Royce told him he did not think he could live for
more than an hour or two. The man moved his
head to show that he understood, and raised his
hand to his throat and began pulling at his shirt,
but the effort sent him off into a fainting-fit
again. I opened his collar for him as gently as I
could, and found that his fingers had clinched
around a silver necklace that he wore about his
neck, and from which there hung a gold locket
shaped like a heart."

Gordon raised his eyes slowly from the obser-
vation of his finger-tips as they rested on the edge
of the table before him to those of the American
girl who sat opposite. She had heard his story so
far without any show of attention, and had been
watching, rather with a touch of fondness in her
eyes, the clever, earnest face of Arbuthnot, who
was following Gordon's story with polite interest.
But now, at Gordon's last words, she turned her
eyes to him with a look of awful indignation,
which was followed, when she met his calmly
polite look of inquiry, by one of fear and almost
of entreaty.

"When the man came to," continued Gordon,
in the same conventional monotone, " he begged
me .to take the chain and locket to a girl whom



236 AN UNFINISHED STORY

he said I would find either in London or in New
York. He gave me the address of her banker.
He said : 'Take it off my neck before you bury
me ; tell her I wore it ever since she gave it to
>me. That it has been a charm and loadstone to
me. That when the locket rose and fell against
my breast, it was as if her heart were pressing
against mine and answering the beating and
throbbing of the blood in my veins.' "

Gordon paused, and returned to the thoughtful
scrutiny of his finger-tips.

" The man did not die," he said, raising his
head. " Royce brought him back into such form
again that in about a week we were able to take
him along with us on a litter. But he was very
weak, and would lie for hours sleeping when we
rested, or mumbling and raving in a fever. We
learned from him at odd times that he had been
trying to reach Lake Tchad, to do what we had
done, without any means of doing it. He had
had not more than a couple of dozen porters and
a corporal's guard of Senegalese soldiers. He
was the only white man in the party, and his men
had turned on him, and left him as we found him,
carrying off with them his stock of provisions
and arms. He had undertaken the expedition on
a promise from the French government to make
him governor of the territory he opened up if he
succeeded, but he had had no official help. If he
failed, he got nothing ; if he succeeded, he did so
at his own expense and by his own endeavors. It



I
AN UNFINISHED STORY 237

was only a wonder he had been able to get as far
as he did. He did not seem to feel the failure of
his expedition. All that was lost in the happiness
of getting back alive to this woman with whom
he was in love. He had been three days alone
before we found him, and in those three days,
while he waited for death, he had thought of
nothing but that he would never see her again.
He had resigned himself to this, had given up all
hope, and our coming seemed like a miracle to
him. I have read about men in love, I have seen
it on the stage, I have seen it in real life, but I
never saw a man so grateful to God and so happy
and so insane over a woman as this man was. He
raved about her when he was feverish, and he
talked and talked to me about her when he was
in his senses. The porters could not understand
him, and he found me sympathetic, I suppose, or
else he did not care, and only wanted to speak of
her to some one, and so he told me the story over
and over again as I walked beside the litter, or as
we sat by the fire at night. She must have been
a very remarkable girl. He had met her first the
year before, on one of the Italian steamers that
ply from New York to Gibraltar. She was trav-
elling with her father, who was an invalid going
to Tangier for his health ; from Tangier they
were to go on up to Nice and Cannes, and in the
spring to Paris and on to London for this season
just over. The man was going from Gibraltar to
Zanzibar, and then on into the Congo. They had



238 AN UNFINISHED STORY

met the first night out ; they had separated thir-
teen days later at Gibraltar, and in that time the
girl had fallen in love with him, and had promised
to marry him if he would let her, for he was very
proud. He had to be. He had absolutely nothing
to offer her. She is very well known at home. I
mean her family is : they have lived in New York
from its first days, and they are very rich. The
girl had lived a life as different from his as the
life of a girl in society must be from that of a
vagabond. He had been an engineer, a newspa-
per correspondent, an officer in a Chinese army,
and had built bridges in South America, and led
their little revolutions there, and had seen service
on the desert in the French army of Algiers. He
had no home or nationality even, for he had left
America when he was sixteen ; he had no family,
had saved no money, and was trusting everything
to the success of this expedition into Africa to
make him known and to give him position. It
was the story of Othello and Desdemona over
again. His blackness lay from her point of view,
or rather would have lain from the point of view
of her friends, in the fact that he was as helpless-
ly ineligible a young man as a cowboy. And he
really had lived a life of which he had no great
reason to be proud. He had existed entirely for
excitement, as other men live to drink until they
kill themselves by it ; nothing he had done had
counted for much except his bridges. They are
still standing. But the things he had written are



