The morning of the pilgrimage to Belleport was a hectic one in the gray cottage on the bluff. Before breakfast Celestina began preparations, appearing in the kitchen without trace of invalidism and helping Delight hurry the housework out of the way, that the precious hours might be spent in retrimming the hat of black straw which already had done duty four seasons.
"Ain't it too vexatious," complained the irritated convalescent, "that I don't wear out nothin'? This hat, now—it's as good as the day it was bought, despite my havin' had it so long. I can't in conscience throw it away an' get another, much as I'd like to. The trimmin' was on the front the first summer, don't you remember? Then we tried it on behind a year; an' there was two seasons I wore it trimmed on the side. What are we goin' to do with it now, Delight? I've blacked it up an' can see no way for it this time but to turn it round hindside-before. What do you think?"
The amateur milliner shook her head.
"I've a plan," she smiled mysteriously. "Don't you worry, Aunt Tiny."
"Oh, I shan't worry, child, if you take it in hand. I know that when you get through with it it's goin' to look as if it had come straight out of Mis' Gates's store over at the Junction. It does beat all what a knack you have for such things. You could make your fortune bein' a milliner. I s'pose you wouldn't want to face it in with red, would you? Willie likes red, an' there's a scrap of silk in the trunk under the eaves that could be stretched into a facin' with some piecin'."
"I'm afraid you wouldn't like red, Aunt Tiny," the girl replied gently.
"Mebbe I wouldn't," was the prompt answer. "Well, do it as you think best. You never put me into anything yet that warn't becomin', an' I reckon I can risk leavin' it to you."
"Wouldn't you rather I helped you clear up the kitchen before I began hat trimming?"
"Mercy, no! Don't waste precious time sweepin' up an' washin' dishes; I can do that. Like as not 'twill take some of the stiffness out of me. Besides, the work an' the millinery ain't the worst ahead of us. There's Willie to get ready. To coax him out of that shop an' into his Sunday suit is goin' to take some maneuverin'. I know, 'cause I have it to do once in a while when there's a funeral or somethin'. It's like pullin' teeth. There's times when I wish all his jumpers was burned to ashes. An' as for his hair, he rumples it up on end 'till there's no makin' it stay down smooth an' spread round like other folks's."
"Oh, we mustn't try to dress Willie up too much," protested Delight. "I like him best just as he is."
"Mebbe you do," the elder woman grumbled, "but the Galbraiths ain't goin' to feel that way. Why, what do you s'pose they'd think if Willie was to come prancin' over there for a dish of tea lookin' as he does at home? They'd be scandalized! Besides, ain't you an' me goin' to be dressed up? Ain't I got my new hat?"
"Not yet," was the mischievous retort.
"But I am goin' to have. No, sir! If I begin indulgin' Willie by lettin' him go all wild to this party in his old clothes, the next time there's a funeral there'll be no reinin' him in. He'll hold it up forevermore that he went to the Galbraiths in his jumper. I know him better'n you do."
"I suppose so."
"An' I'm firmer with him, too," went on Celestina. "You'd have him clean spoiled. I ain't sure but you've spoilt him already past all help durin' these last ten days. Did you hear him at breakfast askin' me to open his egg? He knows perfectly well I never take off the shell. All I ever do for him is to put in the butter, pepper, an' salt; an' I only do that 'cause he's squizzlin' so to get out in that shop that he ain't a notion whether there's fixin's on his egg or not. Let him get one of these ideas on his mind an' it's a wonder he don't eat the egg, shells an' all."
"Poor dear!" The girl's face softened.
"You pet him too much," said Celestina accusingly.
"Don't you pet Willie a little yourself, Aunt Tiny?" teased Delight. "You know you do. Everybody does. We can't help it. People just love him and like to see him happy."
"I know it," the woman admitted. "Why, there's folks in Wilton (I could name 'em right now) who would run their legs off for Willie. Look at Bob an' this Mr. Snellin' sweatin' in that shop like beavers over somethin' that ain't never goin' to do 'em an ounce of good—mebbe ain't never goin' to do anybody no good. There's somethin' in him that sorter compels people to stand on their heads for him like that. I often try to figger out just what it is," she mused. Then in a brisker tone she asked: "How's the hat comin'?"
"Beautifully."
"That's good. Hurry it right along, for I'm plannin' to have dinner at twelve an' get it out of the way."
"But the car isn't coming for us until three o'clock."
"'Twill take that time to wash up the dishes an' rig Willie up."
"Not three hours!"
"You don't know him. We'll have our hands full to head him away from that thing he's makin'. All I pray is no new scheme ketches him while he's dressin', for 'twill be all day with the party if it does."
Fortunately no such misadventure befell. Willie was corralled, his protests smothered, and he was led placidly away by Bob, to emerge after an interval resigned as a lamb for the slaughter. Even the homespun suit could not wholly banish his native charm, for after it was once on he forgot its existence and wore it with an ease almost too oblivious to suit Celestina.
