CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
To usher Everett into her home with the same fond heart as hitherto was more than Ann could do. Dearly as she loved him, much as she desired to be his wife, it was hard to pardon him for casting aside her interests for those of the dark-browed squatter. But, womanlike, she felt that she could break down her lover's determination, and resolved that she would not hesitate to open argument with him.
Everett met her with a smile, and her lips trembled as they received his warm kiss. After they were seated he said:
"Horace has told you, no doubt, Ann, of the children's case." She nodded her head sorrowfully. "Your brother seems to feel," went on Everett, "that I should not have taken charge of it."
"Neither should you have done so, Everett, unless you've other motives than we know of."
She looked up; but lowered her eyes as Brimbecomb glanced at her furtively. Had Fledra told her of his advances? No, or she would never have received his kisses. His fears were quieted by this thought, and he asked gently:
"What motives could I have other than that justice should be done the father? I took the case, first, because it came to me; then, because I think the man ought to have his children."
Miss Shellington's face darkened.
"Oh, Everett, you can't be so hard-hearted as to wantthose poor little things misused! They have been persecuted by their own people, and you certainly have more heart than to want that to happen again."
"It's not a case of feeling; it's a case of justice. I know how this man has struggled all his life to rear this boy and girl. They've had no mother, and then, as soon as they were old enough and had the chance, they ran away."
"Because he was cruel to them!"
"I don't believe it. I've had something to do with men, and I'm assured that he told me the truth. I believe, as he says, that they excused their leaving home by brazen lies. Have you never caught them lying to you, Ann?"
"No, no! They've always been truthful to me."
"And to Horace?"
"I haven't asked him. But, if they hadn't been, I am sure he would have spoken of it. Everett, let me plead with you. They have been with us a long time, and Horace and I have grown used to them. They need our care more than I can tell you. The boy is still very ill. Won't you let my love for you plead for them, and withdraw from the case? Do, Dear, and let me call Horace. Will you, Everett? He's so sad over it! Oh! may I call him?" She had risen from her chair; but a negative shake of the man's head made her resume her place again, and she continued, "It will be a dreadful thing for them, if they have to go back. Now, listen, Everett! If you will withdraw and let Horace settle it with that man, our arrangements," her face was dyed crimson,—"I mean your plans and mine for our wedding, shall remain as they are. Otherwise—"
"Otherwise, what?" breathed Everett, bending toward her.
"I—I shall have to postpone them." Her voice hadstrengthened as she spoke, and the last statement was clear and ringing.
"Oh, you couldn't, Ann! Because I take a perfectly legitimate case, which comes into our office, you propose to postpone our marriage?"
"But, Everett, think of what you are doing! It is as if you had taken my brother by the throat. You were the first one to suggest that he might love the girl. What if he does?"
"We will not talk of Horace, please." Everett turned from her as he spoke. "You and I are the parties interested. If you will aid me, and you should, seeing that you love me, your brother need not be considered."
Ann rose, shuddering.
"You do not mean, Everett, that you wish to gain my consent that Fledra and Floyd should go back to Ithaca?"
Brimbecomb also rose.
"Fledra and Floyd!" he mimicked smilingly. "What a farce it all is! And how foolish to give them such names! I should think the governor and his wife would feel complimented that those kids were called for them! They are but paupers, after all!"
"Everett," stammered Ann, "am I just beginning to know you? Oh, you can't mean it! You're but jesting with me, aren't you, Dear?" Her love for him impelled her forward, and her slender hands fell upon his shoulders. He slipped them off, and gathered her fingers into his.
"Ann," he said earnestly, "I'm not jesting, and I ask you, by your love for me, to aid me in this, the first thing of importance I have ever asked you."
Miss Shellington drew reluctantly away.
"I can't, I can't! My very soul revolts at the idea." Then, gaining strength of voice, the girl, marble-white, exclaimed, "If you're not jesting, and are still determined to follow out your plans," she caught her breath in asob and whispered, "then, like my brother, I shall have to ask you to leave, please."
A frown darkened Everett's face, followed by an expression of ridicule.
"Is this your love for me? You would let two strange squatter children come between us? Am I to understand it so?"
"You may understand this: that, after knowing that their father is wicked, that he would have sacrificed his daughter to a vile man, without marriage to lessen her suffering, after knowing that he tried to make a thief of his noble-hearted boy,—I say, after knowing all this, if you can still insist upon helping him, then I would not dare—to trust—my life with you!"