AN UNFINISHED STORY 239

lost in the columns of the daily papers. The
soldiers he had fought with knew him only as a
man who cared more for the fighting than for
what the fighting was about, and he had been as
ready to write on one side as to fight on the oth-
er. He was a rolling stone, and had been a roll-
ing stone from the time he was sixteen and had
run away to sea, up to the day he had met this
girl, when he was just thirty. Yet you can see
how such a man would attract a young, impres-
sionable girl, who had met only those men whose
actions are bounded by the courts of law or Wall
Street, or the younger set who drive coaches and^
who live the life of the clubs. She had gone
through life as some people go through picture-
galleries, with their catalogues marked at the best
pictures. She knew nothing of the little fellows
whose work was skied, who were trying to be
known, who were not of her world, but who toiled
and prayed and hoped to be famous. This man
came into her life suddenly with his stories of
adventure and strange people and strange places,
of things done for the love of doing them and
not for the reward or reputation, and he bewil-
dered her at first, I suppose, and then fascinated,
and then won her. You can imagine how it was,
these two walking the deck together during the
day, or sitting side by side when the night came
on, the ocean stretched before them. The daring
of his present undertaking, the absurd glamour
that is thrown over those who have gone into



240 AN UNFINISHED STORY

that strange country from which some travellers
return, and the picturesqueness of his past life.
It is no wonder the girl made too much of him.
I do not think he knew what was coming. He
did not pose before her. I am quite sure, from
what I knew of him, that he did not. Indeed, I
believed him when he said that he had fought
against the more than interest she had begun to
show for him. He was the sort of man women
care for, but they had not been of this woman's
class or calibre. It came to him like a sign from
the heavens. It was as if a goddess had stooped
to him. He told her when they separated that if
he succeeded if he opened this unknown coun-
try, if he was rewarded as they had promised to
reward him he might dare to come to her;
and she called him her knight-errant, and gave
him her chain and locket to wear, and told him
whether he failed or succeeded it meant nothing
to her, and that her life was his while it lasted,
and her soul as well.

" I think," Gordon said, stopping abruptly, with
an air of careful consideration, "that those were
her words as he repeated them to me."

He raised his eyes thoughtfully towards the
face of the girl opposite, and then glanced past
her, as if he were trying to recall the words the
man had used. The fine, beautiful face of the
woman was white and drawn around the lips, and
she gave a quick, appealing glance at her hostess,
as if she would beg to be allowed to go. But



AN UNFINISHED STORY 241

Mrs. Trevelyan and her guests were watching Gor-
don or toying with the things in front of them.
The dinner had been served, and not even the
soft movements of the servants interrupted the
young man's story.

"You can imagine a man," Gordon went on,
more lightly, "finding a hansom cab slow when
he is riding from the station to see the woman he
loves ; but imagine this man urging himself and
the rest of us to hurry when we were in the heart
of Africa, with six months' travel in front of us be-
fore we could reach the first limits of civilization.
That is what this man did. When he was still
on his litter he used to toss and turn, and abuse
the bearers and porters and myself because we
moved so slowly. When we stopped for the night
he would chafe and fret at the delay ; and when
the morning came he was the first to wake, if he
slept at all, and eager to push on. When at last
he was able to walk, he worked himself into a fe-
ver again, and it was only when Royce warned
him that he would kill himself if he kept on that
he submitted to be carried, and forced himself to
be patient. And all the time the poor devil kept
saying how unworthy he was of her, how misera-
bly he had wasted his years, how unfitted he was
for the great happiness which had come into his
life. I suppose every man says that when he is
in love ; very properly, too ; but the worst of it
was, in this man's case, that it was so very true.
He was unworthy of her in everything but his
16



242 AN UNFINISHED STORY

love for her. It used to frighten me to see how
much he cared. Well, we got out of it at last,
and reached Alexandria, and saw white faces once
more, and heard women's voices, and the strain
and fear of failure were over, and we could breathe
again. I was quite ready enough to push on to
London, but we had to wait a week for the steam-
er, and during that time that man made my life
miserable. He had done so well, and would have
done so much more if he had had my equip-
ment, that I tried to see that he received all the
credit due him. But he would have none of the
public receptions, and the audience with the khe-
dive, or any of the fuss they made over us. He
only wanted to get back to her. He spent the
days on the quay watching them load the steamer,
and counting the hours until she was to sail ; and
even at night he would leave the first bed he had
slept in for six months, and would come into my
room and ask me if I would not sit up and talk
with him until daylight. You see, after he had
given up all thought of her, and believed himself
about to die without seeing her again, it made her
all the dearer, I suppose, and made him all the
more fearful of losing her again.