Not so she! On the contrary she issued from her chamber conscious of every article of finery adorning her plump person. She settled, unsettled, resettled her hat a dozen times, and tried no less than a score of locations for her large cameo pin. Her freshly washed lisle gloves had unfortunately shrunk in the drying and refused to go on at the finger tips, and from each digit projected a sharply defined glove end which kept her busy pushing and pulling most of the afternoon. So occupied was Delight with tying Willie's cravat and rearranging the spray of flowers on Celestina's bonnet that she had not a moment to consider her own toilet which was hastily made after everything else was done. Yet as Robert Morton looked at her, he thought that nothing could have graced her more completely than did her simple gown of muslin. There was in the frock a demureness almost Quaker-like which as a foil for her beauty breathed the very essence of coquetry. What lover could have failed to feel proud of such a treasure?
Nevertheless, Bob had his qualms about the prospective visit. He was not concerned for Willie or Celestina. They were what they were and any one of discrimination would recognize their worth. Nor did he entertain fears for Delight or the Galbraiths. All of them could be relied upon to meet the situation with ease and dignity. But Cynthia—what would be her attitude? Of late, when she had come over in the car with Mr. Snelling, she had maintained a distant politeness which would have been amusing had it not been ominous. He wondered how she would conduct herself today, not alone toward him but toward the girl whom she could not but regard as her rival. How much did she guess, he speculated, of the romance that was taking place in the rose-covered cottage on the bluff. And if she had guessed nothing, might not Snelling, leaping at conclusions, have gone back to Belleport there to spread idle gossip of the love-story? What would Howard Snelling know of the delicate situation 'twixt himself and Mr. Galbraith's daughter? And even though no rumors of the affair reached Cynthia at all, Robert Morton was old enough to sense the hazard of introducing one woman to another.
Well, the risk must be taken; there was no escape from it now. Even as these disquieting imaginings chased themselves through his mind, the car stopped before the door and Roger Galbraith, who had come to meet the guests, entered at the gate. No courtesy that would add to their comfort had been omitted. There were rugs and extra wraps, and a drive along the shore road had been planned as an added pleasure.
Willie, his back actually turned on his beloved workshop, was in the seventh heaven.
"What you settin' on the peaked edge of the seat for, Celestina?" he asked when once they were in the automobile. "The thing ain't goin' to blow up or break down. Let your whole heft sink into the cushions an' enjoy yourself. 'Tain't often you get the chance to go a-ridin'."
His joy in the novel experience was as unalloyed and as transparent as a child's.
"My soul!" he ejaculated as the vehicle turned at last into the broad avenue leading to the Galbraith estate. "Ain't this a big place! Big's a hotel an' some to spare."
Even after the introductions had been performed and he had sunk into a wicker chair beside his host, with a great pillow behind him to keep him from being swallowed up and lost entirely, he abated not a whit of his gladness, admiring the flowers, the smoothly cut lawns, and the ocean view until he radiated good humor on all sides. But it was when the tea wagon was rolled out and placed before Madam Lee that his interest was not to be curbed.
"Ain't that cute now?" he commented, his eyes following the unaccustomed sight with alertness. "The feller that got a-holt of that idee found a good one. Trundles along like a little baby carriage, don't it?"
Nothing would satisfy him until he had examined every part of the invention, and Celestina trembled lest then and there his brain be stimulated to action and he make a bolt for home to complete without delay some sudden scheme the novelty had engendered. However, no such calamity occurred. He drank his tea with satisfaction and was presently borne off by Mr. Galbraith to inspect a recently purchased barometer. After he had gone the company broke up into little groups. Mrs. Galbraith and Celestina betook themselves to a shaded corner, there to exchange felicitations on Miss Morton's nephew; Roger, Cynthia, and Bob perched on the broad piazza rail and discussed the recent boat race; and Madam Lee was left alone with Delight. Robert Morton looked in vain for Mr. Snelling but he was nowhere to be seen, and presently he learned that that gentleman had taken one of the cars and gone for an afternoon's spin to Sawyer's Falls. Whether his absence was a contributory cause or not, certain it was that for the time being at least Cynthia lapsed into her customary friendly manner and quite outdid herself in graciousness.
Bob relaxed his tension. The afternoon was moving on with more serenity than he had dared hope, and inwardly he began to congratulate himself on the success of it. To judge from appearance every one was in the serenest frame of mind. Willie was beaming into his host's face, and both men were laughing immoderately; Celestina, from the snatches of conversation that reached him, was relating for Mrs. Galbraith's benefit the symptoms of her late illness; and Madam Lee was chatting with Delight as with an old-time friend. Bob longed to join them, but prudence forbade his leaving Cynthia's side. Moreover he suspected the tête-à-tête was of the old lady's arranging and he dared not break in on it. If Madam Lee desired his presence, she was quite capable of commanding it by one of those characteristically imperious waves of her hand. But she did not summon him. Instead she sat with her keen little eyes fixed on the girl opposite as if fascinated by her beauty. Once Bob heard her ask Delight of the Brewsters and caught fragments that indicated they were talking of the child's early life in the village.
