CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Fledra Cronk's school days lengthened slowly into weeks. She was making rapid strides in English, and Miss Shellington's patience went far toward keeping her mind concentrated upon her work. At first some of the girls at the school were inclined to smile at her endeavors; but her sad face and questioning eyes drew many of them into firm friends. Especially did she cling to Mildred Vandecar, and raised in the golden-haired daughter of the governor an idol at whose shrine she worshiped.
One Saturday morning in the latter part of March, Mildred Vandecar persuaded her mother to allow her to go, accompanied by Katherine, to the Shellington home. They found Ann reading aloud to the twins, Flukey resting on the divan. Mildred was presented to him, and in the hour that followed the sick boy became her devoted subject.
The three young people listened eagerly to the story, and after it was finished Ann entered into conversation with Katherine.
Suddenly she heard Flukey exclaim, in answer to some question put by Mildred:
"My sister and me ain't got no mother!"
Miss Shellington colored and partly rose; but she had no chance to speak, for Mildred was saying:
"Oh, dear! how you must miss her! Is she dead? And haven't you any father, either?"
"Yep," said Flukey; "but he ain't no good. He hates us, he does, and worse than that, he's a thief!"
Mildred drew back with a shocked cry. Ann was upinstantly; while Fledra got to her feet with effort. She remembered how carefully Ann had instructed her never to mention Lon Cronk or any of the episodes in their early days at Ithaca; but Flukey had never been thus warned.
"Mildred, dear," Ann said anxiously, "Floyd and Fledra were unfortunate in losing their mother, and more unfortunate in having a father who doesn't care for them as your father does for you." She passed an arm about Fledra and continued, "It would be better if we were not to talk of family troubles any more, Floyd.... Fledra, won't you ask Mildred to play something for you?"
The rest of Mildred's stay was so strained that Miss Shellington breathed a sigh of relief when Katherine suggested going. For a few seconds neither Ann nor Fledra spoke after the closing of the door. It was the latter who finally broke the silence.
"Flukey hadn't ought to have said anything about Pappy Lon; but he didn't know—he thought everybody knew about us.... Are ye going to send us away now?"
The girl's anxiety and worried look caused Ann to reassure her quickly.
In describing the events of the afternoon to her mother, Mildred wept bitterly. When a grave look spread over Mrs. Vandecar's face, Katherine interposed:
"Aunty, while those children undoubtedly had bad parents, they will really amount to something, I'm sure."
It was not until she was alone with Katherine that Mrs. Vandecar opened the subject.
"I'm almost afraid I was incautious to allow a friendship to spring up between this strange child and Mildred. I wish I could see her."
"Ask her here, then. She's very pretty, very gentle,and needs young friends sadly, although the Shellingtons are treating the two children beautifully. If they don't grow up to be good, it won't be Ann's fault, nor Horace's."
"I'll invite the child to come some afternoon, then." With this decision the subject dropped.
That evening Ann went out on a charitable mission, leaving Fledra to deliver a message to Everett and to care for Floyd. The boy was in bed, his thin white hands resting wearily at his sides. For sometime he allowed his sister to work at her lessons. Then he said impetuously:
"Flea, why be these folks always so kind to you and me? They ain't never been mad yet, and I'm allers a yowlin' 'cause my bones and my heart hurt me."
Flea looked up from her book meditatively.
"They're both good, that's why."
"It's 'cause they pray all the time, ain't it?" Floyd asked.
"I guess so."
"I'd a died those nights if Sister Ann hadn't prayed for me, wouldn't I, Flea?"
"Yes," replied Flea in abstraction.
After a silence, Floyd spoke again:
"Flea, do you like that feller what Sister Ann's going to marry?"
The girl dropped a monosyllabic negative and fell to studying.
"Why?" insisted Floyd.
Before Flea could reply, a servant appeared at the door, saying that Mr. Brimbecomb wanted Miss Shellington.
IT WERE A PRINCE—A REAL LIVE PRINCE!IT WERE A PRINCE—A REAL LIVE PRINCE!
IT WERE A PRINCE—A REAL LIVE PRINCE!
Fledra closed her book and went to the drawing-room, where she found Everett standing near the grate. His brilliant smile made her drop her eyes embarrassedly. She overlooked his extended hand, and made no move to come forward. The girl had always felt afraid of him. Nowhis presence in the room increased her vague fears. Why she had felt this sudden premonition of evil, she did not know, nor did she try to analyze her feelings. Young as she was, Fledra recognized in him an enemy, and yet his attitude betrayed a personal interest. She had seen him many times during the last few weeks; but had managed to escape him through the connivance of Miss Shellington. Ann had tactfully explained to the girl that Mr. Brimbecomb did not feel the same toward her and Flukey as did her brother; but had added, "It's because he does not know you both, Dear, as Horace and I do."
Once alone with him, she knew only that she wanted to give him Ann's message and return quickly to Floyd. Before she could speak, Brimbecomb passed behind her and closed the door.
