Kabanata Kabanata 46 · BOOK III CHAPTER XX

I found the town more animated than ever, the streets more populous, the

gaiety more unrestrained. Everywhere were flaunting signs of a plethoric

wealth. The anxious Cheechako had vanished from the scene, and the

victorious miner masqueraded in his place. He swaggered along in the

glow of the Spring sunshine, a picture of perfect manhood, bronzed and

lean and muscular. He was brimming over with the exuberance of health.

He had come into town to "live" things, to transmute this yellow dust

into happiness, to taste the wine of life, to know the lips of flame.

It was the day of the Man with the Poke. He was King. The sheer

animalism of him overflowed in midnight roysterings, in bacchanalian

revels, in debauches among the human debris of the tenderloin.

Every one was waiting for him, to fleece him, rob him, strip him. It was

also the day of the man behind the bar, of the gambler, of the harpy.

My strange, formless fears for Berna were soon set at rest. She was

awaiting me. She looked better than I had ever seen her, and she

welcomed me with an eager delight that kindled me to rapture.

"Just think of it," she said, "only two weeks, and we'll be together for

always. It seems too good to be true. Oh, my dear, how can I ever love

you enough? How happy we are going to be, aren't we?"

"We're going to be happier than any two people ever were before," I

assured her.

We crossed the Yukon to the green glades of North Dawson, and there, on

a little rise, we sat down, side by side. How I wish I could put into

words the joy that filled my heart! Never was lad so happy as I. I spoke

but little, for love's silences are sweeter than all words. Well, well I

mind me how she looked: just like a picture, her hands clasped on her

lap, her eyes star-bright, angel-sweet, mother-tender. From time to time

she would give me a glance so full of trust and love that my heart would

leap to her, and wave on wave of passionate tenderness come sweeping

over me.

It may be there was something humble in my stintless adoration; it may

be I was like a child for the pleasure of her nearness; it may be my

eyes told all too well of the fire that burned within me, but O, the

girl was kind, gentler than forgiveness, sweeter than all heaven.

Caressingly she touched my hair. I kissed her fingers, kissed them again

and again; and then she lifted my hand to her lips, and I felt her kiss

fall upon it. How wondrously I tingled at the touch. My hand seemed mine

no longer--a consecrated thing. Proud, happy me!

"Yes," she went on, "doesn't it seem as if we were dreaming? You know, I

always thought it was a dream, and now it's coming true. You'll take me

away from this place, won't you, boy?--far, far away. I'll tell you

now, dear, I've borne it all for your sake, but I don't think I could

bear it any longer. I would rather die than sink in the mire, and yet

you can't imagine how this life affects one. It's sad, sad, but I don't

get shocked at things in the way I used to. You know, I sometimes think

a girl, no matter how good, sweet, modest to begin with, placed in such

surroundings could fall gradually."

I agreed with her. Too well I knew I was becoming calloused to the evils

around me. Such was the insidious corruption of the gold-camp, I now

regarded with indifference things that a year ago I would have shrunk

from with disgust.

"Well, it will be all over very soon, won't it, dear? I don't know what

I'd have done if it hadn't been for the rough miners. They've been so

kind to me. When they saw I was straight and honest they couldn't be

good enough. They shielded me in every way, and kept back the other kind

of men. Even the women have been my friends and helped me."

She looked at me archly.

"And, you know, I've had ever so many offers of marriage, too, from

honest, rough, kindly men--and I've refused them ever so gracefully."

"Has Locasto ever made any more overtures?"

Her face grew grave.

"Yes, about a month ago he besieged me, gave me no rest, made all kinds

of proposals and promises. He wanted to divorce his 'outside' wife and

marry me. He wanted to settle a hundred thousand dollars on me. He tried

everything in his power to force me to his will. Then, when he saw it

was no use, he turned round and begged me to let him be my friend. He

spoke so nicely of you. He said he would help us in any way he could.

He's everything that's kind to me now. He can't do enough for me. Yet,

somehow, I don't trust him."