It was Celestina who at length broke in on the conversation.
"I guess we must be thinkin' of goin', Delight, don't you? We have a long ride back, you know."
"Delight!" echoed Madam Lee, repeating the word with surprise.
"A queer name, ain't it?" Celestina put in. "So old-fashioned an' uncommon! When the child first come here folks couldn't believe but 'twas a pet name her dad had given her; but the little thing insisted 'twas what she was christened."
"Father said I was named for my mother and my grandmother, Delight Lee."
There was a gasp from the stately old lady in the chair. With convulsive grasp she caught and held the girl's wrist.
"Your father was Ralph Hathaway?"
"Yes," was the wondering reply. "How did you know?"
No answer came.
"Mother!" cried Mrs. Galbraith, coming swiftly to her side and bending over the form crumpled against the pillows.
Her face, too, was pale, and even Mr. Galbraith looked startled.
"Don't take on so, mother," her daughter whispered. "Control yourself if you can. There may be some mistake. It is unlikely that—"
"There is no mistake," came in a hollow voice from the woman huddled in the chair, who regarded Delight with frightened eyes. "She is my daughter's child, sent by the mercy of heaven that I might make amends before I went down into the grave."
Tense silence followed the assertion.
"Did your father never tell you anything, my dear, of his marriage?" went on Madam Lee in a tone that although firmer still trembled.
"No."
"Then I can tell you—I, who drove your mother from my house when she refused to wed a man she did not love."
Delight's great eyes widened with wonder.
"Yes," went on the elder woman with impetuous haste, "look at me. I have grown older and wiser since those days. But I was proud when I was young, and self-willed, and determined to have my way. I had three daughters: Maida, whom you see here, Delight and Muriel. We lived in Virginia and my children's beauty was the talk of the county. Maida married Richard Galbraith, a descendant of one of our oldest families, and I rejoiced in the alliance. For Delight, my second daughter, I chose as husband the son of one of my oldest friends, a rich young landholder who although older than she I knew would bring her name and fortune. But the girl, high-spirited like myself but lacking my ambition, would have none of him. All unbeknown to any of us, she had fallen in love with Ralph Hathaway, a handsome, penniless adventurer from the West. There was nothing against the man save that he was young, headstrong, and had his way to make, but he balked me in my plans and I hated him for it. In vain did I try to break off the match. It was useless. The pair loved one another devotedly and refused to be separated."
Madam Lee ceased speaking for an instant; then went on resolutely.
"When I say my daughter had all the Lee determination, you will guess the rest. She fled from home and although I spared no money to trace her, I never saw or heard of her again. The next year, as if in judgment upon me, Muriel, my youngest child, died and I had but one daughter remaining. It was then that, saddened and chastened by sorrow, I regretted my narrowness and injustice and prayed to God for the chance to wipe out my cruelty. But my prayers went unanswered, and all these years forgiveness has been denied me. Now I am old but God is merciful. He has not let me die with this weight upon my soul."
She bowed her head on Delight's shoulder and wept.
"Your mother?" she whispered, when she was able to enunciate the words.
"My mother died in California when I was born. Then my father took to the sea and carried me with him. We sailed until I was ten years old, when his ship—"
"I know," interrupted Madam Lee gently. She gave a long sigh. "We—we must speak more of this later," murmured she. "I am tired now."
As she dropped back against the cushions, Celestina rose softly and motioned the others to follow her; but when Delight attempted to slip away the hand resting on hers tightened.
"You are not leaving me!" pleaded the old lady faintly.
"I will come back again," answered the girl in a soothing tone.
"When? To-morrow?"
"If you wish it, Madam L—"
"Call me grandmother, my child," said the woman, a smile rare in its peace and beauty breaking over her drawn countenance.
The ride home from Belleport was a subdued one, bringing to an afternoon that had been rich in sunshine a climax of shadow. The Galbraiths were far too stunned by the startling revelations of the day to wish to prolong a meeting that had lapsed into awkwardness, and until they had had opportunity to readjust themselves they were eager to be alone; nor did their delicacy of perception fail to detect a similar craving in the minds of their guests. Therefore they did not press their visitors to remain and tactfully arranged that one of the servants instead of Roger should drive the Spences back over the Harbor Road.