Everett's rage blotted out all remembrance of how he left the house; but there was a vivid picture in his mind of a woman, pale and lovely, opening the door and dismissing him coldly. He remembered also that she had shut the door as if it were never to be opened again to him. His only consolation was that before long he would be able to face Fledra Cronk and prove his power to her. With this thought came the satisfaction of knowing that he would be able to wring Horace Shellington's heart.
After closing the door upon her lover, Ann stood breathless. The light had suddenly gone from her sun—the whole living world seemed plunged into darkness. Everett was gone, gone from her possibly forever. His face had expressed a determination that proved he would not change his mind. Why had he reasoned himself into thinking that justice could be served in the squatter's cause? Everett must have a motive. Her judgment told her to accuse the man she loved; her heart demanded that she excuse him. For one instant her generous spirit balanced the squatter children's welfare and her own future. Shehad promised to protect Fledra and Floyd, promised them and Horace. Only a broken prayer escaped her lips as she turned and walked quickly down the hall. She did not wait to knock, but twisted the door-handle convulsively, and appeared before her brother without a plea for pardon for her unannounced entrance.
"He's gone forever!" she said brokenly. "Oh, oh, I can't—"
She swayed forward, and suddenly a merciful oblivion rested her turbulent spirit, during which her agonized brother worked, hoping and praying that she might soon know how he pitied and loved her.
At length, when she opened her eyes and gazed at him, Ann murmured under her breath, with a world of pleading:
"Don't speak of him—don't! Dear heart, I can't—I can't bear it!"
It was not until long afterward that Horace Shellington heard of the scene through which she had passed.
Everett Brimbecomb's card admitted him to the governor's home. Mrs. Vandecar welcomed him with outstretched hands.
"Strange, Everett," said she, "but I was thinking only this afternoon that I should ask you to dinner. I feel ashamed that I haven't before; but I've been such an invalid for a long time! You must be lonely, now that your father and mother are gone."
"I've been busy."
The other laughed understandingly.
"Ah! I had forgotten that a young engaged man has but few free evenings on his hands."
To this Everett did not reply.
"How is dear Ann?" asked Mrs. Vandecar.
"I left her quite well; but not in the best of spirits.In fact, dear little lady," and he bent over the white hand he held, "I've come to ask a favor of you."
"Is it anything about Ann? I can't have matters disarranged between you two. I've always said you were an ideal couple."
"Thank you," murmured Everett.
Her frank words somewhat shattered his courage; for he knew her to be kind-hearted. He did not expect to have her make any impression upon the Shellington brother and sister; but wished her assistance as far as her husband was concerned.
He kept his gaze so long upon the floor that Mrs. Vandecar spoke:
"I'm glad you came to me, Everett."
"Yes, I'm glad, too, and I need your help just now. The fact is, Ann and I have had words over a case I have taken charge of in the office."
"How very strange!" exclaimed the woman, mystified.
"It's no more strange to you than to me," went on Everett, after they were seated. "First, Horace and I quarreled, and then, thinking Ann would uphold me in my work, I went to her; getting about the same reception I had received from him."
"I should never have believed it of either of them," faltered Mrs. Vandecar. "But do tell me about it."
"Horace and Ann, as you know, have a boy and a girl in their charge."
The governor's wife sat up interestedly.
"I have heard of them," said she; "but have never seen them. I asked Ann over the telephone one day this week, if I sent Katherine for the girl, would she allow her to come and spend an afternoon with Mildred. But she said that—"
"Fledra, they call her," interrupted Brimbecomb, with a keen glance at his companion.
"Yes, so I've heard. Ann said that this Fledra was not going out at all."
"Do you know why?"
"Why, I supposed that it was because their father had asked for them and they feared some foul play."
"Foul play!" cried Brimbecomb. "Why, Mrs. Vandecar, don't you think that a father ought to have his own children?" Everett's eyes pierced her gaze until it dropped.
"Not if he is bad," murmured she, "and I heard he was brutal to them."
"It is not so; of that I am sure. That is the matter I have come about. I have accepted the father's case."
"Oh, Everett, was this necessary for you to do, as long as you know Ann's heart is set upon keeping them?"
Everett twisted nervously.
"She has no right to have her heart set upon them. Now, here is what I want you to do. Ann is wearing away her health with these scrubs of humanity, for which she won't even receive gratitude, and Horace looks like a June shad. The boy has been sick constantly since he's been there. If there were no hospitals in the town, it might be different. I must make a move to separate the girl I love from the burden she can't bear."
