The Heart Line 41

The Heart Line 41

"Francis! Francis!"

 

It penetrated his consciousness slowly. Still a little dazed, he rolled

over and looked down to the deserted street below. He tried to rise and

his ankle crumpled under him. He answered as loud as he could cry, then

lay there watching.

 

Sansome Street lay bare in the moonlight. On the near side the hill

sloped up to him from the rock crusher. On the other side was a row of

gaunt buildings—a pickle factory, a fruit-canning works, and so on, to

the dock. An electric car flashed by and, as it passed, he saw a woman

moving to and fro at the foot of the talus.

 

He sat up as well as he could on the slope and again shouted down to

her. She stopped instantly. Then, waving her hand, she started to

scramble up the slippery gravel of the hill.

 

As she ascended, she had to zigzag this way and that to avoid sliding

back. Part of the time, she was forced to go almost on hands and knees.

The moon was behind her, throwing her face into shadow. She climbed

steadily without calling to him again. When she was a few yards away,

he cried to her:

 

"Miss Payson! Is that you?"

 

"Yes! Don’t try to move, I’m coming."

 

She reached him at last and knelt before him anxiously. Her tawny,

silken hair was loosened under her hat and streamed down into her eyes.

She had on a red cloth opera cloak with an ermine collar; this was

partly open, showing, underneath, a white silk evening dress cut low in

the neck. Her hands were covered with white suede gloves to the

elbow—they were grimy and torn into ribbons. Her white skirt, too, was

ripped and soiled. She put her hand to her hair and tossed it back,

then took his hands in hers.

 

"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.

 

"Not much. I believe I was stunned. I have no idea how long I’ve been

here. What time is it?"

 

"It is almost eleven. Oh, I’m so glad I found you! I’m going to help

you down." She stooped lower to assist him.

 

"But I don’t understand," he said in astonishment. "How in the world did

you happen to come? What does it all mean?" His bewilderment was comic

enough to draw forth her flashing smile.

 

"We’ll talk about that afterwards. We must get down this hill first.

Oh, I hope there are no bones broken."

 

"Oh, no, I’m all right," he insisted, "but it’s like a dream! Let me

think—I was up on Telegraph Hill, and I slipped and fell over—then I

must have been unconscious until you came.—How did you happen to come?

I don’t understand. It’s so mysterious."

 

"You must get up now. See if you can walk." She gently urged him.

"I’ll explain it all when you’re safe down there where we can get help."

 

With her assistance he raised himself slowly, but the pain in his ankle

was too great for him to support his own weight. He dropped limply down

again and smiled up at her.

 

"I think I might make it if I had a crutch of some kind—any stick would

do."

 

"Wait, I’ll see if I can find one."

 

She left him, to go down, slipping dangerously at times, using her hands

to save herself. Part-way down she found an old broom—the straw was

worn to a mere stub, and this she brought back.

 

With its aid and that of her steady arm, he hobbled down foot by foot.

He slid and fell with a suppressed groan more than once, but she was

always ready to lift him and support his weight in the steeper descents.

The lower part of the hill fanned out to a more gradual slope, where it

was easier going. They reached the sidewalk at last and he sat down

upon a large rock almost exhausted.

 

Just then an electric car came humming down Sansome Street. In an

instant she was out on the track signaling for it to stop.

 

"If you pass a cab or a policeman, please send them down here!" she

commanded. "This gentleman has met with an accident and we must have

help to take him home."

 

The conductor nodded, staring at her, as she stood in her disheveled

finery, splendidly bold in the moonlight, like a dismounted Valkyr. The

car plowed on and left them. Calmly she stripped off her slashed gloves

and repaired the disorder of her hair. A long double necklace of pearls

caught the moonlight, and in the front breadth of her gown, a rent

showed a pale blue silken skirt beneath. Granthope, bedraggled and

smeared with blood and dust, was as grotesque a figure. The humor of the

picture struck them at once, and they burst into laughter.

 

Then, "How did you know?" he said.

 

She became serious immediately. "It was very strange. I was at a

reception with Mr. Cayley. I happened to be sitting on a couch by

myself, when—I don’t know how to describe the sensation—but I saw you,

or felt you, lying somewhere, on your back. I was so frightened I

didn’t know what to do. I knew something had happened, yet I didn’t

know where to find you. I gave it up and tried to forget about it, but

I couldn’t—it was like a steady pain—then I knew I had to come. It

seemed so foolish and vague that I didn’t want to ask Mr. Cayley to go

on such a wild-goose chase with me. Father understands me better and if

he’d been there I would have brought him along. So I slipped out alone,

put on my things and took a car down-town. I seemed to know by instinct

where to get off—you should have seen the way the conductors stared at

me!—and I turned right down this way, trusting to my intuitions. I

seemed to be led directly to the foot of the cliff here where I first

called you."

