None But Lucifer

Chapter XIII

The evening newspapers had shouted:

1 MIN. 75 MI. GALE PANICS CITY CROWDS

Nevertheless, the phenomenally balmy weather continued. The papers had a scientific explanation for the unseasonable warmth — something about a high-pressure area. Anyway, the weather was as fine as if somebody had planned it that way for Hale's express benefit.

But Hale hadn't been able to concentrate on newspapers for several weeks. For him, it was the perfect end to a miserable day. He had dutifully tried to think of reasons why he shouldn't give Gloria Banner immortality. She might grow bored and hate him for it; she might get lonely with nobody but himself and Lucifer for company.

Naturally, these arguments weren't convincing. Though he tried to be fair, he hadn't really meant them to be. He had to picture but one vision to find himself shaken and sweating with a near-hysteria. Johnson's words! Gloria, a withered, toothless, mumbling hag.

He shuddered violently, and drew Gloria to him, dropping his face on her shoulder.

"What is it?" she whispered, running soothing fingers through his hair, in woman's instinctive, mothering gesture.

"I love you so ... love you," he half gasped, half sobbed. Floating before his eyes, closed or opened — withered — pursing, mumbling, mouthing gums —

She laughed softly, held him closer. "And that makes you shudder so? Why, dear? You know — you must know by now — that I love you. Is that cause for shuddering?"

"Oh, God, Gloria" — the vision rose and mumbled in his face — "you must stay with me, must —"

Suddenly she stiffened, he could feel her breath catch, and her hand stopped abruptly its tender, stroking motion. "You love me, but —" She writhed from his arms, stood up, and darted away, sobbing, across the penthouse terrace, to stand rigid, with her back against the wall of the house, clenched fist pressed against her lips.

Hale started after her, but she pushed him away.

"No ... no ... go away!"

"Sweetheart ... why? What is it —"

"You love me ... but you are ashamed of me! You shuddered when you said it! You are ashamed to love me ... you're always trying to change me. You are ashamed of me because I like the things all women like — clothes and parties, movies and just talking about us."

"Oh, my dear, no! You're wrong ... so wrong! I don't want to change you, ever! It's the fear that somehow you will change, be another, horrid person, not the sweet, small self you are tonight, that worries me.

"I want you and need you, Gloria, now and forevermore, more truly than any man ever wanted and needed a woman before in all the world. I don't want you to change — ever."

Reluctantly, she let him pull her hands from her eyes, and slowly slipped into his arms, looking up at him with moon-silvered face and dark, fearful eyes.

"Really, dearest?"

"Most truly, Gloria. I ask one thing, and make one prayer: that we be ever together, never apart, and never happy apart — you, I, and our love together everlasting; you, I, and our love alike never changing — to eternity!"

He kissed her very gently on each eyelid, and on the lips, and looked down again into her face. Slowly the haunting fear was leaving her moon-darkened eyes; she smiled up tremulously, believing now, and abruptly clung to him, her face buried against his coat, her hair gleaming silver under his fingers.

Thousands of people seemed to be congratulating him all day long. At least half of them, in retrospect, were Johnson and Banner, repeating at set intervals how lucky he was, and she was, and they were.

He never remembered much of the actual ceremony. The quickly installed organ moaned, and featureless faces surmounting elegantly clad bodies were packed into the huge room. He numbly watched Gloria, her father, little flower girls and page boys, and dozens of maids of honor march down the velvet toward him. Even Johnson, at his side, kept a dignified silence.

He had a vague impression of Gloria standing beside him in a flowing white gown. He mumbled something to someone who asked him something. He kissed her. Then sighs, tears, applause, hundreds of handshakes. There was a glass of champagne in his hand. That was gone. He was dancing with her. Eating.

They were whisking through the streets to the yacht basin. Everybody was talking and laughing. Banner was shaking his hand, saying: "Thought you'd get the best of me, huh? Got you right where I want you. Johnson and I thought you'd make a damn fine son-in-law. Had my eye on you all the time."

Johnson said: "Enjoy yourself, William. Neglect nothing that will make you happy. But remember, one week and not a second more. I can't spare you longer than that."

The launch took them back to the pier. Everybody on the dock waved and shouted and screamed. The ship tooted proudly and moved down the river.

Gloria stood on her toes and lifted her mouth toward Hale's. "For always, Billie-willie?" she murmured.

"For always, darling," he promised, gently definite. He had given immortality to the girl he loved — they were married for all eternity — and he had never been so happy in his life!