"Sister Ann won't be home for an hour," said Flea, turning sharply.
Everett smiled again.
"Sit down, then," he said.
"I can't; I have to study."
Something in the girl's tones brought a low laugh from Everett. He came closer to her.
"You're a deliciously pretty child," he bantered. "Won't you take hold of my hands?"
Placing her arms behind her, Flea answered:
"No, I don't like ye!" She backed far from him, her eyes burning with anger.
"You're a very frank little maid, as well as pretty," drawled Everett. "Ever since I first saw you as a girl, I've wanted to know something about you. Who's your father?"
"None of yer business!" snapped Flea.
"Frank again," laughed the lawyer ruefully. "Now, honestly, wouldn't you like to be friends with me?"
"No! I said I didn't like ye, and I don't! I want togo now. You can sit here alone until Sister Ann comes."
She looked so tantalizingly lovely, so lithely young, as she flung the disagreeable words at him, that Brimbecomb impulsively made a step toward her. He was unused to such treatment and manners. That this girl, sprung from some unknown corner, dared to flaunt her dislike in his face, made him only the more determined to conquer her.
"If I wait until Sister Ann comes," he said coolly, "I shall not wait alone. I insist that you stay here with me!"
"I have to go back to my brother. So let me go by—please!"
Fledra made an effort to pass Brimbecomb; but he grasped her deliberately in his arms. Drawing her forcibly to him, he exclaimed:
"I've caught my pretty bird! Now I'm going to kiss you!"
Flea's mind flashed back to the day when Lem Crabbe had tried to kiss her, and the thought came to her mind that she could have borne that even better than this. She squirmed about until her face was far below his arm, and muttered:
"If you try to kiss me, I'll dig a hole in yer mug!"
Half-mocking at the threat, half-inviting its fulfilment, Everett laughed. Then, with all his strength, he forced Flea's angry, crimsoned face up to his and closed his lips over her red mouth, kissing her again and again. The girl struggled until she was free. In an uncontrollable temper she thrust her hand to Everett's face, and he felt her fingernails scrape his cheek. He released her instantly, stepping back in a gasp of rage and surprise.
Pantingly the girl rubbed her lips with her sleeve.
"If Sister Ann weren't a lovin' ye," she flashed at him, "I'd tell her how cussed mean ye be! If ye ever try to kiss me again, I'll tear yer eyes out, Mister!"
She was gone before he could stop her, and, like a young fury bounded into the presence of Flukey.
"I know why I hate that feller of Sister Ann's," she muttered; "'cause he's bad—he's a damn dog! That's what he is!"
With a startled ejaculation, Floyd half-rose; but Ann's step in the hall sent him back on the pillow gasping.
Fledra sank down at the table, by effort repressing her breath. She heard the door open, and when Miss Shellington entered her red face was bent low over the grammar.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A few seconds before, when Miss Shellington had entered the house, she had seen Everett's shadow on the drawing-room curtain; but for the moment her habitual concern for Floyd overrode her eagerness to be with her lover, and she hurried to the sickroom. As was her custom, she took the boy's hand in hers and examined him closely. With her daily observance of him, she had learned to detect the slightest change in his appearance. Now his flushed cheeks and racing pulse told her he was laboring under great excitement.
"Floyd," she exclaimed in dismay, "you've been talking too much! Your face is awfully red!... Why, Fledra, I've cautioned you many times—"
At the girl's apparent unconcern, Miss Shellington left the reproach unfinished. She perceived the scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes peering at her over the open book.
"Is there anything the matter, Fledra?"
The girl let her gaze fall.
"You haven't been quarreling with Floyd?"
"Nope, Sister Ann; Flukey and me never have words."
"I should hope not," Ann replied sincerely; "but, Fledra dear, when I speak to you, please look at me."
With a shake of the black curls, Fledra lifted her face.
"Tell me what is the matter with you," said Ann.
A glint of steel shown in the gray eyes. Flea's lips opened to speak, and for one moment Ann's happiness was threatened with destruction. The girl was on the point of telling her about Everett—then Brimbecomb's voice rang out from the reception-room.
"Ann, dear! Aren't you ever coming?"
Fledra noticed Miss Shellington's face change as if by magic, and saw a lovelight grow in her eyes.
In silence, she received Ann's sorrowful kiss.
"Little sister, I really wasn't scolding you. I was only thinking of how careful we have to be of Floyd. I—I wish you would be kind to me!"
During the painful constraint that followed, Fledra allowed Ann to leave the room; but before she had more than closed the door the girl rose and bounded after her. Impulsively she grasped Miss Shellington's arm and thrust herself in front.
"Sister Ann," she whispered, "I lied to ye! I was mad at Floyd, as mad as—"
Ann placed her finger on the trembling lips.
"Don't say what you were going to, Dear—and remember it is as great a sin to get into such a temper as it is to tell a story."
"Ye won't tell anyone that I fibbed, will ye—Flukey or yer brother, either?"