"He became very quiet as soon as we were
really under way, and Royce and I hardly knew
him for the same man. He would sit in silence
in his steamer-chair for hours, looking out at the
sea and smiling to himself, and sometimes, for he
was still very weak and feverish, the tears would



AN UNFINISHED STORY 243

come to his eyes and run down his cheeks. ' This
is the way we would sit,' he said to me one night,
' with the dark purple sky and the strange Southern
stars over our heads, and the rail of the boat rising
and sinking below the line of the horizon. And I
can hear her voice, and I try to imagine she is
still sitting there, as she did the last night out,
when I held her hands between mine.' " Gordon
paused a moment, and then went on more slowly:
" I do not know whether it was that the excite-
ment of the journey overland had kept him up or
not, but as we went on he became much weaker
and slept more, until Royce became anxious and
alarmed about him. But he did not know it him-
self ; he had grown so sure of his recovery then
that he did not understand what the weakness
meant. He fell off into long spells of sleep or
unconsciousness, and woke only to be fed, and
would then fall back to sleep again. And in one
of these spells of unconsciousness he died. He
died within two days of land. He had no home
and no country and no family, as I told you, and
we buried him at sea. He left nothing behind
him, for the very clothes he wore were those we
had given him nothing but the locket and the
chain which he had told me to take from his neck
when he died."

Gordon's voice had grown very cold and hard.
He stopped and ran his fingers down into his
pocket and pulled out a little leather bag. The
people at the table watched him in silence as he



244 AN UNFINISHED STORY

opened it and took out a dull silver chain with a
gold heart hanging from it.

" This is it," he said, gently. He leaned across
the table, with his eyes fixed on those of the
American girl, and dropped the chain in front of
her. " Would you like to see it ?" he said.

The rest moved curiously forward to look at
the little heap of gold and silver as it lay on the
white cloth. But the girl, with her eyes half
closed and her lips pressed together, pushed it on
with her hand to the man who sat next her, and
bowed her head slightly, as though it was an ef-
fort for her to move at all. The wife of the Aus-
trian Minister gave a little sigh of relief.

" I should say your story did end badly, Mr.
Gordon," she said. "It is terribly sad, and so
unnecessarily so."

" I don't know," said Lady Arbuthnot, thought-
fully " I don't know; it seems to me it was bet-
ter. As Mr. Gordon says, the man was hardly
worthy of her. A man should have something
more to offer a woman than love; it is a woman's
prerogative to be loved. Any number of men
may love her ; it is nothing to their credit : they
cannot help themselves."

" Well," said General Kent, " if all true stories
turn out as badly as that one does, I will take
back what I said against those the story-writers
tell. I prefer the ones Anstey and Jerome make
up. I call it a most unpleasant story."

"But it isn't finished yet," said Gordon, as he



AN UNFINISHED STORY 245

leaned over and picked up the chain and locket.
" There is still a little more."

"Oh, I beg your pardon !" said the wife of the
Austrian Minister, eagerly. "But then," she add-
ed, "you can't make it any better. You cannot
bring the man back to life."

" No," said Gordon, " but I can make it a little
worse."

"Ah, I see," said Phillips, with a story-teller's
intuition " the girl."

" The first day I reached London I went to her
banker's and got her address," continued Gordon.
"And I wrote, saying I wanted to see her, but
before I could get an answer I met her the next
afternoon at a garden-party. At least I did not
meet her ; she was pointed out to me. I saw a
very beautiful girl surrounded by a lot of men,
and asked who she was, and found out it was the
woman I had written to, the owner of the chain
and locket ; and I was also told that her engage-
ment had just been announced to a young Eng-
lishman of family and position, who had known
her only a few months, and with whom she was
very much in love. So you see," he went on,
smiling, " that it was better that he died, believ-
ing in her and in her love for him. Mr. Phil-
lips, now, would have let him live to return and
find her married ; but Nature is kinder than
writers of fiction, and quite as dramatic."

Phillips did not reply to this, and the general
only shook his head doubtfully and said nothing.



246 AN UNFINISHED STORY

So Mrs. Trevelyan looked at Lady Arbuthnot,
and the ladies rose and left the room. When the
men had left them, a young girl went to the piano,
and the other women seated themselves to listen ;
but Miss Egerton, saying that it was warm, stepped
out through one of the high windows on to the
little balcony that overhung the garden. It was
dark out there and cool, and the rumbling of the
encircling city sounded as distant and as far off
as the reflection seemed that its million lights
threw up to the sky above. The girl leaned her
face and bare shoulder against the rough stone
wall of the house, and pressed her hands together,
with her fingers locking and unlocking and her
rings cutting through her gloves. She was trem-
bling slightly, and the blood in her veins was hot
and tingling. She heard the voices of the men
as they entered the drawing-room, the momentary
cessation of the music at the piano, and its renewal,
and then a figure blocked the light from the win-
dow, and Gordon stepped out of it and stood in
front of her with the chain and locket in his hand.
He held it towards her, and they faced each other
for a moment in silence.

