the bottom of the vast bowl.

There was an organ in one of the rooms. Garth had thought that the finest piano in the world would be too tinkling a thing so near the thrilling silence of the Canyon. He could play the great instrument himself. She wouldn't have believed it, if she had not heard the music as she walked alone on the terrace by moonlight, and had gone to peep in at the long, open window. How he could play! – though he said casually, when she asked him, "Oh, I wanted to do it, so I taught myself. I hear things in my head. I like to make them come out." A queer fellow!

In the library there were only books which Garth thought "worthy of the Canyon." But in her room there were a few French novels. It was the one place in the house, too, where there were pretty, frivolous decorations such as a Parisian beauty of the seventeenth, or an American of the twentieth, century would love. That was what he thought of her! She would crave such surroundings at the Grand Canyon, as well as in New York or London! She, and no one else whom he had ever planned to bring here!