Everett averted his face. Until that moment this excuse had not come into his mind. If Mrs. Vandecar had any affection at all for Ann, the thought that the girl was making herself ill would tempt her to interfere.
"Everett, does Ann know why you want to take them away from her?"
"Of course not; I couldn't tell her that, nor Horace, either. They would have promptly told me to attend to my own affairs; but I could come to you."
"I'm so glad—I'm so glad you did! And poor Ann,I wish she would allow her friends to help her! She's such a darling in her charitable work, though, isn't she?"
"I don't agree with you," dissented Everett.
"But you must admit, boy, that a girl who will make a hospital of her home, who will wear out her strength for two little strangers, has the heart of Christ in her."
"I admit her goodness," said Everett slowly, "or I should not want her for my wife. But you can't blame me when I say that I desire her to be herself again."
Mrs. Vandecar rose.
"Well, come in to dinner, and we can still talk. Mildred has gone to her father in Albany with Katherine for a day or two, and I'm alone."
When they were seated, Everett pressed his plea again.
"I don't think Ann would have been so stubborn in the matter, if Horace had not insisted upon it. And I know that you will be surprised to hear that he is in love with the girl, a little pauper who uses bad English and swears like a pirate."
Fledra Vandecar dropped her fork and started back from the table.
"Everett, has Horace lost his mind, or what is it? What can there be in two children—for they are very young—to have such a hold upon a man like Horace and a woman like Ann?"
"I have asked myself that a dozen times, and more," commented Everett. "But now you understand why I want to do something to relieve these misguided young people—to say nothing of my love for Ann?"
"I do understand," replied Mrs. Vandecar, "and I can't blame you. But, really, I don't see what I can do, without incurring the enmity of both of my friends."
"Your husband," breathed Everett.
"Is pledged to Horace in this very matter, and, ofcourse, I couldn't take a stand against him. Everett, why don't you drop the case and let time take its course? I fear that you're going the wrong way."
Brimbecomb bit his lip. He might have known that Horace would apply to the governor; but he had hoped to steal a march upon him and to keep the state's official from aiding him. But Everett also knew what an influence Mrs. Vandecar had over her husband, and now rejoined:
"I have gone too far with it; and, what's more, if I have to bear the brunt of the thing alone, I'll free Ann from a presence that has completely changed her! Have you seen her lately?"
Mrs. Vandecar shook her head.
"I haven't," she admitted slowly. "I haven't been well enough to go out, and she hasn't been here. I have heard from her only now and then on the 'phone. Poor child! I must try to get over there tomorrow."
Next day Ann met Mrs. Vandecar with open arms.
"Oh, Fledra," said she, "I've longed for you so many days! I do appreciate your coming!"
"I knew you would, Ann. You are the first acquaintance I have called on in weeks. But, honey girl, you don't look well."
Ann's eyes filled with tears. Fledra Vandecar was one of the many bright rays of sunshine in her past life, when she had been happy and contented, when Everett had been her lover, and Horace at ease. Now her life was all chaos. Misery, fright, and a troubled heart were her constant companions.
Mrs. Vandecar leaned over and gently brushed back a lock of hair from the girl's brow.
"Ann, dear, can't you tell me what is the matter?"
"There's so very much, it would weary you."
"Indeed, no! Mayn't I stay with you just a little while?"
Ann checked back her emotion and rose.
"Pardon, Dear; I didn't dream that you could."
"Of course I can. Mildred is in Albany. How happy I should be if I could help you!"
"Time only will do that, Fledra. It will take many weeks before Horace and I are running in our old home gait. But I love to have you here, especially as Horace has gone out for a long drive. He will be away all the afternoon."
"That's too bad," interjected Mrs. Vandecar. "I hoped to see him. And, Ann, I want also to see those children."
"The girl is riding with Horace today—she gets out so little, and Brother insisted upon taking her. The boy is still very ill."
"Is he too ill for me to see him?"
Ann hesitated.
"Well, his heart is affected, and anything unusual throws him into a new spell. We keep all trouble from him."
Mrs. Vandecar touched her friend gently.
"And you've had enough of his to bear, poor Ann!"
"We don't consider it a trouble to do anything for those we love. I wonder if you would like to peep at him—making no noise, remember! He is sleeping under a drug. Come, Dear, and I'll look at him first."
The governor's wife followed Ann to Floyd's door, and waited until a beckoning finger called her in. She entered the darkened chamber, and paused a moment to get her bearings. Miss Shellington was near the bed, her eyes calling.
"He's sound asleep," she whispered.