" Will you take it now ?" he said.

The girl raised her head, and drew herself up un-
til she stood straight and tall before him. " Have
you not punished me enough ?" she asked, in a
whisper. " Are you not satisfied ? Was it brave ?
Was it manly ? Is that what you have learned
among your savages to torture a woman ?" She



AN UNFINISHED STOEY 247

stopped with a quick sob of pain, and pressed her
hands against her breast.

Gordon observed her, curiously, with cold con-
sideration. a What of the sufferings of the man
to whom you gave this ?" he asked. " Why not
consider him? What was your bad quarter of
an hour at the table, with your friends around
you, to the year he suffered danger and physical
pain for you for you, remember ?"

The girl hid her face for a moment in her
hands, and when she lowered them again her
cheeks were wet and her voice was changed and
softer. "They told me he was dead," she said.
" Then it was denied, and then the French papers
told of it again, and with horrible detail, and how
it happened."

Gordon took a step nearer her. "And does
your love come and go with the editions of the
daily papers ?" he asked, fiercely. " If they say
to-morrow morning that Arbuthnot is false to his
principles or his party, that he is a bribe-taker, a
man who sells his vote, will you believe them and
stop loving him?" He gave a sharp exclamation
of disdain. " Or will you wait," he went on, bit-
terly, " until the Liberal organs have had time to
deny it ? Is that the love, the life, and the soul
you promised the man who "

There was a soft step on the floor of the draw-
ing-room, and the tall figure of young Arbuthnot
appeared in the opening of the window as he
looked doubtfully out into the darkness. Gordon



248 AN UNFINISHED STORY

took a step back into the light of the window,
where he could be seen, and leaned easily against
the railing of the balcony. His eyes were turned
towards the street, and he noticed over the wall
the top of a passing omnibus and the glow of the
men's pipes who sat on it.

"Miss Egerton?" asked Arbuthnot, his eyes
still blinded by the lights of the room he had left.
" Is she here? Oh, is that you?" he said, as he
saw the movement of the white dress. "I was
sent to look for you," he said. " They were afraid
something was wrong." He turned to Gordon,
as if in explanation of his lover-like solicitude.
" It has been rather a hard week, and it has kept
one pretty well on the go all the time, and I
thought Miss Egerton looked tired at dinner."

The moment he had spoken, the girl came tow-
ards him quickly, and put her arm inside of his,
and took his hand.

He looked down at her wonderingly at this
show of affection, and then drew her nearer, and
said, gently, " You are tired, aren't you ? I came
to tell you that Lady Arbuthnot is going. She
is waiting for you."

It struck Gordon, as they stood there, how hand-
some they were and how well suited. They took
a step towards the window, and then the young
nobleman turned and looked out at the pretty
garden and up at the sky, where the moon was
struggling against the glare of the city.

" It is very pretty and peaceful out here," he



AN UNFINISHED STORY 249

said, " is it not ? It seems a pity to leave it.
Good-night, Gordon, and thank you for your sto-
ry." He stopped, with one foot on the threshold,
and smiled. "And yet, do you know," he said,
" I cannot help thinking you were guilty of doing
just what you accused Phillips of doing. I some-
how thought you helped the true story out a lit-
tle. Now didn't you ? Was it all just as you
told it ? Or am I wrong ?"

" No," Gordon answered ; " you are right. I
did change it a little, in one particular."

" And what was that, may I ask ?" said Ar-
buthnot.

" The man did not die," Gordon answered.

Arbuthnot gave a quick little sigh of sympathy.
" Poor devil !" he said, softly ; " poor chap !"
He moved his left hand over and touched the
hand of the girl, as though to reassure himself of
his own good fortune. Then he raised his eyes
to Gordon's with a curious, puzzled look in them.
" But then," he said, doubtfully, " if he is not
dead, how did you come to get the chain ?"

The girl's arm within his own moved slightly,
and her fingers tightened their hold upon his hand.

"Oh," said Gordon, indifferently, "it did not
mean anything to him, you see, when he found he
had lost her*, and it could not mean anything to
her. It is of no value. It means nothing to any
one except, perhaps, to me."

THE END.



DATE DUE



Davii



PRINTED IN U.S, A.



hungry man was



love my dog.-



i. Title.

PZ3.D298V 2

i
T.ihrarv of Congress



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STOflY
KNOCK