Everett's voice called Ann again, and she replied that she was coming.
Softly kissing the girl, she said:
"If I loved you less, Fledra dear, I should not be so anxious about you. But I'm so fond of you, child! Now, then, smile and kiss me!"
Fledra flung her arms about the other.
"I keep forgettin'. I'll try not to be bad any more." Flea turned back into the room, as Ann hurried away at another call from Everett, and muttered:
"If I loved ye less, Sister Ann, I wouldn't have lied to ye."
Floyd's eyes questioned her as she passed him.
"Fluke," said she, coming to a halt, "I told Sister Ann I was mad at you, and I wasn't. You won't tell her, will ye?"
"No," replied Flukey wonderingly, "I won't tell her nothin'."
Flea said no more in explanation, and sat again at the study table. She was still bent over her book when Shellington opened the door and glanced in. The boy's eyes were closed as if in sleep, and Horace beckoned to Flea. She rose languidly and walked to him.
"As your brother is sleeping, Fledra," he murmured, "come into the library and talk to me awhile."
There were traces of tears on Fledra's face when Horace ushered her into the study.
"Now, little girl, sit down and tell me about your lessons. I've been so busy lately that I haven't had time to show you my interest.... You've been crying, Fledra!"
"Yes, I got mad, and Sister Ann talked to me."
"Will you tell me why you became angry?" he queried.
Flea had not expected this, and had no time to think of a reason for her anger. Deliberating a moment, she placed her head on her arm. It would be dangerous to tell him about Brimbecomb. If the bright-eyed man in the drawing-room had only let her go before kissing her—if he had only remembered his love for Ann! She knew Horace was waiting for her to speak; but her mind refused absolutely to concoct a reasonable excuse, and she could not tell him a deliberate lie, as she had to Ann.
For what seemed many minutes Horace looked at her.
"Fledra," he said at length, "am I worthy of your confidence?"
His question brought her up with a jerk. Would she dare tell him? Would he be silent if he knew that Sister Ann was being perfidiously used? She was sure he would not.
"If I tell you something," she began, "you won't never tell anybody?"
"Never, if you don't want me to."
She leaned forward and looked straight at him.
"I just lied to Sister Ann," she said.
Horace's face paled and he grasped the arms of his chair. Presently he asked sharply:
"Why did you lie to my sister, Fledra?"
"I just did, and you said you wouldn't tell."
"Was it because you lied to her that you cried?"
She tossed his question over in her mind. She intended to be truthful to him, unless a falsehood were forced from her to shield Ann.
"I cried because Sister Ann was so good to me."
"Are you going to tell me what caused you to be untruthful?" he asked persistently.
Fledra shook her head dismally.
Immeasurable compassion for the primitive, large-eyed child flooded his soul, and his next words assumed a more tender tone.
"Of course, you don't mean that you are going to keep it from me?"
Her dark head suddenly dropped again, and a smothered storm of sobs drew him closer to her. In the silence of arrested speech, he reached for her fingers, which were twisting nervously in the webby lace on her dress. With reluctance Flea permitted herself to be drawn from her chair.
"Fledra, stand here—stand close to me!" said he.
Obediently she came to his side, hiding her face in one bended arm. He could feel the warmth of her bursting breaths, and he could have touched the lithe body had he put out his hand. And then—and not until then—did Horace know that he loved her. Yesterday she had seemed only a child; but at this moment she was transformed into a woman, and his sudden passion gave him a lover's right to pass his arm about her. In bewildermentFlea checked her tears and drew back. He had never before caressed her in any way.
Horace stood up, almost mastered by his new emotion.
"Fledra," he breathed, "Fledra, can't you trust me? Dear child, I love you so!"
Stunned by his words, Fledra stared at him. His voice had vibrated with something she had never heard before. His eyes were brilliant and pleading.
"Fledra, can't you—can't you love me?"
As if by strong cords, her tongue was tied.
"Listen to me!" pursued Horace. "I know now I loved you that first night I saw you—that night when you came into the room with Ann's—"
He stopped at the name of his sister—he had forgotten for the moment Flea's confession of the falsehood to her. Then the seeming injustice done Ann turned his mind to the probing he had begun at first for the cause of Flea's grief. Intermingled with this was a whirl of thought as to the things that the girl had accomplished. Her entire submission to Ann and himself, her devotion to Floyd, her desire to master the difficult problems of her new life, all persuaded him that for his happiness he must know the cause of her agitation. Spontaneously he pressed his open hands to her cheeks.
"Fledra, Fledra! Can I believe you?"
The girl lowered her head and nodded emphatically.
"Do you—do you love anyone else—I mean any man?"
His rapidly indrawn breath came forth with almost an ejaculation. Flea's eyes sought his for part of a minute. Then slowly she shook her head, a shadow of a smile broadening her lips. With effort she lifted her arms and whispered:
"I don't love anyone else—that is, no man! Be ye sure that ye love me?"
