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Updated: May 15, 2025
Weather-wise from long observation, Banneker guessed that the outbreak would come before evening, and that, unless the sullen threat of the sky was deceptive, Manzanita would be shut off from rail communication within twelve hours thereafter. Having two hours' release at noon, he rode over to the lodge in the forest to return Io's blanket.
It was the music which Camilla Van Arsdale had played that night when winds and forest leaves murmured the overtones; when earth and heaven were hushed to hear. "Oh, Ban!" cried Io's spirit. Noiseless and swift, Banneker, answering the call, bent over her. She whispered, softly, passionately, her lips hardly stirring the melody-thrilled air. "How could I hurt you so!
"She wouldn't see him. She's very strong-willed.... That's a wonderful woman, Ban." Io's voice shook a little. "Yes." "How did you know about the picture?" "I saw it on the dresser. And when I saw her eyes, I guessed." "Yes; there's only one thing a woman wants like that, when she's dying. You're rather a wonderful person, yourself, to have known. That's her other secret, Ban.
Io's lips quivered as she looked away. "It is over and over ever the same in every letter Ta-user, Ta-user, till I hate the name," she said at last. "Then when thou seest him at midday up the Nile, be thou gracious to some other comely young nobleman and see him wince. Naught is so good for a lover as uncertainty. It is a mistake to load him with the great weight of thy love.
He took Io's hands, which were clasped across his knee, and rising, gave the chair to Ta-meri. He found a taboret for himself, and as he put it down at her feet, he saw Nechutes fling himself into a chair and scowl blackly at the nomarch's daughter. Kenkenes sighed and interested himself in the babble that went on about him.
Banneker he must arrange it for me." "We'll see. Now you go back to bed and sleep." "I'd rather sleep here," said Io. "The fire is so friendly." She curled herself into a little soft ball. Her hostess threw a coverlet over her and returned to her own room. When light broke, there was no question of Io's going that day, even had accommodations been available.
Io's strong and beautiful hands, which had been lying in her lap, suddenly interlocked, clenching close together. But her face disclosed nothing. The virtuoso, who had been hopefully hovering in the offing, bore down to take the vacated chair. He would have found the lovely young Mrs. Eyre distrait and irresponsive had he not been too happy babbling of his own triumphs to notice.
There was pain and resolution in Io's eyes as they were lifted to meet his again. "There's another reason. I can't tell even you, Ban. The secret isn't mine.... I'm sorry." "Haven't you any work to do to-day?" she asked after a pause, with a successful effect of lightness. He roused himself, settled the check, and took her to her car, parked near by. "Where do you go now?" he asked.
"Is Laird really the Wall Street candidate?" inquired Esther Forbes. Parley Welland, Io's cousin, himself an amateur politician, answered her: "He is or he isn't, according as you look at it. Masters and his crowd are mildly for him, because they haven't any objection to a decent, straight city government, at present. Sometimes they have."
Then, the majestic swing of Åse's death-chant, glorious and mystical. "Are you asleep?" asked the player, speaking through the chords. "No," answered Io's tremulous voice. "I'm being very unhappy. I love it!" Bang! It was a musical detonation, followed by a volley of chords and then a wild, swirling waltz; and Miss Van Arsdale jumped up and stood over her guest. "There!" she said.
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