"Well, my precious," I assured her, "all danger, doubt, despair, will

soon be over. Locasto and the rest of them will be as shadows, never to

haunt my little girl again. The Great, Black North will fade away, will

dissolve into the land of sunshine and flowers and song. You will forget

it."

"The Great Black North.--I will never forget it, and I will always bless

it. It has given me my love, the best love in all the world."

"O my darling, my Life, I'll take you away from it all soon, soon. We'll

go to my home, to Garry, to Mother. They will love you as I love you."

"I'm sure I will love them. What you have told me of them makes them

seem very real to me. Will you not be ashamed of me?"

"I will be proud, proud of you, my girl."

Ah, would I not! I looked at that flower-like face the sunshine

glorified so, the pretty, bright hair falling away from her low brow in

little waves, the lily throat, the delicately patrician features, the

proud poise of her head. Who would not have been proud of her? She awoke

all that was divine in me. I looked as one might look on a vision,

scarce able to believe it real.

Suddenly she pointed excitedly.

"Look, dear, look at the rainbow. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it

beautiful?"

I gazed in rapt admiration. Across the river a shower had fallen, and

the clouds, clearing away abruptly, had left there a twin rainbow of

matchless perfection. Its double arch was poised as accurately over the

town as if it had been painted there. Each hoop was flawless in form,

lovely in hue, tenderly luminous, exquisite in purity. Never had I seen

the double iris so immaculate in colouring, and, with its bases resting

on the river, it curved over the gold-born city like a frame of ethereal

beauty.

"Does it not seem, dear, like an answer to our prayer, an omen of good

hope, a promise for the future?"

"Yes, beloved, our future, yours and mine. The clouds are rolling away.

All is bright with sunshine once again, and God sends His rainbow to

cheer and comfort us. It will not be long now. On the first day of June,

beloved, I will come to you, and we will be made man and wife. You will

be waiting for me, will you not?"

"Yes, yes, waiting ever so eagerly, my lover, counting every hour, every

minute."

I kissed her passionately, and we held each other tightly for a moment.

I saw come into her eyes that look which comes but once into the eyes of

a maid, that look of ineffable self-surrender, of passionate

abandonment. Life is niggard of such moments, yet can our lives be

summed up in them.

She rested her head on my shoulder; her lips lay on mine, and they

moved faintly.

"Yes, lover, yes, the first of June. Don't fail me, honey, don't fail

me."

We parted, buoyant with hope, in an ecstasy of joy. She was for me, this

beautiful, tender girl, for me. And the time was nigh when she should be

mine, mine to adore until the end. Always would she be by my side; daily

could I plot and plan to give her pleasure; every hour by word and look

and act could I lavish on her the exhaustless measure of my love. Ah!

life would be too short for me. Could aught in this petty purblind

existence of ours redeem it and exalt it so: her love, this pure sweet

girl's, and mine. Let nations grapple, let Mammon triumph, let

pestilence o'erwhelm; what matter, we love, we love. O proud, happy me!

* * * * *

I got back to the claim. Everything was going merrily, but I felt little

desire to resume my toil. I was strangely wearied, worn out somehow. Yet

I took up my shovel again with a body that rebelled in every tissue.

Never had I felt like this before. Something was wrong with me. I was

weak. At night I sweated greatly. I cared not to eat.

* * * * *

"Well," said the Prodigal, "it's all over but the shouting. From my

calculations we've cleaned up two hundred and six thousand dollars.

That's a hundred and three between us four. It's cost us about three to

get out the stuff; so there will be, roughly speaking, about

twenty-five thousand for each of us."

How jubilant every one was looking--every one but me. Somehow I felt as

if money didn't matter just then, for I was sick, sick.

"Why, what's the matter?" said the Prodigal, staring at me curiously.

"You look like a ghost."

"I feel like one, too," I answered. "I'm afraid I'm in for a bad spell.

I want to lie down awhile, boys ... I'm tired.... The first of June,

I've got a date on the first of June. I must keep it, I must.... Don't

let me sleep too long, boys. I mustn't fail. It's a matter of life and

death. The first of June...."

Alas, on the first of June I lay in the hospital, raving and tossing in

the clutches of typhoid fever.