Like an impetuous boy he gathered her up, caressing her hair, her eyes, her lips. With sudden passion he murmured:
"Fledra! Fledra dear!"
"I do love ye!" she whispered. "Oh, I do love ye every bit of the day, and every bit of the night, jest like I did when you came to the settlement and I saw ye on the shore!"
Hitherto she had not told him that she had seen him in Ithaca, and he did not understand her allusion to a former meeting. To his astonished look, she replied by a question.
"Don't ye remember one day you came to the settlement and asked the way to Glenwood?"
Horace conjured up a vision of a child of whom he had asked his road, and remembered, in a flashing glance at the girl in his arms, that he had inwardly commented upon the sad young face. He had noted, too, the unusual shade in her eyes, and now he wondered vaguely that he had not loved her then.
"I remember—of course I remember! Oh, I want you to say again that you love me, little dearest, that you love me very much!" His lips roved in sweet freedom over her face as he continued, "You're so young, so very young, to have a sweetheart; but if you could only begin to love me—in a few years we could be married, couldn't we?"
Flea's body grew tense with tenderness. She had never heard such beautiful words; they meant that her Prince loved her as Ann loved Everett, as good men loved their wives and good wives loved their husbands. Instead of answering, she lifted a pale face intensified by womanly passion.
"Will ye kiss me?" she breathed. "Kiss me again onmy hair, and on my eyes, and on my lips, because—because I love ye so!"
His strong avowal had opened a deep spring in her heart which overflowed in tears. The taut arms pressed him tightly. The words were sobbed out from a tightened young throat. The very passion in her, that abandonment which comes from the untutored, stirred all that was primeval in him, all the desperate longing in a soul newly born. His mouth covered hers again and again; it sought her closed white lids, her rounded throat, and again lingered upon her lips. After a few moments he sat down and drew her into his arms.
"Little love, my heart has never beaten for another woman—only for you, always for you! Fledra, open your eyes quick!"
The brown-flecked eyes flashed into his. Horace bent his head low and searched them silently for some seconds.
"I must be sure, Dear, that you love me. Are you very sure?"
"Yes, yes! That's why I felt so bad tonight, when I told ye about lying to Sister Ann." There was entreaty in her glance, and her figure trembled in his arms. Horace started slightly. He had again forgotten her admission.
"But you will tell me all about it now, won't you, Fledra? Then we can tell Ann and your brother about our love."
Flea stood up; but Horace still kept his arm about her. Her thoughts flew to Everett. How unfaithful he had been! Could she confide in Horace, now that she was absolutely his? No; for he would punish Everett even the more to the detriment of Ann. The thought set her teeth hard. Had she been Ann, and Horace been Everett, had the man she loved been unfaithful to the point of stealing kisses from another—She took a long breath.
But she was not Sister Ann, neither was Horace, Everett. In a twinkling everything that Horace had been to her since the first day in Ithaca flooded her heart with happiness. Her dreamy imagination, which had enshrined him king of her life, worked with a new desire that nothing should interfere with the love that he had showered upon her. He had said, "Do you love me, Dearest?"
The anxious question had thrilled her vibrant being to silence, had stilled her eager tongue with the magnitude of its passion. Horace was pleading with his eyes, imploring her to answer him. Suddenly he burst out:
"You will tell me, Dear, why you were untruthful to my sister?"
Fledra pondered for a moment.
"Something happened," she began, "and Sister Ann came in—I was mad—"
"Were you angry at what happened?"
"Yes."
Horace led her on.
"And did Floyd know what had happened?"
"No."
"And then?" he demanded almost sharply.
"And then Sister Ann asked me what was the matter, and I lied, and said I was mad at Floyd."
Horace still held her. This sweet possession and desire of her filled him with serious decision. He deliberated an instant on her confession.
"Now you've told me that much," said he, "I want to know what happened."
"I can't tell ye," she said slowly, "I can't, and ye said that ye wouldn't tell anybody about it."
Horace's arms loosened. Surely she could have no good reason for keeping anything from him! Suddenly he grasped her tightly to him and kissed her again and again.
"Of course you'll tell me, of course you will! Tell me all about it. I won't have this thing between us! I can't, I can't! I love you!"
It maddened her to hear him chide her thus, filled as she was with all the primeval qualities of the native woman to feel the strength of her man. How his pleading touched her, how gravely his dear face expressed an anxiety that she herself was unable to banish! Even should he send her from him, she could not be false to Ann. To this decision the strong, untutored mind clung, and again she refused him.
"No, I'm not goin' to tell you. Mebbe some day I will; but not now."
She heard him take a deep breath which tore savagely at all the best within her. It wrestled with her affection for Miss Shellington, for her duty to Floyd's friend. Not daring to glance up, she still stood in silence. Horace's voice shocked her with the sternness of it.
"You've got to tell me! I command you! Fledra, you must!" Then, tilting her chin upward, he continued reproachfully, "If you're going to keep vital things from me, you can't be my wife!"