With his head thrown back a little, Floyd's face was turned toward the wall. His profile and thick black curls were sharply distinct upon the white pillow-slip. His broad brow was covered with beads of perspiration, and the lips were muttering incoherent words. Mrs. Vandecar leaned far over the bed, and peered into his face. Something so touched her in the thin, sunken cheeks, in the drawn mouth, whispering in an unnatural sleep, that she drew back weeping. Suddenly words formed on the sleeper's lips:
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild," fell from them, "look upon—look upon—" Then the whisper trailed once more into incoherence.
Fledra Vandecar clutched at Ann's sleeve.
"He's praying, Ann! He's praying!" Miss Shellington bowed her head in assent. "Poor baby, poor little dear!" Mrs. Vandecar's voice was louder than before.
"Hush, hush!" breathed Ann. "Come away. He's so very ill!"
"Pity—pity my simplicity," murmured Floyd again, "and Lord prepare my soul a—place!"
Mrs. Vandecar straightened and flashed the rigid girl at her side an appealing glance. Ann touched her again, and the two women passed from the room, weeping.
"How very beautiful he is!" stammered Mrs. Vandecar. "Oh, Ann, dear, can't you do something for him? Can't I? Why haven't I tried before? You won't be offended, will you, Ann, when I say that until this moment I have never approved of your having him? But I've seldom seen such a face, and he was—he was praying, poor baby! Poor, little tormented boy! I wish that he had been awake, or that his sister were here—I want to see her, too."
"Yes, you should see her. She is very sweet," replied Ann so gravely that Mrs. Vandecar wept again.
Very soon she made ready for home, with no hint of the conversation she had had with Everett, and no word of advice to Ann about giving up her charges.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A letter went that night from Fledra Vandecar to her husband in Albany. It was written after the woman had paced her room for several hours in inexplicable disquietude and unrest. Puzzled, the governor read:
"Dearest.—"I went today to see Ann Shellington, with my mind fully made up to speak to her about the boy and girl who have been with her for these last few months. Everett was here to dinner last night with me, and confided in me his trouble with Horace, which has finally culminated in a breach with Ann. It seems the difficulty arose over the case of the squatter from Ithaca who has demanded his children."Everett has taken the man's side, and until I called upon Ann I felt quite in sympathy with him. And still I cannot tell you, dearest Floyd, what changed my mind, unless it was the sight of that sick boy. He was sleeping when I went in, and was muttering over a babyish prayer, which quite touched me. I had no opportunity to talk with him, nor the girl either. She was riding with Horace, and Everett tells me that he (Horace) is quite infatuated with the child."I'm going to ask you, Floyd darling, to help Horace all you can, and if Everett comes to see you, as he said he was going to, I want you to know that it is my wish that you should keep to your policy with Ann and her brother. I cannot tell why I am writing you this, only that my heart aches for that boy, and that for years I have never felt so impelled to help a human being as I have him."I thought Everett might tell you that I was won to his way of thinking by his pleading how he wanted to remove Ann from contact with the boy and girl; so I hasten to writeyou. Kiss my precious Mildred for her mother, and, Floyd, dear, see to it that she doesn't stay up too late; for she is not strong. I cautioned Katherine about it; but I'm afraid she might yield to the child's entreaties."With fondest love to you, my darling, and to my baby and Katherine, I am,"Your own loving wife,"Fledra."
"Dearest.—
"I went today to see Ann Shellington, with my mind fully made up to speak to her about the boy and girl who have been with her for these last few months. Everett was here to dinner last night with me, and confided in me his trouble with Horace, which has finally culminated in a breach with Ann. It seems the difficulty arose over the case of the squatter from Ithaca who has demanded his children.
"Everett has taken the man's side, and until I called upon Ann I felt quite in sympathy with him. And still I cannot tell you, dearest Floyd, what changed my mind, unless it was the sight of that sick boy. He was sleeping when I went in, and was muttering over a babyish prayer, which quite touched me. I had no opportunity to talk with him, nor the girl either. She was riding with Horace, and Everett tells me that he (Horace) is quite infatuated with the child.
"I'm going to ask you, Floyd darling, to help Horace all you can, and if Everett comes to see you, as he said he was going to, I want you to know that it is my wish that you should keep to your policy with Ann and her brother. I cannot tell why I am writing you this, only that my heart aches for that boy, and that for years I have never felt so impelled to help a human being as I have him.