As the motor purred its way along, there was little conversation. Even had not the chauffeur's presence acted as a restraint, none of the party would have had the heart to make perfunctory conversation; the tragedy of the moment had touched them too deeply. What a strange, wonderful unraveling of life's tangled skeins had come with the few fleeting hours. Each turned the drama over in his mind, trying to make a reality of it and spin into the warp and woof of the tapestry time had already woven this thread of new color. But so startling was it in hue that it refused to blend, standing out against the duller tones of the past with appalling distinctness; and never was it more irreconcilable than when the familiar confines of the little fishing hamlet by the sea were reached and those who struggled to harmonize it saw it in contrast with this background of simplicity.
Each silently reconstructed Delight's life, now linking it with its ancestry and its romantic beginnings. She had, then, sprung from aristocratic stock; riches had been her right, and culture her heritage. She had been the single flower of a passionate love, and the hot-headed young father to whom she had been bequeathed when bereft of the woman he had adored had taken her with him when he had sought the sea's balm to assuage his sorrow. She was all that remained of that tender, throbbing memory of his youth. Where he went she followed, all unconscious of peril and with youth's God-given faith; and when the great moment came and the supreme sacrifice was demanded, the man voluntarily severed the bonds that bound them, leaving her to life while he himself went forth into the Beyond. What must not that heroic soul have suffered when he cast his child into the ocean's arms and upon the mercies of an unknown future! What blind trust led him; what unselfishness and courage lay in the choice he made! A smaller mind would have followed the easier path and kept them united to the end, happy in the thought that in their death they were not divided, and that no years stretched ahead when she would be without his protection. Might he not be performing a kinder act to let her go down into the sea than to entrust her to the charity of strangers? He must have wrestled with all these problems and temptations as he stood lashed to the mast out there in the fateful storm.
Ah, his confidence in a fatherhood more omniscient than his own had not been misplaced. Loving hands had borne his darling safely through the waves to a home where, in an atmosphere of devotion, the beauty that had been in her from the beginning had perfected in its maturity. Even the homely surroundings of the environment into which she drifted could not stifle her native fineness of soul. Bred up a fisherman's daughter she had lived and moved among plain, kindly people, whom she had learned to cherish and revere as if they were of her blood, and to whom she had endeared herself to a corresponding degree.
And now what was her future to be? Was she suddenly to be snatched back into her rightful sphere, the ties that linked her with the present snapped asunder, and a new world with the myriad opportunities she had until now been denied placed within her reach? That was the query that agitated the minds of the silent thinkers who sped along the Harbor Road.
Sunset was gilding the water, kissing the sands into rosy warmth and casting glints of vermilion over the low buildings at the mouth of the bay, where windows flashed forth a flaming reflection of fire. The peace of approaching twilight brooded over the village. Little boats, like homing doves, came flying across the vast expanse of waves, their sails a splendor of copper in the fading light. With the hush of night the breeze died into stillness until scarce a leaf of the weather-beaten poplars stirred. From the tangle of roses, sweet fern and bayberry that overgrew the fields the note of a thrush rose clear on the quiet air. A whirling bevy of gulls circled the bar, left naked and opalescent by the receding tide. Peace was everywhere, divine peace, save in the breasts of those who gazed only to find a mockery in the surrounding tranquillity.
Robert Morton's face was stern in meditation. How was this mighty transformation in Delight's fortunes to affect the hopes he fostered? To wed the daughter of a humble fisherman was a different matter from offering a penniless future to the grand-daughter of the stately Madam Lee. Even when the possibility of marriage with Cynthia had loomed in his path, his pride had rebelled at the financial inequality of the match. He did not wish to be patronized, to come empty-handed to a princess whose hands were full. The thought had been a galling one. And now once again he was in a similar position. Of course, Madam Lee and the Galbraiths would desire to make good the past; he knew them well enough for that. Delight would be elevated to the same plane with Cynthia, and he would be faced with the old irritating inferiority of fortune. Moreover, in her recently acquired station, the lady of his dreams might scorn such a humble suitor. Who could tell? Wealth worked great changes in individuals sometimes, and at best human nature was a frail, assailable, and incalculable factor. Furthermore the girl had never pledged him her love. There had been no spoken word between them. The vision that had made a Utopia of his world had been, he reflected, of his own creating.
He glanced at Delight, but she did not meet his eye.
Her gaze was vacantly following the rapidly shifting landscape.
Although the glory from the sky shone on her face the radiance that glowed there came only from without and was the result of no inward exultation. Even the gray cottage had assumed a false splendor in the rosy twilight and was lighted with a beauty not its own.
When the car stopped, Willie clambered stiffly out and he and Bob helped the women to alight. Then the motor rolled away and they were alone.
"Well!" burst out Celestina, her pent-up feeling taking vent, "did you ever know of such a to-do? I've been stiflin' to talk all the way home! Why, you're goin' to be rich, Delight! You'll be aunts, an' uncles, an' cousins with them Galbraiths—picture it! Likely they'll take you to New York with 'em an' to goodness knows where!"