The resistance against telling him grew faint in her heart in its battle for desirable things.
"Ye mean," she asked, with quick intaking of breath, "that I can't be your woman if I don't tell you?"
A flush crawled to his forehead as the rich young voice flung the question at him. She was so maddeningly beautiful, so young and clinging! But she must bend to his will in a thing like this! In his desire to set her right, he answered somewhat harshly.
"You must tell me; of course, you must!"
Fledra threw him a glance, pleading for leniency. She had expected him to importune, to scold, but in the endto trust. Suddenly, in the girl's imagination, Ann's gentle face bending over Floyd rose in its loving kindness.
"Then—then," she stammered, "if you won't have me, unless I tell you—then I'll go now—please!"
She left him with pathetic dignity, and her last glance showed his eyes, too, filled with a strange pain.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next week held unutterable pain for Flea, each twenty-four hours deepening her unhappiness more and more. She made no effort to talk with Shellington, nor did she mention her sorrow to Ann. It did not seem necessary to her that she should again speak to Horace of going away. When she had last suggested it, he had said that nothing she could do would alter his decision about his home being hers until Floyd should be well. Nevertheless, an innate pride surged constantly within her. Any deprivation would be more welcome than the studied toleration that, she thought, she encountered in Horace.
One morning she stood looking questioningly down at her brother.
"How near well are ye, Fluke?"
"Ain't never goin' to get well!" he replied, shivering. "'Tain't easy to get pains out of a feller's bones when they once get in."
"If you do get well soon, I think we'd better go away."
"Why?" demanded Flukey.
"Because we wasn't asked to stay only till you got well."
"Don't ye believe it, Flea! Ye wasn't here last night. Brother Horace and Sister Ann thought I was to sleep, and I wasn't."
"What did they say?" broke in the girl, with whitening face.
"Sister Ann told Mr. Shellington about yer work at school, and he said—as how—"
Floyd waited a moment before continuing, and Flea crept closer to the bed. She was crying softly as she knelt down and bent her face over her brother. The boy passed his hands through the black curls.
"What's the matter, Flea?"
"I want to know what my Prince said to Sister Ann."
"Be ye crying about him?"
"Yes!"
"Ye love him, I bet!"
Flea buried her face deeper into the soft counterpane; but she managed to make an affirmative gesture with her head.
Floyd was silent, and sometime passed before he heard the girl's smothered voice:
"And I'm goin' to love him always—even after we go away!"
"We ain't goin' away," said Floyd.
"Who said so?"
"Mr. Shellington."
"When?"
"Last night."
Fledra lifted her head and grasped the boy's thin hands in hers.
"You're sure it was last night, Fluke?"
"Yep, I be sure. I was layin' here with my face to the wall. When Sister Ann comes in nights, if I don't say anything, she thinks I be asleep, and she kisses me, and I like her to do that. Last night, when she'd done kissing me, Mr. Shellington came in, and then they talked about us."
"And he didn't say we was to go away?"
"No."
Fledra rose in sudden determination, and in her excitement spoke with swift reversion to the ancient manner.
"Flukey, ye be the best da——"
Flukey thrust up a reproving finger which stopped the oath.
"Flea!" he cautioned.
"I were only goin' to say, Flukey," said Flea humbly, "that ye be the best kid in all the world. Don't tell anybody what I said about my Prince."
She went out quickly.
With her hand upon her heart, Flea halted before the library. She knew that Horace was there; for she could hear the rustling of papers. At her timid knock, he bade her enter. Her tongue clove so closely to the roof of her mouth that for a minute she could not speak. She held out her fingers, and Horace took them in his. His face whitened at her touch; but he gazed steadily at her.
"You've—you've something to say to me, Fledra—sweetheart?"
The hope in his voice rang out clearly. Fledra nodded.
"What?"
He was determined she should explain away the black thing that had arisen between them.
"I didn't come to tell ye about what happened," said she; "but to say that, if ye don't smile and don't touch me sometimes, I'll die—I know I will!" Her tones were disjointed with emotion, and she felt the hands holding hers tighten.
"I can't smile when I'm unhappy, Fledra. I can't! I can't! This past week has been almost unbearable."
"It's been that way with me, too," said Flea simply.
"Then why don't you make us both happy by being honest with me? If you didn't care for me, I should have no right to force your confidence; but you really do, don't you?"
"Yes; but I'm never goin' to marry ye, because mebbe I can't never tell ye. I think ye might trust me. It'seasy when ye love anyone. I say, ye couldn't marry me without, could ye?" She seemed to suddenly grow old in her sagacious argument. Horace shook his head sadly.
"We'd never be happy, if I should," said he, "because—because I couldn't trust you."
"Oh, I want ye to trust me!" she wept. "I want ye to! Won't you once more? Please do! Won't ye forget that anything ever happened—won't ye?"
For a moment her supplication almost unnerved him; but he thought of their future, of the necessity of having unlimited faith and honor between them, and again slowly shook his head.