"I thought Everett might tell you that I was won to his way of thinking by his pleading how he wanted to remove Ann from contact with the boy and girl; so I hasten to writeyou. Kiss my precious Mildred for her mother, and, Floyd, dear, see to it that she doesn't stay up too late; for she is not strong. I cautioned Katherine about it; but I'm afraid she might yield to the child's entreaties.
"With fondest love to you, my darling, and to my baby and Katherine, I am,
"Your own loving wife,"Fledra."
The governor read and reread the letter, especially the part in which his wife implored him to aid Horace Shellington. He laid it down with a sigh. He well knew that Fledra's heart was tender toward all little ones since the disappearance of her own. All hope that he would ever see his twin children had left him years before, and now, for some moments, with his hand on the envelop, his mind wandered into hidden places, where he saw a boy and a girl growing to manhood and womanhood, and he groaned deeply.
Later, when Everett Brimbecomb was ushered into his office at the capital, the governor was primed with the sympathy that he had gathered from his wife's letter.
"This is something of a surprise, my dear boy," he said. "I did not know you were coming to Albany so soon."
"I came with a purpose," replied Everett; "for, as you know, my father is away, and I need your advice in something."
Vandecar waited for his visitor to proceed.
"Do you see any reason," Everett stammered, "why two young lawyers should not be friends, even if they have to take opposite sides in a lawsuit?"
"No," replied the governor slowly.
"Then I'll lay the whole thing before you, and let you tell me what you think of it."
"Have a cigar while we talk," broke in Vandecar, offering Everett his case.
In silence they began to smoke, and both remained quiet until the governor said:
"Now, explain it to me, please."
Everett began the story of the children's running away, as the squatter had told it to him, and of their coming to Horace. He did not forget to add that he believed Shellington had lied to him the night he came into the dining-room and discovered Fledra and Floyd with the two little animals. When a shade passed over the governor's face, Everett quickly noted that he had made a mistake in the drawing of conclusions.
"Don't be too hasty, Everett," cautioned Vandecar, shaking an ash deliberately from his cigar. "Horace is the soul of truth. If he did not tell it to you, he had good reasons."
Brimbecomb frowned. He could have bitten his tongue out for making that misstep.
"That's so," he admitted. "But, ever since last September, Horace, and I might say Ann, too, have drawn more and more away from me. For my part, I see no good that can come of their relations with squatters."
"It was the most charitable act I have ever heard of," replied Vandecar. "But you are straying from the case. Do I understand that you have taken up the side of the father?"
"Yes."
"And that you intend to make a move to return his children to him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
As Everett looked at the stern, unyielding man before him, his excuse to Mrs. Vandecar seemed tame as it ran through his mind. The governor's eyes were scanninghim critically, almost dazzling him with their steely gray. An expression in the steady gaze made him tremble; but he took heart as he thought of the friendship between the governor and his foster father.
"It's hardly fair to ask me why I took the case, which came to me in a legitimate manner," said he. "I can see no reason why the man, although poor, should not have his own children. Do you?"
It was a pointed question, and Vandecar waived it by saying:
"There are always circumstances surrounding these things, such as when parents are cruel to their children, which might make it advisable, almost imperative, to take the youngsters away and put them with reputable people. I think Horace is of the impression that this is true in the present case."
"Then is one man's opinion to be taken? Do you advise that?"
"No; but I do not yet understand why you should be interested against your friends. I should think that, rather than disagree with them, you would wish to have nothing to do with it."
Everett would have to use Ann again to convince the governor of his right to act. It had been far easier to explain his interest in Cronk to Mrs. Vandecar than to this quiet, powerful man opposite. The brown-flecked gray eyes looked unusually sober and truth-demanding.
"I won't have them any longer with Ann than I can help," Everett broke forth suddenly. "She is killing herself over them. Have you ever seen them, Mr. Vandecar?"
"No."
"If you had, then you would agree with me. The fact is, your wife thinks the way I do, but would not help me because you were pledged to Horace. Your influence overhim is great, and I should like to keep this out of court, if possible. Mrs. Vandecar was rather exercised over Ann."
With a deliberation that baffled Everett, the governor put down his cigar and drew a letter from his pocket. He opened it in silence and glanced at it, while Everett stared uneasily at this unusual proceeding. Presently the governor looked up casually.
"You say that my wife is exercised over Ann?"