The girl did not answer but moved to Willie's side and slipped her hand into his, as if certain of his understanding and sympathy.
"You don't seem much set up by your good luck," went on the breathless Celestina.
"Delight's kinder bowled over by surprise, Tiny," Willie explained gently. "It's took all our breaths away, I guess."
Tenderly he pressed the trembling fingers that clung to his.
"You ain't got to worry about it, dearie," whispered he in a caressing tone. "No power can make you do anything you don't choose to; an' what's more, nobody'll want to force you into what won't be for your happiness."
"I shall never leave Zenas Henry," Delight said with determination.
"An' nobody'll urge you to, dear heart. Don't fret, child, don't fret. To-morrow we'll straighten this snarl all out an' 'til then you've got nothin' to fear. Them as love you shall stay by, I give you my word on it."
"Hadn't I better go home to-night and tell them?"
The old inventor considered a moment.
"I don't believe I would," he answered at last. "They ain't expectin' you, an' if you was to go lookin' so white an' frightened as you do now, 'twould anger Zenas Henry an' upset 'em all. Wait an' see what happens to-morrow. 'Twill be time enough then. You're tired, sweetheart. Stay here an' rest to-night. What do you say, Bob?"
"I think it would be much wiser."
"Course 'twould," nodded Willie. "You stay right here, like as if nothin' had happened, an' think calmly about it a little while, child. You ain't got to decide a thing at present; furthermore, there may not be anything for you to decide. We've no way of figgerin' what your—your—relations mean to do. Just trust 'em a bit. They're Bob's friends an' I guess we can count on 'em to act as is fair an' right."
"TheyareBob's friends, aren't they?" repeated the girl, her face brightening as if the fact, hitherto forgotten, gave her confidence.
"And splendidly loyal friends too," the young man put in eagerly.
"Then I will trust them," she said. "It isn't as if they were strangers."
How Robert Morton longed to go to her, to tell her in her sweet dependence how eager he was for the day when no friend of his should be a stranger to her; when their lives would be so closely intertwined that every interest, every hope, every thought of his should be hers also. Perhaps the unuttered wish that trembled on his lips was reflected in his eyes, for after looking up at him she suddenly dropped her lashes and, turning away, followed Tiny into the house.
"I've cautioned Celestina not to go talkin' to her any more just now," announced the little old man when she had gone. "Your aunt's an awful good woman; no better lives. But there's times like today when things don't strike her as they do me an' Delight. She's so fond of the girl that her first thought would be for the money an' all that; but that would be the last consideration in the world in Delight's mind. She's awful loyal an' affectionate. Things go deep with her, an' she sets a heap of store by the folks she cares for. Why, Zenas Henry is like her own father. Since she was a wee tot she ain't known no other. While this old lady, her grandmother—what is she? Why, she don't mean nothin'—not a thing!"
They walked on toward the shop door, each occupied with his own reveries; then suddenly Willie roused himself.
"Why, if here ain't Janoah!" he exclaimed.
"What you doin', Jan? Was you after somethin'? I reckon you found the place pretty well deserted an' were wonderin' what had become of us all."
"I warn't doin' no wonderin', Willie Spence," the man replied. "I knowed where you'd gone 'cause I saw you ridin' away like a sheep bein' led to the sacrifice."
"Like a what?" repeated the inventor with a grin.
"An innocent lamb, or a rat in a trap," Janoah said with solemn emphasis.
"What are you drivin' at, anyhow?" questioned Willie.
"You didn't suspect nothin'?"
"Suspect anything? No, of course not. Why?"
"You hadn't a suspicion the whole thing was a decoy?"
"What whole thing?"
"The trip an' all."
Willie studied his friend's face in puzzled silence.
"Whatever are you tryin' to say?" demanded he at last.
Janoah swept his hand dramatically round the shop.
"You've been betrayed, Willie!" he announced with tragic intensity. "Betrayed by them as you thought was your friends, an' who you've trusted. I warned you, but you wouldn't listen, an' now the thing I told you would happen has happened." Triumphant pleasure gleamed in the sinister smile. "They tricked you into leavin'," went on the malicious voice, "an' then they came here an' stole what was yours—your invention. I caught 'em doin' it. I hid outside an' overheard 'em tell how they'd been waitin' days for the chance when everybody should be gone. 'Twas that Snelling an' another like him, a draughtsman. They laughed an' said that now the old man was out of the way they could do as they pleased. Then they took all the measurements of your invention, made some sketches, an' took its picter."
Willie listened, open-mouthed.
"You must be crazy, Janoah," he slowly observed.
"I ain't crazy," Janoah replied, with stinging sharpness. "The whole thing was just as I say. It was part of a plot that Snellin' an' Galbraith have been plannin' all along; an' either they've used this young feller here [he motioned toward Robert Morton] as a tool, or else he's in it with 'em."