Suddenly the twisting hands worked themselves loose from his, and in another instant her feverish arms tightly encircled his neck. By the weight of Flea's body, Horace Shellington knew that her feet were no longer on the floor, each muscle in the rigid girl having so well done its part that she hung straight-limbed against him. Close to his face drew hers, and for a space of time, the length of which he could never afterward accurately measure, he forgot everything but the maddening expression in her face. Her eyelids were closed, and her breath came hot upon his lips.
"I want ye to kiss me like ye did that night—kiss me—please—please—" In her low voice was illimitable strength and passion.
Like burning rivers, his blood was driven through his veins. He flung out his arms and crushed her to him. Just then his lips found hers.
"Dear God! How I—how I love you!" he breathed.
Fledra's arms relaxed and slipped from his shoulders.
"Then forget about what happened!" she panted.
All the bitter apprehensions of the last week swept over him at her words. His love battled with him, and hewavered. How gladly would he have dispelled every doubt and listened to her pleading!
"But I want you to tell me, Fledra."
Flea backed slowly from him.
"I can't.... I can't.... I can't tell anybody!"
The man ran his fingers across his forehead in bewilderment. In his bitter disappointment he turned away.
"When you come to me," his voice broke into huskiness, "when you tell me what happened that night before you saw my sister, I shall—I shall love you—forever!"
Then came a single moment of critical silence; but it needed only the thought of Ann for the girl to toss aside his plea and turn upon her heel.
"I don't want Sister Ann to know that I love ye," she said sulkily. "Ye won't tell her?"
"No, no, of course not—not yet!" He dropped into his chair, his head falling forward in his hands. "I wouldn't have believed," he said from between his fingers, "that my love for you—"
Flea stopped him with an interruption:
"Are ye trying to stop lovin' me?"
Horace shook his shoulders, lifting swift eyes to hers. He noted her expression irrevocable in its decision of silence. She was extraordinarily lovely, and he grew suddenly angry that he had not the power to change her, to draw from her unresistingly the story she had locked from his perusal.
"Don't be foolish, Fledra!" he said quite harshly. "A man can't love and unlove at will. I feel as if I should never know another happy moment!"
For several days Ann watched her brother in dismay. He had grown taciturn and gloomy. The boyish energy had left him. She ventured to speak to Everett about it.
"He doesn't seem like the same boy at all," she said sadly, after explaining. "I can't imagine what has caused the change in him."
Everett remembered Shellington's face as it had bent over Fledra, and smiled slightly.
"Have you ever thought lately that he might be in love?"
"In love!" gasped Ann. "No, I know that he isn't; for it was only at the time of the Dryden Fair that he told me he cared for no one."
"He might have changed since then," Everett said quizzically.
"But he hasn't met anyone lately," argued Ann. "I know it isn't Katherine; for—for he told me so."
"I know someone he met at the fair."
Ann, startled, glanced up.
"Who? Do tell me, Everett! Don't stand there and smile so provokingly. If you could only understand how I have worried over him!"
Brimbecomb put on a grave face.
"Haven't you a very pretty girl in the house who is constantly under his eye?"
Still Ann did not betray understanding.
"Don't you think," asked Everett slowly, "that he might have fallen in love with—this little Fledra?"
An angry sparkle gleamed in Ann's eyes.
"Don't be stupid, Everett. Why, she's only a child. It would be awful! Horace has some sense of the fitness of things."
Everett thought of the evening he himself had succumbed to a desire to kiss Flea.
"No man has that," he smiled, "when he is attracted toward a pretty woman."
"But she isn't even grown up."
How little one woman understands another! In hiseyes Fledra had matured; for his masculinity had sought and found the natural opposite forces of her sex. These thoughts he modified and voiced.
"Not quite from your standpoint, Ann; but possibly from Horace's."
Pale and distressed, Ann got to her feet.
"Then—then, of course, she must go," she said with decision. "I can't have him unhappy, and—Why, such a thing could—never be!"
She could scarcely wait for Everett to depart; but suppressed her anxiety and delicately turned the subject out of deference to Horace. She listened inattentively as Brimbecomb explained some new cases that he was soon to bring to court, and kissed him when he bade her goodnight. Then, with beating heart, she sought her brother.
Unsmilingly, Horace asked her to be seated. His face was so stern that she dared not at once speak of the fears Brimbecomb had raised in her mind; but at last she said:
"Horace, I've been thinking since our last talk about the children—" His sharp turn in the desk-chair interrupted her words; but she paused only a moment before going on resolutely. "Don't you think that I might put Floyd in a good private hospital where he would be taken care of, and Fledra—"
His face turned ashen. Her fears were strengthened, and, although her conscience stung her, she continued, "Fledra's getting along so well that I would be willing to put her in a boarding school."
"Are you tired of them, Ann?"
"Oh, no—no, far from that! I love them both; but I thought it might be pleasanter for you, if we had our home to ourselves again."