"So she told me. She—-"
"Well, just at this time," interjected Vandecar, "Mrs. Vandecar is very much in sympathy with the boy. She has seen him, since talking with you." Everett stood up abruptly. "She has changed her mind; so her letter tells me, Brimbecomb," went on the elder man, "and, as I am working with Horace, and this thing touches him so deeply, I shall have to ask you not to come to me for advice or help. You understand," and the governor rose also, "that, while I have a deep feeling of interest in you and your work, I must say that I think it would be better taste for you to withdraw while you can. It will be unpleasant all around, and, as your father is away, it is rather dangerous to connect your office with low people."
Everett went forth from the interview discomfited, but none the less firm in his evil purpose. Only a few days later, when Lem Crabbe's scow was slowly making its way from Ithaca to Tarrytown,habeas corpuspapers were served upon Horace Shellington to produce the twins in court and to give reasons why they should not be given to their father.
Horace held a consultation with Ann, and it was decided that they should appeal to the court for time, procuring a doctor's certificate to prove that Floyd was too ill even to know of the proceedings. This having been done, itplaced an unlooked-for stay upon Everett Brimbecomb; but he secured a court order instructing the sheriff to guard the children at the Shellington home until the boy was well enough to be taken out. So, a deputy was stationed in the house.
In the meantime Lon watched eagerly for the coming of Lem. When at last he espied the scow fastened in its accustomed place, he went down to carry the news to the owner. After explaining the matter as far as it had gone, he ventured:
"Lem, be ye carin' for Flea yet?"
"Why?" demanded Lem suspiciously.
"'Cause we can make some money outen her, if ye gives up yer claim on her."
"Ye mean to sell her?"
Lem's words sounded hoarse as he wheezed them out.
"'Tain't sellin' her," explained Lon. "A whollopin' good-lookin' feller wants her, and he says he'll buy yer off and give me money fer her. Will ye do it, Lem?"
"Nope, I won't! I want her myself. I been waiting long 'nough fer her."
"But wouldn't ye ruther have a pocketful of money? I would, I bet ye!"
"Lon, be ye goin' to do me dirt?" asked Lem darkly.
Lon straightened his shoulders.
"Nope, I told him ye had to be buyed off, afore I could say nothin'. But I thought ye liked money, Lem."
"So I do; but I like Flea better. I helped ye get 'em when they were babies, Lon, and ye said—"
Cronk flung out his arms.
"I said as how ye wasn't to mention aloud, even to me, that the kids wasn't mine. Ye has Flea, if ye say so, and I'll tell the lawyer—"
"Be it that good-lookin' feller what ye give the fiftydollars to what wants Flea?" Cronk nodded. "I thought ye wouldn't let me marry her," Lem cried, "and now ye be goin'—"
Lon interrupted the scowman fiercely:
"Nuther is he goin' to marry her—ye can bet on that! No kid of Vandecar's gets a boost up from me—a boost down, more like!"
"I'll kill the feller if he touches her," growled Lem, "and ye can make up yer mind to that, Lon!"
Lon Cronk shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"Take her if ye want her, Lem. I won't put no straw in yer way. But I never could see what ye wanted her fer. She's a big mouth to feed, let me tell ye!"
For some moments the two men sat in the darkening scow and smoked in silence. Suddenly Lem looked up.
"We couldn't get ahead of the nasty scamp, could we, Lon? I mean, could we git the money, and then keep the gal?"
"I don't want her," growled Lon; "she couldn't stay with me no more."
"We oughter make him pay the money, though," Lem insisted.
"Then, if ye has Flea, Lem," said Lon, looking keenly at the scowman, "and ye git yer share of money, ye has to share up yer half with me. See?"
"Yep," muttered Lem. "Will ye bring the feller down here some day, and we'll talk it over?"
Lon acquiesced by a nod of his head, saying only, "Come on out, and let's get a drink."
"When's he goin' to git 'em—Flea and Flukey, I mean?"
"I dunno. The boy's too sick to come to court. He's liable to die any minute."
Lem started forward at the unexpected word.
"If he croaks, be ye goin' to leave Flea there?"
"Not by a damn sight! We'll git her, and I don't care if the boy goes dead afore mornin'. I only want him to suffer, and die if he wants to. And, Lem," Lon smiled evilly, and, looking into the swart face of his pal, said, "and I guess ye can make the gal come to yer likin'."
Lem's throat worked visibly, his face reddened by the silent laughter that shook him.