Bob started forward, but Willie's hand was on his arm.
"Gently, son," he murmured. Then addressing Janoah he asked: "An' what earthly use could Mr. Galbraith have for—"
"'Cause he sees money in it," was the prompt response.
A thrill of uneasiness passed through Robert Morton's frame. Had not those very words been spoken both by the capitalist and Howard Snelling? They had uttered them as a laughing prediction, but might they not have rated them as true? With sudden chagrin he looked from Willie to Janoah and from Janoah back to Willie again.
"I've been inquirin' up this Galbraith," went on Janoah. "It 'pears he's a big New York shipbuilder—that's what he is—an' Snellin' is one of his head men."
If the mischief-maker derived pleasure from dealing out the fruit of his investigations he certainly reaped it now, for he was rewarded by seeing an electrical shock stiffen Willie's figure.
"It ain't true!" cried the little inventor. "It ain't true! Is it, Bob?"
Robert Morton's eyes fell before his piercing scrutiny.
"Yes," was his reluctant answer.
"You knew it all along?"
"Yes."
"An' Snellin'?"
"He is in Mr. Galbraith's employ, yes."
"An'—an'—you let 'em come here—" began the old man bewildered.
"You let 'em come here to steal Willie's idee," interrupted Janoah, wheeling on Bob. "You helped 'em to come, after his takin' you into his home an' all!"
"I didn't know what they meant to do," Robert Morton stammered. "I just thought they were going to lend us a hand at working up the thing."
"A likely story!" sniffed Janoah with scorn. "No siree! You came here as a tool—you were paid for it, I'll bet a hat!"
"You lie."
"Prove it," was the taunting response.
"I—I—can't prove it," confessed the young man wretchedly, "but Willie knows that what you accuse me of isn't so."
With face alight with hope he turned toward the old man at his elbow; but no denial came from the expected source. Willie had sunk down on a pile of boards and buried his face in his hands.
"An' I thought they were my friends," they heard him moan.
Robert Morton hesitated, then bent over the bowed figure, and as he did so Janoah, casting one last look of gloating delight at the ruin he had wrought, slipped softly from the room.
As he went out he heard a broken murmur from the inventor:
"I'll—I'll—not—believe it," asserted he feebly.
But despite the brave words, the seed of suspicion had taken root, and Robert Morton knew that Willie's confidence in him had been shaken. Still the little old man clung with dogged persistence to his sanguine declaration:
"I'll not believe it!"
The next morning saw a grave change in the household on the bluff. Delight, with violet-circled eyes and cheeks whose rose tints had faded to pallor, listened with dread for the sound of the Galbraith's motor. What the day would bring forth she feared to speculate. Willie and Bob also showed traces of a sleepless night. Although they had guarded from the others the happenings of the previous evening, between them loomed a barrier of mutual amazement and reproach. Beneath his attempted optimism Willie was wounded and indignant that he should have been deceived by those in whose kindness he had believed so whole-heartedly. He fought the facts with loyalty, obstinately trusting that some satisfactory explanation would be forthcoming, but he did not understand, and the dumb question that spoke in his eyes hurt Robert Morton more than any formulated reproach could have done. It was human, the young man owned, that the inventor should resent having been tricked. He himself, throughout the weary watches of the night, had twisted and turned Janoah's damning testimony, struggling to explain it away by some simple and harmless interpretation; yet he was compelled to admit that the facts pointed in but one direction. And if he was baffled in his search for a way out, how much more so must Willie be? Why, he would be almost superman if he did not surrender his faith before such convincing evidence.
To the grief he experienced at forfeiting the little old man's trust, Robert Morton was also compelled to add the bitterness of discovering that those whose friendship was dearest to him had betrayed it and used him as a stool pigeon in a contemptible plot that he would have scorned to further had he been cognizant of it. He wondered, as he turned restlessly on his pillow, whether it was Mr. Galbraith with whom the duplicity originated or whether the conspiracy of yesterday was one of Snelling's hatching. Was it not possible the employee desired the invention for his own profit? That, to be sure, would be calamity enough, but it would at least clear Mr. Galbraith of theft and reinstate him in the young man's confidence. If only that could be the answer to the riddle, how thankful he would be!
Well, until he could be brought face to face with the capitalist, it was futile to attempt to unravel the enigma. How he longed in his bewilderment for the sympathy and counsel of a fresh perspective! But on Tiny's discretion he could place no reliance and even had he been able to do so, everything within him shrank from the disloyalty of voicing evil against his friends until he had proof. Delight was also an impossible confidant because of her recently discovered relationship to the Galbraith family. To breathe a word which might at this delicate juncture prejudice her against her new relatives would be contemptible. No, there was nothing to be done but be patient and maintain in the meantime as close a semblance to a normal attitude as was possible.