Horace looked at his sister intently.
"Are you keeping something back from me, Ann?" he demanded.
"Scarcely keeping anything from you, Dear; but I want you to be happy and not to—" Horace rose in agitation, and quick tears blurred Ann's sight.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Dearest?" she concluded.
"No!"
Reluctantly she left him, troubled and perplexed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lem Crabbe had cunningly planned to keep Scraggy under his eye and follow her to the hiding place of their son. He realized that the lad was a man now; but so much the better. He would obtain money from him, or he would bring him back to the scow and make him a partner in his trade. In spite of his wickedness, Lem had a strong longing for a sight of his child. Many times he had meditated upon the days Scraggy had lived in the barge, and, although he had no remorse for his cruelty to her, he had regretted the death of his boy. To be with him, he would have to tolerate the presence of Scraggy for awhile. He felt sure that Flea had gone from him forever, and the loneliness of his home made him shiver as he entered it a few nights after his conversation with Scraggy.
He had been in the boat but a few moments when he heard Lon's whistle and called the squatter in.
"I thought we'd make them plans for Tarrytown," Cronk said presently. "We might as well get to work as to be lazin' about. Don't ye think so?"
"Well, I were a thinkin' of stayin' here for awhile," stuttered Lem.
"What for?"
"Nothin' perticular."
"Ye know where that rich duffer's house be what ye heard Middy Burnes speak about?"
"Yep. It ain't far from the graveyard. I thought as how we could crawl in there while we was waitin' for night."
A strange look passed across Lon's face.
"Ye mean to hide in the cemetray?" he asked.
"Yep. Be ye afeared?"
"I ain't got no likin' for dead folks," muttered Cronk.
He added nothing to this statement; but said after a moment's silence:
"Scraggy ought to go dead herself some of these days, 'cause she's allers a runnin' about in the storms. I see her ag'in tonight a startin' out for another ja'nt. She had her bundle and her cat and was makin' a bee line for Ithaca."
Lem glanced up quickly.
"I've changed my mind, Lon," he grunted. "I'll go to Tarrytown any day yer ready."
Accordingly, they took a week to prepare their burglar's kit, which they had not used for sometime, and ten days after the slipping away of Screech Owl, Lon Cronk and Lem Crabbe left the squatter settlement and made their way to Tarrytown.
The once happy household of the Shellingtons had turned into a gloomy abode. Ann was nonplused at the strange behavior of her brother and the unusual reserve of Flea. Floyd from his bedroom endeavored to bring the home to its former cheerfulness; but, with all Ann's energies and the boy's tireless tact, the change did not come. At length Miss Shellington gave up trying to bring things to their usual routine. She spent her day hours in helping Fledra with her school studies and giving Floyd simple lessons at home. Everett came every evening, taking Ann from the sickroom. This left Fledra free to study quietly beside her brother.
One Thursday, after dinner, Horace went by invitation to Brimbecomb's home to play billiards. Of late the young men had not passed much of their time together; for business and the presence of Fledra and Floyd in hishouse had given Horace less time for recreation. After a silent game they sat down to smoke. For many minutes they puffed without speaking. Everett finally opened the conversation.
"It seems more like old times to be here together again."
"Yes, I've missed our bouts, Everett."
"You've been exasperatingly conservative with your time lately!" complained Everett. "A fellow can't get sight of you unless your nose is poked in a book or you're in court!"
Horace laughed.
"Really, I've been awfully busy since—"
"Since the coming of your wonderful charges!" finished Brimbecomb.
Horace scented a sneer. His ears grew hot with anger.
"Ann has done more than I," he explained; "although there is nothing I would not do."
"I can't understand it at all, old man! Pardon me if I seem dense, but it's almost an unheard-of thing for a fellow in your and Ann's positions to fill your home with—beggars." His voice was low, with an inquiring touch in it. Having gained no satisfaction from Miss Shellington, he was seeking information from Horace.
"We don't think of either one of them as beggars," interjected Horace. "Both Ann and I have grown very fond of them."
In former days the two young men had been on terms of intimacy. Everett presumed now upon that friendship by speaking plainly:
"Are you going to keep them much longer?" he asked.
Horace allowed his lids to droop slowly, and looked meditatively at the end of his cigarette without replying.
"I have a reason for asking," Everett added.
"And may I ask your reason?"
"Yes, I suppose so. The fact is, I'm rather interested in them myself. I thought—"
Horace lifted his eyes, and the man opposite noted that they had grown darker, that they sparkled angrily. Everett was desirous of satisfying himself whether Horace did, or did not, care for the young girl he was sheltering.
"They don't need your interest so far as a home is concerned," Horace said at last.
Everett's face darkened as he mused:
"They're lowly born, and such people were made for our servants, and not our equals. If the women are pretty, they might act as playthings."
Horace turned his eyes toward the speaker wrathfully. He wondered if he had understood correctly what was implied by the other's words.
"What did you say, Brimbecomb?"
