The Forbidden Way

"What can it mean?" Jeff was asking as though to himself. "Cort Bent! What does he want?"

"It's very curious," Camilla said slowly. "To see you – "

When Bent came into the room a moment later they were both aware of the imminence of important revelations. Camilla had not seen him for two months, and she was conscious of a slight sense of shock at his appearance. Jeff, too, noted that he was very pale and that in his eyes there hung a shadow of the misfortune that had marked them all.

At the door Cortland turned to Mrs. Berkely who had met him in the hall.

"If you don't mind, Gretchen, I'd like to speak to him alone." And, when Camilla would have gone, "No, Camilla, it concerns you, too." While they wondered what was coming he walked past Camilla and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder, the lines in his face softening gently.

"They've told me, Jeff. I know. I've come to offer you my hand." And, as Jeff still stared at him uncertainly, "You won't refuse it, will you!"

There was a nobility in the simple gesture, a depth of meaning in the quiet tones of his voice. Camilla alone knew what those few words were costing him, and she watched Jeff, who was standing as though he had been turned to stone, his head bent forward upon his breast, his deep-set eyes peering under his brows as General Bent's had often done. His eyes found Cortland's at last, searching them keenly, but he found in them only a small bright flame of fellowship among the embers of regret. Jeff's fingers twitched a little, then his hand came forward impulsively, and the two men clasped hands.

"I'm sorry, Jeff – I am – from the bottom of my heart. I want you to understand."

"I do," said Jeff, with difficulty. "I didn't want you to know – "

"I'm glad. I think it's better so."

He paused a moment before going on. "I want – I want you and Camilla to go right back with me. Can you? That's what I came to ask. Father is ill."

"Ill?" stammered Jeff.

"A stroke of apoplexy – the sudden shock of discovering all this." Jeff and Camilla started forward with one impulse of horror. "Rita and Aunt Caroline were with him, and Rita had told him the truth – the doctors are there – he has recovered consciousness, but his left side is paralyzed, completely paralyzed."

Jeff sank heavily in a chair and buried his face in his hands.

"What do the doctors say?" asked Camilla anxiously.

"That he's very sick – that's all. Nobody can tell. I've wired Chicago for a specialist. We can only wait and hope. It's pretty desperate – I know that. He's an old man – and he's grown older lately."

Cort stopped speaking and walked to the window, while Camilla watched him pityingly. He wasn't like the old Cort she used to know, and yet there was something inexpressively appealing in his gentleness which reminded her of the moods in him she had liked the best. She glanced at Jeff. His head was still buried in his hands, and he had not moved. But Camilla knew that this startling revelation was causing a rearrangement of all Jeff's ideas. In that moment she prayed that Jeff's bitterness might be sweetened – that the tragedy which had suddenly stalked among them might soften his heart to pity for the old man who was his father and his enemy.

Cortland turned and spoke with an effort.

"Will you go back with me, Jeff? When he first recovered consciousness he spoke your name. He has been asking for you ever since. He wants – "

Jeff's eyes peered above his trembling fingers.

"He asked – for me?" he said hoarsely.

"Yes – he wants to see you."

Jeff's head sank into his hands again.

"He wants – to see me? I can't – seem to realize – "

"It's true – he asked me to bring you."

There was a long period of silence, during which Jeff's long, bony fingers clasped and unclasped back of his head as he struggled with himself. "I can't," he groaned at last. "I can't. It has been too long – too much." He straightened in disorder and went on wildly: "Why, he has dogged my steps for months – used all his genius and cunning to do away with me – tried to rid himself of me as he did years ago – and even hired men to swear my liberty away." His head dropped into his hands again and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "No, I can't, Cort. I can't. It's too much to ask – too much."

Cortland stood in the middle of the floor, his arms folded, head bent, waiting for the storm to pass, his own pain engulfed in the greater pain of the man before him. He did not try to answer Jeff, for there was no answer to be made. It was not a moment for words, and he knew he had no right even to petition. It was a matter for Jeff's heart alone – a heart so long embittered that even if it refused this charity, Cortland could not find it in his own heart to condemn.

With a glance at Cortland, Camilla went over to Jeff and laid her fingers lightly on his shoulder.

"Jeff," she said with gentle firmness, "you must go – to your father." But, as he did not move, she went on. "You forget – he did not know. Perhaps if he had known he would have tried to make atonement before. Do you realize what it means for a man like General Bent to make such a request at such a time? You can't refuse, Jeff. You can't."

Jeff moved his head and stared for a long time at the fireplace, his fingers clenched on the chair arms, turning at last to Cortland.

"Do you – do you think he'll die?" he asked. "What do they say?"

"His heart is bad," said Cort gravely. "I don't know – a man of father's years seldom recovers from a thing like that – "

But it was Camilla who interposed. She stepped between the two men and took Jeff Ly the arm. "Cort can't go back without you, Jeff," she said passionately. "Don't you see that? He can't. You've got to go. If your father died to-night you'd never forgive yourself. He may have done you a wrong, but God knows he's trying to right it now. You've got to let him." Cortland watched them a moment, then suddenly straightened and glanced at his watch.

"I can't stay here any longer," he said. "I've got to go back to him. There is much to be done, and I'm the only one to do it. This is my last plea – not that of a dying man's son for his father, but of a brother to a brother for the father of both. Come back with me – Jeff. Not for his sake – but for your own. It is your own blood that is calling you – pitifully – you can't refuse."

Jeff struggled heavily to his feet and passed his hands across his eyes, and then, with a sudden sharp intake of his breath, he turned to Cortland, his lips trembling.

"I'll go," he said hoarsely. "If he wants me, I'll go, Cort. Something is drawing me – something inside of me that awoke when you told me what had happened. I've been fighting against it, the habit of thirty years was fighting it, but I've got to go. I'd be cursed if I didn't. You're sure he really wants me, Cort?"

CHAPTER XXVII

GENERAL BENT

The room at the hotel into which Cortland showed them was a part of General Bent's own suite. Curtis Janney and a doctor consulted near the window, and a nurse from the hospital, in her white linen uniform and cap, hovered near. Jeff's questioning gaze sought the crack of the door of the darkened room adjoining.

"I think you may go in, Mr. Bent," said the doctor to Cortland. "He's conscious at longer intervals now. It looks very much more hopeful, sir. He still asks for Mr. Wray."

Cortland followed the doctor into the sick room, while Janney joined Jeff and Camilla and waited.

"Will he – get over it, Mr. Janney?" Camilla asked softly.

"Oh, I think so now – we didn't at first. Only one side is affected. He can even move the hand a little. Of course, it may be a long time."

Jeff listened in a daze. The baby stare had come into his eyes again, and it moved from one object in the room to another – always returning to the door of the darkened room into which Cortland had vanished. There was an odor of medicine, the sound of crackling ice, and now the murmur of voices. A moment later one of the nurses appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Wray," she said, "you may come in."

And Jeff entered, passing Cortland, who stood with bowed head at the door. In the darkness he could just make out the white figure of the old man propped up against the pillows. He breathed with difficulty, and Jeff, unused to scenes of sickness, felt all his heart go out in pity for the helpless old man who was calling for him.

"Is he here?" the General murmured. "Is he here?"

Jeff moved quietly around the bed to the chair which the nurse had placed for him, "Yes, sir," he said huskily. "It's Jeff."

The General's right hand groped feebly along the covers, and Jeff took it in both of his own. "Cort told me you wanted me, sir."

"I'm glad – very glad." He turned his head and tried to smile. "It was – so – so sudden – the news," he said with an effort, "to find out – "