Fortunately the silence that settled down upon the silvered cottage caused no surprise to any of its occupants. Having been warned not to chatter, Celestina observed a welcome quietness perfectly understood. Nor was it strange that in view of the shock Delight had received she should be more thoughtful than usual. Nobody commented either on Willie's abandonment of his inventing, or gave heed that he and Robert Morton spoke little together. How could the Galbraiths, Bob's best friends, be discussed in his presence? There was abundant explanation, therefore, why a strained atmosphere should prevail and pass unnoticed without either Celestina or Delight suspecting that its cause was other than the disclosures made by Madam Lee on the previous afternoon.
Nevertheless, eager as was each of the household to have speculation satisfied and the future with whatever it might contain unfold, there was a simultaneous start of apprehension when the Galbraiths' familiar red car stopped at the gate of the cottage. From it alighted neither Mr. Snelling nor any member of the family, but instead the chauffeur gravely delivered to Robert Morton a hastily scrawled note written in Mr. Galbraith's spreading hand. Marveling a little that it was he to whom the communication should be addressed, the young man broke the seal of the letter.
Madam Lee, he read, weary with excitement, had retired almost immediately after their departure, the maid attending her having left her sleeping like a tired child; but when they had gone to arouse her in the morning, it had been only to find that she had passed quietly away in her sleep without struggle or suffering. Snelling had gone over to New York to make the necessary funeral arrangements, and the family were to follow the next day. There was nothing Bob could do, but if he and Delight wished to accompany them, Mrs. Galbraith would be glad to have them. Madam Lee had been devoted to Bob, and it was Delight's unchallenged right to share in the final obsequies to her grandmother.
Awed, and in a low voice, Robert Morton read the communication aloud.
"I shall go, of course," he said, with a catch in his voice. "Madam Lee—was very dear to me. Had she been of my own people I could not have cared for her more deeply."
"And I—what shall I do?" questioned Delight. The appeal was to Bob, and the sense of dependence vibrating in it thrilled him with tender gladness.
"I suppose," he answered gently, "it would make your grandmother happy to know you were there. Wouldn't it be a token of forgiveness?"
"What do you think, Willie?" the girl asked.
"I agree with Bob that you should go, my dear," the old man replied. "Somehow it seems as if your grandmother would rest the sweeter for feelin' you were near by. An' anyhow, it's a mark of respect to the dead. You're bound to show that, no matter how you feel. I'm pretty sure that if you an' your grandmother had had the chance to get better acquainted, you would have loved one another dearly. It was only that it all came too late for you to feel toward her the same as Bob does."
"Perhaps!" Delight returned with half-dazed seriousness.
So it was decided the two young persons would go with the Galbraiths to New York, and the next day they joined the Belleport family and followed the body of the fine, stately old Southern woman to its last resting place. There were no outside friends among the small group of mourners, and the two days of constant and intimate companionship drew them together with a closeness very vital in its results. Delight was received into the circle with a tact and affection that not only put her at her ease but won her heart; and Robert Morton, as Madam Lee's favorite, was as much a part of the family as if he had been born into it. For the time being, the common grief banished from his mind every other thought, and once again he and his old-time friends met without a shadow of distrust between them. Even Cynthia was in her most appealing mood, casting all caprice and artificiality aside and centering most of her attention on her newly acquired cousin. The silent benediction of peace the presence of the dead brought brooded over them all, and it was with no perfunctory tenderness that Delight bent and gently kissed her grandmother's cold forehead.
Then came the journey back to Belleport, and as Mr. Galbraith, Roger, and Howard Snelling were all detained in New York, it was Bob who brought the party home. In the meantime no opportunity had presented itself for broaching to the financier the subject of Willie's invention. The interval during the funeral rites was too inopportune, and Robert Morton had lacked both the inclination and the courage to break in upon such an occasion with an affair so sordid and unpleasant. He had hoped that during the return to the Cape some chance for a talk with the capitalist would be afforded him. But now there was no help for it but to go back to Willie Spence's with the weight still heavy on his heart. Mr. Galbraith, he learned, would have to remain in the city two weeks or more; and an important business deal would keep Mr. Snelling at the Long Island plant indefinitely. Hence for the present there was not a possibility of clearing up the mystery. It was, however, significant that Snelling evidently considered his part of the work done; and if Janoah's accusations were founded on fact, as they appeared to be, it was not surprising that he seized upon the confusion of the present as a fortunate cover for his exit from Wilton.
The more Robert Morton pondered on the train of events, the less willing he became to connect Mr. Galbraith with the purloining of Willie's idea. The financier had intended to do precisely what he had specified, lend a friendly hand to the old man's scheme. It was Snelling who had seen in the circumstance something too promising to let pass and who, without his employer's knowledge, had made bold to secure the device for his personal profit. In the meanwhile, ignorant that Robert Morton was cognizant of his cupidity, he was as debonair as if he had nothing on his conscience. He made himself useful in every possible direction, and on parting from Bob at the train declared he should look forward with the greatest anticipation to their future business association together. How the young man longed to confront the knave with his crime! It seemed almost imperative that before the mischief proceeded farther steps should be taken to stop it. But what proofs had he to present?
