The Day of the Beast by Zane Grey (best book reader .TXT) 📖

Lane made good his threat, and this last onslaught left her spent and white.

"You must like my kisses, Mel Iden," he said.

"I implore you—Daren"

"I implore you to marry me."

"Dear friend, listen to reason," she begged. "You don't love me. You've just a chivalrous notion you can help me—and my boy—by giving us your name. It's noble, Daren, thank you. But—"

"Take care," warned Lane, bending low over her. "I can make good my word all night."

"Boy, you've gone crazy," she whispered, sadly.

"Well, now you may be talking sense," he laughed. "But that's neither here nor there.... Mel, I may die any day now!"

"Oh, my God!—don't say that," she cried, as if pierced by a blade.

"Yes. Mel, make me happy just for that little while."

"Happy?" she whispered.

"Yes. I've failed here in every way. I've lost all. And this thing would make the bitterness endurable."

"I'd die for you," she returned. "But marry you!—Daren—dearest—it will make you the laughing-stock of Middleville."

"Whatever it makes me, I shall be proud."

"Oh, I cannot, I dare not," she burst out.

"You seem to forget the penalty for these unflattering negatives of yours," he returned, coolly, bending to her lips.

This time she did not writhe or quiver or breathe. Lane felt surrender in her, and when he lifted his face from hers he was sure. Despite the fact that he had inflexibly clamped his will to one purpose, holding his emotion in abeyance, that brief instant seemed to be the fullest of his life.

"Mel, put your arm round my neck," he commanded.

Mel obeyed.

"Now the other."

Again she complied.

"Lift your face—look at me."

She essayed to do this also, but failed. Her head sank on his breast. He had won. Lane held her a moment closely. And then a great and overwhelming pity and tenderness, his first emotions, flooded his soul. He closed his eyes. Dimly, vaguely, they seemed to create vision of long future time; and he divined that good and happiness would come to Mel Iden some day through the pain he had given her.

"Where did you say your things are?" he asked. "It's a bad night."

"They're in—the hall," came in muffled tones from his shoulder. "I'll get them."

But she made no effort to remove her arms from round his neck or to lift her head from his breast. Lane had lost now that singular exaltation of will, and power to hold down his emotions. Her nearness stormed his heart. His test came then, when he denied utterance to the love that answered hers.

"No—Mel—you stay here," he said, freeing himself. "I'll get them."

Opening the hall door he saw the hat-rack where as a boy he had hung his cap. It now held garments over which Lane fumbled. Mel came into the hall.

"Daren, you'll not know which are mine," she said.

Lane watched her. How the shapely hands trembled. Her face shone white against her dark furs. Lane helped her put on the overshoes.

"Now—just a word to mother," she said.

Lane caught her hand and held it, following her to the end of the hall, where she opened a door and peeped into the sitting-room.

"Mother, is dad home?" she asked.

"No—he's out, and such a bad night! Who's with you, Mel?"

"Daren Lane."

"Oh, is he up again? I'm glad. Bring him in.... Why, Mel, you've your hat and coat on!"

"Yes, mother dear. We're going out for a while."

"On such a night! What for?"

"Daren and I are going to—to be married.... Good-bye. No more till we come back."

As one in a dream, Lane led Mel out in the whirling white pall of snow. It seemed to envelop them. It was mysterious and friendly, and silent.

They crossed the bridge, and Lane again listened for the river voices that always haunted here. Were they only murmurings of swift waters? Beyond the bridge lay the railroad station. A few dim lights shone through the white gloom. Lane found a taxi.

They were silent during the ride through the lonely streets. When the taxi stopped at the address given the driver, Lane whispered a word to Mel, jumped out and ran up the steps of a house and rang the bell.

"Is Doctor McCullen at home?" he inquired of the maid who answered the ring. He was informed the minister had just gone to his room.

"Will you ask him to come down upon a matter of importance?"

The maid invited him inside. In a few moments a tall, severe-looking man wearing a long dressing-coat entered the parlor.

"Doctor McCullen, I regret disturbing you, but my business is urgent. I want to be married at once. The lady is outside in a car. May I bring her in?"

"Ah! I seem to remember you. Isn't your name Lane?"

"Yes."

"Who is the woman you want to marry?"

"Miss Iden."

"Miss Iden! You mean Joshua Iden's daughter?"

"I do."

The minister showed a grave surprise. "Aren't you rather late in making amends? No, I will not marry you until I investigate the matter," he replied, coldly.

"You need not trouble yourself," replied Lane curtly, and went out.

The instant opposition stimulated Lane, and he asked the driver, "John, do you know where we can find a preacher?" "Yis, sor. Mr. Peters of the Methodist Church lives round the corner," answered the man.

"Drive on, then."

Lane got inside the taxi and slammed the door. "Mel, he refused to marry us."

Mel was silent, but the pressure of her hand answered him.

"Daren, the car has stopped," said Mel, presently.