"I only want the chance," he said. "Come on and let's git a drink."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Everett Brimbecomb had become impatient. He missed his evenings with Ann, and was tortured with the thought that Horace was with Fledra. Every day made his hatred for his former friend more deadly, more vindictive, and he not only desired to take the squatter girl away, but he felt impelled to separate Ann from her brother. He received a badly spelled note from Lon with a feeling of thanksgiving. Something had happened to make the squatter wish to see him. So, after dinner, he took the direction Lon had given, and reached the scow in a heavy rain. It was much more to his liking that the evening should be stormy; for no person of his own station in life would be apt to be abroad on such a night.
As he entered the living-room of the scow, Everett bowed frigidly to Lem Crabbe, and forgot to extend his hand to Lon.
"You sent for me," he said in a low tone, looking at the squatter.
"Yep. I knowed ye wanted to see Lem, and I thought as how ye'd ruther come here than have him come along to yer office. Ain't that right?"
"I believe I told you so," responded Everett coldly, as he took his place in a rickety chair.
"Ye said, didn't ye, Mister, that ye wanted the handlin' of Flea after we took her away from that meddlin' millionaire?"
"Yes."
"And I telled ye that ye had to make a bargain withLem, 'cause he had first right to her. What ye willin' to give?"
"How much money do you want to withdraw your claim from the girl?"
"I ain't thought 'bout no price," replied Lem covertly.
"Then think and listen to me. I have an idea in my mind that we can take the girl away from that house, if not tomorrow, at least in a few days."
Lem's eyes glistened, and Lon placed his clay pipe carefully upon the table.
"Lip it out, then, Mister," said the latter; "and, if me and Lem's agreein' with ye, then we'll help ye."
Everett moved uneasily in the creaking chair. He did not desire to dicker with these ruffians; but it was necessary, if he wished to carry out his plans concerning Fledra.
"The boy is likely to die any moment. The girl is the only one who can help you, Mr. Cronk." Everett had meaning in his voice, and his words made Lem swallow hard.
"I was a thinkin' that myself," ruminated Lon.
"The girl idolizes her brother and Mr. Shellington. If you could make her understand that they would otherwise both be killed through your instrumentality, she would leave the house of her own free will, I'm sure."
Lon, grimacing with delight, bounded up and faced Lem.
"That be so! That comes of gittin' a lawyer what's got stuff in his head, ye see, Lem. I told ye that when ye said as how we could get them kids without spendin' no money."
"You will have to use great care, both of you," Everett urged, "and it only means for you to take the girl, as you first planned, to Ithaca; and I will come after her. You will both have your money, and our business together will be at an end." Lem laughed, but with no sound. "Just how to get this girl is more than I have figuredout," Everett continued; "but it might be well for me to try and get a letter to her. I have been a steady visitor at Shellington's home for many years. We are hardly upon good terms now; but I could manage it, if one of you men would write it. Make the letter strong, and you will gain your ends. You may bring it to my office tomorrow, Mr. Cronk." He rose, buttoned up his raincoat, and went out, leaving two gaping men looking after him.
Since the papers had been served upon him, Horace had had no peace of mind. The solemn deputy loitering about the home menaced the whole future. It sickened him when he forced his imagination to dwell upon Fledra's future, if she were dragged back to Ithaca, and he had rather place Floyd in his grave than give him into the hands of the squatter. Suddenly, one morning, he took a great resolution, and no sooner had he made up his mind to take the one step that would change his whole life than he called Ann to tell her about it.
"I'm going to marry Fledra," he said, catching his breath.
Ann dropped her hands fearfully; but intense interest gathered on her face.
"I can save her no other way," he went on, almost in excuse, noting her glance. "And you must have seen, Ann, dear, that I love the child. Sit down here and let me tell you about it."
He began at the beginning, telling her of his early growing love, of his desire to make the squatter child his wife. Ann allowed him to narrate his story impulsively, without interruption.
Then she said gently:
"Horace, dear, have you told her that you love her?"
"Yes; but I am going to tell her again this morning."
"Ask her now," suggested Ann eagerly, and she rose.
Horace found Fledra with Floyd, and she lifted her eyes confidingly to his with a smile. For a long time he had been so tender, so loving, that the specter bred and fostered by Everett Brimbecomb's kisses had nearly vanished.
"Floyd is so much better this morning!" she said. Her words were well chosen, and she pronounced her brother's new name carefully.
Floyd held out his hand and raised himself slowly up.
"Look, Brother Horace!" he cried eagerly. "Look—just this morning I've been able to stand up! Sister Ann says in a few days I can walk."
Horace held the thin, white fingers in his for an instant.
"So you will, boy. It won't be long before you can get out."
The words startled Fledra. Not until the trouble of Lon's coming had she wished that Floyd might linger in the sickroom. The man outside, watching every movement in the house, frightened her. She knew that when her brother was well enough he and she would be called away for the court's decision as to their future.
