The Vision of Elijah Berl

"Suppose there is, may I not keep my troubles to myself if I choose?" She tried to speak firmly and finally.

Winston continued with no resentment and with no vacillation.

"If you are troubled about any affairs of the company, I ought to know; you should not keep it from me. If it is personal, I have no intention of forcing your confidence. I only want to ask you one thing. Don't you believe that I am your sincere friend?"

Helen strove to conceal her agitation. She longed with all her heart to meet half way the open loyalty that was offered her. She longed to show him that she appreciated it, but – how could she be frank with him without disloyalty to Elijah? Elijah had forfeited her respect, but was he wholly to blame? He had absolved her from the obligations of friendship, but there were other obligations that she could not put aside. Together they had assumed business responsibilities, together they must meet them. She longed for Winston's advice, assistance, but how could she accept either without baring the secret shame that was festering in her heart? Strive as she would, she could not wholly control her voice.

"You have always been my friend, Ralph. Please try to believe that I appreciate it. You can't know what it means to me and I can't tell you. Won't you trust me a little longer?" She tried to steady the deep black eyes that she raised to him.

Winston caught the hand that trembled on the matted needles.

"Always, Helen, always."

She gently withdrew her hand, rising to go.

"Thank you. You may not know what you are promising." There was a pathetic smile hovering over the trembling lips. "Let's stop where we are."

"No." Winston was standing beside her. "I know more than you think I do, Helen. Elijah Berl is a thief. You know it and I know it. He has involved you, in appearance at least. You are too honest, too loyal to leave him as he deserves to be left."

Helen rose to Elijah's defense.

"Not intentionally a thief, Ralph."

Winston's eyes flamed with indignation.

"He isn't an open, manly thief who steals and stands up to his act. He is a sneak who steals and unloads his punishment on others."

Winston's words smote hard. In no essential did they differ from those she had spoken to Elijah.

Winston waited for a moment, watching Helen's face.

"I know what you mean. He took the money from Mellin and appropriated it to his own use. He got you involved in the Pico deal. That isn't an open crime. It is a sneaking, cowardly crime, in that he is forcing you to bear a part of the odium."

Helen's voice faltered, but her eyes did not leave Winston's.

"That Pico business was begun before the Pacific failed. You are wrong there."

"I am not wrong," Winston burst in hotly. His indignation waxed against Elijah. "He is crooked from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. So long as it was between himself and me I could stand it, but when it comes to you, I will endure it no longer. He will quit or I will break him. I can and I will."

"You don't know all, Ralph, or you wouldn't say that." Helen's voice was firmer.

"I do know all. Don't I know that he has given the company his note, or pretended to, and secured it by his stock?"

Helen's eyes were on Winston.

"Do you know this?" She was honestly in doubt. Perhaps Elijah had confided in Winston after all.

"I have not seen the papers, but I know Elijah Berl. He has stilled his conscience without surrendering, one iota, his purpose. This note and security are in his own hands. When it comes to the point, he will find a new way to quiet what he calls his conscience."

"You do not know all, Ralph. You are unjust. This has gone far enough – too far." Helen spoke coldly. She felt compelled to, against the pleadings of her heart. She turned and began to move away.

Winston's hand was again on her arm, restraining her. She tried to free herself, but try as she would, she could not make the action final.

Winston's hand slipped down her arm till her hand rested in his.

"Helen, I would say all of this for the sake of friendship alone – "

She strove to draw her hand from his.

"Stop, Ralph, stop right there."

"I will not." Winston's grasp tightened, he was drawing her towards him in spite of herself. "There is more than friendship, Helen. There is love. I cannot tell you how much; you will have to let me teach you."

His arm was around her now, his eyes striving to look into her own. The pulse of his words, the light of his eyes, the touch of his hand, there was in all these the clear, strong definition between mine and thine. Mine to desire, mine to ask, mine to plead for my desires; thine to give or to withhold that which is all and more than all to me. My heart, my life, my love; thy acceptance of my offering. No selfish pleading, no imperative demand, only a right to ask in undoubting confidence that which it was hers to give or to withhold. She felt his breath on her cheek, the warm glow of his lips nearer and nearer. She could not put them away; her heart cried out against it. Her will to resist, to act as her conscience dictated, was weakening. Only to be at rest, as she was resting now, at peace, no doubts, no fears; she longed for what in strength of mind and purity of heart he was offering her.

His clasp grew closer. Why should she not accept? Her senses were reeling in an ecstasy of surrender that gives all and gains all in the giving. As in a delicious yet terrifying dream, she shrank closer to the protecting arms that would shield her forever.

"Tell me, Helen, that you love me, not as I love you, that is too much to ask, but tell me that you love me."

Her lips trembled in voiceless reply. How she longed to speak the words he desired her to utter. Why could she not? Then her eyes opened wide. Here was a clean heart and a pure life at her feet, strong, throbbing words pleading with her to accept the offering. What had she to give in return? What was she about to give? A stained heart; how deeply stained she did not, could not know, but stained, in exchange for a pure white soul.

She tore herself from his arms and stood before him, her hands outstretched against him. Her great black eyes were wide, and deep, and unfathomable. Only from their depths, a glow of longing love shone forth; of longing, sorrowing love, of sorrow for herself and of love for the man before her; yet love controlled by a will as strong as the strength of right could make it.

There was an answering light in the eyes that met her own. In them was pain and pleading, but no doubt. His hands reached out to hers that had put him away, but they dropped before they touched.

"Helen, your eyes have answered me." There was a deep throb of exultation in his voice. "But let me hear you speak."

She stood with pale face and laboring breath. Her voice shook with the intensity of her emotion.

"I love you, Ralph. More than I can tell you in a lifetime, I love you." She spoke in obedience to a power beyond her will to control.

Winston sprang toward her, but her hand rested on his breast. She could feel the strong, even throb of his heart and this strengthened her will to resist.

"Listen, Ralph!" Her voice was intense but low; every word pierced like pencils of light in deep waters. "I have been cruel, mercilessly, selfishly cruel. I longed to hear you say what you have said. All my life I shall remember it as a penance for the wrong I have done you."

"I will not listen to such words." He clasped the hand that rested on his breast, but she tore it away.

"Don't tempt me further, Ralph."

He was again close beside her.

"Tell me all, Helen. You have given me the right to know."

"I have not, I cannot. If I should tell you, you would despise me. If I granted your wish, all my life I should loathe myself."

Ralph stood with eyes undoubting, unconvinced, but he could go no farther.

"Is it forever, Helen, hopelessly forever?"