No, a middle course was the only thing possible, Bob decided. He must return to Willie's roof with the atmosphere uncleared and finish the little that still remained to be done on the invention as if no shadow clouded his sky. He could not leave Willie in the lurch. Furthermore, it was out of the question for him to depart from Wilton until he had come to an understanding with Delight Hathaway. The intimacy of the past week, with its lights and shadows, had only served to render stronger the bonds that bound him to her. In every issue the network of strange events had developed her character, and displayed facets of such unsuspected force and splendor that where beauty had at first fascinated it was now the soul behind it that called to him. Truly Madam Lee had in this grandchild a worthy descendant, and it brought an added joy to his heart to thus link together the two beings he loved most deeply.
Therefore he made the journey back to Wilton, bravely resolved to bear Janoah's taunts and Willie's silent reproaches until the moment came when he could acquaint Mr. Galbraith with Snelling's perfidy and see the injustice righted. It was not an enviable position, the one in which he stood. He felt it to be only human that in the face of this acid test the old inventor's affection and allegiance toward him should waver, and that Janoah would detect and rejoice in its unsteadiness. But as Bob relied upon ultimately solving the conundrum, he felt he could endure a short interval of unmerited distrust. It was in Delight and Tiny, who were unconscious of any false note in his relation to the household, that he placed his hopes for aid. Hence it was with no small degree of consternation that on reaching Wilton he learned that the girl had resolved now to return to her own home.
"I have been here over two weeks already," she said to Bob, "and I really am needed by my own family. They miss me dreadfully when I am gone. Zenas Henry goes down like a plummet, Abbie says. And then I have so much to tell them! Besides, now that Aunt Tiny is well again, there is no use in my remaining."
"There is a great deal of use in it for me!" asserted the young man moodily.
"Nonsense! You and Willie have your work, and in a day or two you will be so buried in it you won't know whether I am here or not."
"Delight!"
A warning echo in the word and a quick forward movement caused her to add hurriedly:
"And—and—anyway, you can come up to our house and see me there. You will like the three captains and Abbie, you simply can't help it; they are dears! And you will worship Zenas Henry—at least you will if he is—I mean sometimes he doesn't—well, you know how older men feel when younger ones appear. He is very devoted to me and he is always afraid— But I am sure he will understand, and that you and he will get on beautifully together," she concluded with scarlet cheeks.
The clumsy explanation had a dubious ring and Bob frowned.
"You see, your being Aunt Tiny's nephew will help some; he likes her very much. And of course any friend of Willie's and—and—of mine—"
With every word the formidable Zenas Henry increased in formidableness. She saw the scowl deepen.
"You will come and see me, won't you?" she pleaded timidly. "I should be sorry if—"
Robert Morton caught the slender hand and held it firmly.
"I'll come were there a thousand Zenas Henrys!"
"That's nice!" she answered with a nervous laugh. "There won't be a thousand, though. There never can be but one as good and as dear as he is! Only remember, you mustn't come right away. I shall have a great deal to tell them at home, and it won't be easy for Zenas Henry to face the fact that the Galbraiths have any claims on me. It has always been his pride that I had no relatives and belonged entirely to him. And I do, you know," she went on quickly. "Nothing on earth shall take me from Zenas Henry! I worried a good deal lest Madam L—lest my grandmother should insist that I spend part of my time with her. But that is all settled now. I can keep up my friendship with the Galbraith family by calls and short visits, and everything will go on as before. I don't want anything changed."
The young man saw her draw in her chin proudly. "Of course I have forgiven my grandmother," she went on, "but I never can forget that she made my mother's life unhappy and that she was unkind to my father. So I never wish to accept any favors from any of them."
"But the Galbraiths are not to blame for the past," ventured Bob, his loyalty instantly in arms.
"No. But they are Lees."
"Your grandmother was sorry—bitterly sorry," urged the young man in a persuasive tone. "It was probably her regret that caused her death."
The girl nodded sadly.
"I know," she said. "I realize she lived to regret what she had done. I am not blaming her. But for all that, she never can mean to me what she might have meant. Rather I shall always think of her as a handsome, stately old lady who was your friend and loved you."
She turned to leave him, but he refused to let her go.
"Delight," he cried, drawing her closer, "will your grandmother be dearer to you because she loved me? Tell me, sweetheart! Do I mean anything in your life? You are the only thing that matters in mine."
He saw a radiance flash into her wonderful eyes, and in another instant her head was against his breast.
"It is only because of you, Bob," she whispered, clinging to him, "that I can forgive the Lees at all."