"Floyd, will you spare your sister just a few moments? I want to talk with her."
"Course I will, Brother Horace. Scoot along, Fledra!"
"This way, child," whispered Horace. "I've something—oh, such a dear something!—to say to you."
They quietly passed the deputy, who only raised his eyes, smiled at Fledra, and dropped his gaze again to his paper. When Horace's door was closed, Horace took Fledra into his embrace and kissed her again and again. She loved the warmth of his arms, and the delight of his kisses caused her to rest unresisting until he chose to speak.
"Fledra, dear, will you marry me—immediately?"
His question brought her to rigidity.
"You mean—"
"I mean that all our troubles are going away."
Fledra drew slowly from him.
"How can our troubles go away?" she asked.
"By your consenting."
"I told you once, and more than once, that I couldn't tell you. Won't you ever understand?"
But Horace did not loosen his hold upon her. He drew the dark head against him tenderly.
"You misunderstood, Fledra. I am going to trust you in everything. I am going to put all my faith in you, and to save you and your brother from a fearful life. I must make you my wife!"
Fledra drew a long breath. All the stumbling petitions she had made to Heaven were answered by those few words. At last, to be Horace's wife, to save Flukey, and to protect Ann, who would now have back her lover! It seemed to the young girl, in this flashing moment of thought, that all the clouds of the last few months had floated over their heads and away.
"It will take a few days before I can arrange our marriage," explained Horace. "One reason for not arranging today is that I have to run down to New York for two or three days; and then, too, I must be careful not to let anyone know of our plans. I want you to talk with my sister. I have told her that I love you."
"Was she sorry?" whispered Fledra.
"No—very, very glad!"
"And can I tell Floyd?"
"Yes, just as soon as you like. I have an idea your happiness will go far to make him well."
For an hour Horace refused to let her leave him, and when Fledra did go back to the sick brother her face was radiant with happiness. Floyd was not prepared for the rush of words or the passionate appeal with which she met him.
Blinking his eyes, the boy waved his sister back.
"I can't make out what you're saying, Flea."
"I'm going to marry Brother Horace!" She stopped, and began again. "I'm going to marry Horace—oh, so soon, Fluke! And aren't you glad? And then they can't take us away!"
It was the first intimation Floyd had had of their danger. He rose up, standing upon his legs tremblingly.
"Has anybody been trying to take us away, Flea?"
Then Fledra realized what she had said, and hesitated in fear.
"I forgot, you weren't to know, Fluke. Will you wait till I call Brother Horace?... Fluke, don't be trembling like that! Sit down, Fluke!... Fluke!"
Floyd's face had paled, even to the tips of his ears. He realized now that danger had hung over the fair young sister and he had not known of it.
"It's Pappy Lon, and ye never told me, Flea, and that's why ye been so unhappy! He'll take ye away because yer his kid, and Brother Horace can't do anything."
"Yes, he can, Fluke—yes, he can! He loves me, and I love him, and he's going to marry me! Nobody can't take a wife away from her man!... Fluke, don't wabble like that! Brother Horace! Brother Horace!"
Fledra's voice reached the dreaming man, bending over his desk, and he bounded to answer her call. He found her supporting her brother, white and shivering, with eyes strained by fright.
"I told him," gasped Fledra looking up; "but I didn't mean to."
"Told him what?"
"Pappy Lon," muttered Floyd, "comin' for Flea!"
Horace caught the words in dismay.
He placed the suffering boy on the divan and bentclose. In low tones he said that the squatter in some mysterious way had found where they were, and that he had come for them. He began at the beginning, explaining to the boy Lon's demand upon him. He refrained, however, from mentioning Everett, because of the pain to his sister. He had just finished the story, when Ann softly opened the door and came in.
"But I insist that you will place your faith in me, Floyd. I shall see to it that neither you nor your sister leave me—unless you go of your own free will," Horace concluded.
"If Pappy Lon takes one of us," muttered Floyd, as Miss Shellington calmed him with sweet interest, "let him take me. I'm as good as dead, anyhow. I want Flea to marry Brother Horace."
"And so she will," assured Ann. "Now then, Dear, try and sleep."
During the rest of the afternoon Ann held conferences with her brother, fluttering back and forth from him to Floyd, and then to Fledra. She noted that the strained expression had gone from the girl's face, and uttered a little prayer of thanksgiving when she heard Horace's hearty laugh ring out once more.