Everett drew his left leg over his right knee deliberately.
"I think the girl pretty enough to make a capital toy for an hour," said he.
Disbelief flooded Shellington's face.
"You're joking! You're making a jest of a sacred thing, Brimbecomb!"
Everett recalled former principles of the boy Horace, and a smile flickered on his lips.
"I can't concede that," said he. "I think with a great man of whom I read once. Deal honestly with men in business, was his maxim, keep a clean record with your fellow citizens; but, as far as strange women are concerned, treat them as you wish. It's a man's privilege to—to lie to them, in fact."
Without looking up, Horace broke in:
"Ann has an excellent outlook for happiness, hasn't she?"
"We weren't talking about Ann," snapped Everett. "I was especially thinking of the girl in your home, whobelongs leagues beneath where you have placed her. I won't have her there! I think my position is such that I can make certain demands on the family of the woman I'm going to marry."
"To the devil with your position! I wouldn't give a damn for it, and I'll take up your first question, Brimbecomb. You asked me how long I intended to keep those children. This is my answer! As long as they will stay, and longer if I can make them!" His voice rang vibrant with passion. "Don't let your position interfere with what I am doing; for, if you do, Ann, friendship, or anything won't deter me from—"
Brimbecomb rose to his feet and faced the other.
"Threats are not in order," said he.
His deliberate speech made Horace turn upon him.
"I, too, intend to marry!" was his answer. "I intend to marry—Fledra Cronk!"
Brimbecomb ejaculated in anger.
"If you will be a fool," said he, "it's time your friends took a hand in your affairs. I think Governor Vandecar will have something to say about that!"
"No more than you have," warned Horace. "The only regret I have is that Ann has chosen you for her husband. I'm wondering what she would say if I repeated tonight's conversation to her—as to a man lying to a woman."
"She wouldn't believe you," replied Everett.
"And you would deny that you so believed?"
"Yes. I told you it was my right to lie to a woman."
"Then, by God! you're a greater dog than I thought you! Let me get out of here before I smash your face!"
Everett's haughty countenance flamed red; but he stepped aside, and Horace, shaking with rage, left the house.
"I think I've given him something to think about,"muttered Everett. "He won't be surprised by anything I do now, and I've protected myself with Ann against him, too."
It was only when alone with Everett that Ann felt completely at her ease. Then she threw aside the shadow that many times dismayed her and looked forward to her wedding day, which was to come in May. This evening she was sitting with her betrothed under the glow of a red chandelier.
"You know, Ann, I haven't given up the idea of finding my own family," said Brimbecomb presently. "The more I work at law, the more I believe I shall find a way to unearth them. I told Mr. and Mrs. Brimbecomb that I intended to spend part of my next year looking for them. Mrs. Brimbecomb said she didn't know the name under which I was born. I'm convinced that I shall find them."
"I hope you do, Dear."
"You don't blame me, do you, Ann, for wanting to know to whom I'm indebted for life?"
"No," answered Ann slowly; "although it might not make you any happier. That is what I most wish for you, Dearest—complete happiness."
Everett lifted her delicate fingers and kissed them.
"I shall have that when you are my wife," he said smoothly.
Later he asked, "Did you speak with Horace of the matter that worried you, Ann?"
Miss Shellington sighed.
"Not in a personal way," she replied; "but I really think there is more than either you or I know. Fledra never puts herself in Horace's way any more; in fact, they have both changed very much."
"Possibly he has told her that he cares for her, and she has—"
Ann shifted from him uneasily. "If Horace loves her, and has told her so, she could not help but love him in return. She is really growing thin with hard work, poor baby!"
"Does she love Horace?" sounded Everett.
"I can't tell, although I have watched her very closely."
A strange grip caught Everett's heart. He could not think of the small, dark girl without a pang of emotion. He had made no effort to see Fledra; yet he was constantly wishing that chance would throw her in his path. Later, he intended in some way to bring about another interview. He dared not write her a letter, although he had gone so far as to begin one to her, but in disgust at himself had torn it up. The fact that Horace was unhappy pleased him, now that they had become antagonistic.
The mystery clinging to Fledra haloed her for Everett beyond the point of interest.
"Ann," he said suddenly, "you haven't told me much about those children—I mean of their past lives."
"We know so little," she replied reservedly.
"But more than you have told me. Have they parents living?"
"A father, I think," murmured Ann.
"And no mother?"
"No."
"Do you know where their father is?"
"He lives near Ithaca, so we're told." After a silence she continued, "We want them to forget—to forget, ourselves, all about their former lives. I asked Horace if he wanted to place them in schools; but he didn't want them to go away. As long as they are as good as they have been, they're welcome to stay. Poor little things, they're nothing more than babies, not yet sixteen!"
"The girl looks older," commented Everett.
"That's because she's suffered more than most girlsdo. I'm afraid it'll be a long time before Floyd is completely well."
The conversation then drifted to that happy spring day when they would be married.