 

"Yes, you called ’Francis,’ didn’t you?" he said, looking up at her in

wonder.

 

"Did I? I don’t know what I said—if I did it was as instinctively done

as all the rest. We’ll have to go into business together." Her laugh

was nervous and excited.

 

He frowned. "Miss Payson, I don’t know how to thank you—it was a

splendid thing to do."

 

"Oh, it has been a real adventure—almost my first. But it’s not over

yet. I must take you home now. What a sight I am! You, too! Wait—let

me clean you off a little."

 

She stooped over him and, with a lace handkerchief, lightly brushed his

face free of the dust, wiped the blood away, then, with gentle fingers,

smoothed his black hair. Both trembled slightly at the contact. She

stopped, embarrassed at her own boldness, then stood more constrained

and self-conscious, till the rattling wheels of a carriage were heard.

A hack came clattering up over the cobble-stones and drew up at the

curb. The driver jumped down from his seat.

 

There were a few words of explanation and direction, then the man and

Clytie, one on either side, helped Granthope into the vehicle. She

followed and the cab drove off up-town. For a few moments the two sat

in silence, side by side. An electric lamp illuminated her face for an

instant as the carriage whirled past a corner. Her eyes were shining,

her lips half open, as she looked at him.

 

The sight of her, and the excitement of her romantic intervention, made

him forget his pain. He felt her spell again, and now with this

appearance how much more strongly! There was no denying her magic after

such a bewildering manifestation. The event had, also, brought her

humanly more near to him—he had felt the strong touch of her hand, her

breath on his face—the very disorder of her attire seemed to increase

their intimacy. He leaned back to enjoy the full flavor of her charm.

He was suddenly aroused by her placid, even voice:

 

"Mr. Granthope, there’s one thing you didn’t tell me the other day, when

you described that scene at Madam Grant’s."

 

He caught the name with surprise, remembering that he had never spoken

it to her. In her mention of it he felt a vague alarm.

 

"What?" He heard his voice betray him.

 

"That there was a little boy with her, that day." Clytie turned to him,

and for the first time he felt a sudden fear that she would find him

out.

 

"Was there a little boy there? How do you know?"

 

She kept looking at him, and away, as she spoke. In the drifting of her

glances, however, her eyes seemed to seek his continuously, rather than

continually to escape. "Quite by accident—never mind now. But this is

what is most strange of all—I didn’t tell you, before—while I was there,

that time, so many years ago—you know what strange fancies children

have—you know how, if one is at all sensitive to psychic influence, how

much stronger and how natural it seems when one is young—well, all the

while, I seemed to feel there was some one else there—some one I

couldn’t see!"

 

She was too much for him, with such intuition. His one hope was, now,

that she would not plumb the whole depth of his deceit. He managed his

__EXPRESSION__, drawing back into the shadow.

 

"Did you know who it was, there?"

 

"No—only that I was drawn secretly to some one who was there, near me,

out of sight. Of course, I’ve forgotten much of the impression, but

now, as I remember it, it almost seems to me as if this little

boy—whoever he was—must be related to me in some vague way—as if we had

something in common. I wish I could find out about it. You know better

the rationale of these things—they come to me only in flashes of

intuition, suddenly, when I least expect them."

 

He sought desperately to divert her from the subject, summoning to his

aid the tricks experience had taught him. First to his hand came the

ruse of personality.

 

"You called me ’Francis’ before—that was strange, for few people call me

that or Frank nowadays—only one or two who have known me a long time."

 

"Ah, I didn’t know what I was saying. It was strange, wasn’t it? But

you won’t accuse me of coquetry at such a time, will you? You were in

danger—I thought only of that."

 

"Oh, I don’t mind," he said playfully.

 

"Nor do I."

 

"You’ll call me Francis?"

 

She smiled. "Every time I rescue you."

 

There was evidently no lead for him there. He had to laugh, and give it

up. Clytie’s mood grew more serious.

 

"Mr. Cayley was telling me how interesting you were after the ladies had

left; really, he was quite complimentary. He told me all about that absurd Bennett affair you talked about."