"Oh, dear Wise Woman:"During all the days since I received your letter I have not been able to see things as you wanted me to see them. I have raged against Fate, and have been pursued by Furies. I have shut myself away, as far as possible, from the world. At one moment I have doubted your love for me; at the next, I have resolved to follow you, play cave man, and carry you off."I have read and reread your letter, trying to find some weakness to which I could appeal—but I could find none. But finally, as I read, one sentence began to stand out: 'We loved those who died—fighting.' When I got into the swing of that thought it stirred me. I am going to live—fighting—perhaps I shall die—fighting——"To-day Bettina has told me that she will marry me in a month. She says that she has written you that it is best that people should know at once. And I think that it is best. I shall try to make her happy, but if I conquer life, if I ever do any great thing or good thing or wise thing, it will be because you have shown me the way."You say, 'When we are old, we can be friends.' How I shall welcome old age, Diana! May the years fly swiftly!Anthony.
"Oh, dear Wise Woman:
"During all the days since I received your letter I have not been able to see things as you wanted me to see them. I have raged against Fate, and have been pursued by Furies. I have shut myself away, as far as possible, from the world. At one moment I have doubted your love for me; at the next, I have resolved to follow you, play cave man, and carry you off.
"I have read and reread your letter, trying to find some weakness to which I could appeal—but I could find none. But finally, as I read, one sentence began to stand out: 'We loved those who died—fighting.' When I got into the swing of that thought it stirred me. I am going to live—fighting—perhaps I shall die—fighting——
"To-day Bettina has told me that she will marry me in a month. She says that she has written you that it is best that people should know at once. And I think that it is best. I shall try to make her happy, but if I conquer life, if I ever do any great thing or good thing or wise thing, it will be because you have shown me the way.
"You say, 'When we are old, we can be friends.' How I shall welcome old age, Diana! May the years fly swiftly!
Anthony.
Having squared himself thus with the inevitable, Anthony, a little grayer, perhaps, a little more worn and worried, took up life where he had left off before Diana came home from Europe.
He had seen nothing, of late, of Justin, except as he had glimpsed him, now and then, in the air.
But on the morning on which Bettina and Sophie had watched the flight from their porch he came upon the young aviator, near the sheds, standing in the midst of an eager group of young folks, adored by the girls, envied by the boys.
Amid the clamor of voices he caught the question, "Are you going up again this afternoon?"
"Yes."
Then, over their heads, Justin saw Anthony.
"Bring Betty Dolce up this afternoon," he called, "and I'll show you through the shops. There are four ships beside mine in the sheds, and they'll be sent out to-morrow. You and she may never have a chance to see so many together."
Anthony agreed, and called up Bettina.
She assented eagerly. To-day, then, Justin should see her rings. He would ask for an explanation. She would tell him,—and he would understand. When he knew that she belonged to Anthony he would forget that he had wanted to be anything but her friend, and things would be as they had been before.
So, knowing nothing of the hearts of men, she argued in her innocence.
When she saw Justin, she felt that even through her gloves he must see the rings. But his eyes were on her face, and she burned red beneath his glance.
On an impulse he had asked her. If Anthony brought her, he should see her, talk to her. That, for the moment, would give his heart respite from the pain which gnawed it.
In the dimness of the great sheds Bettina flitted silently like a white moth from place to place. She left the conversation to Justin and to Anthony. When Justin made explanations she seemed to listen, but she did not look up.
As a matter of fact, she heard not a word. Her mind was on her rings. She began to take off her gloves, slowly; dreading, yet craving the moment, when Justin should look at her hands.
But he was still explaining to Anthony: "These pontoons do the trick. An aeroplane simply flies. But the hydro-aeroplanes fly and swim, and that's what makes them so safe when there's water to cross."
As he touched the delicate wires of the framework they gave forth a humming noise. "When you're up in the air," he said, "it sounds like the crash of chords."
Bettina's gloves were off now. The big diamonds on her left hand seemed to catch all the light in the dim room and to blaze like suns!
But Justin was thinking only of Bettina's eyes under her drooping veil, and of her cheeks which burned red, and of her lips which were closed against any speech with him.
They went on to the last shed, which was open, and from which a track descended into the water.
Poised there, in the half-darkness, like a bird at rest, was another ship, ready for flight.
"This is mine," said Justin; "the 'Gray Gull.' I wanted to call her 'The Wild Hawk,' but changed my mind. Do you remember Kipling's
"'The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,The deer to the wholesome wold,And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,As it was in the days of old'?"
"'The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,The deer to the wholesome wold,And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,As it was in the days of old'?"
"It is one of Diana's favorites," said Anthony. But Bettina said never a word.
And just then a boy came to say that Dr. Blake was wanted at the telephone.
"It's a hurry call," Anthony came back to tell them. "Would you mind walking home with Bettina, Justin?"
Would he mind? Suddenly all the stars sang!
The moment that Anthony's back was turned Bettina felt a frantic desire to hide her rings. What would Justin say when he saw them? With Anthony there she had felt brave. But now—she turned the rings inward and began hastily to put on her gloves.Oh, to-night, after she reached home, she would write Justin a prim little note and tell him of her engagement! That would be better, of course! She should have thought of it before!
Crashing across her trembling decision came Justin's demand.
"Look here. Why can't you fly with me now? Just a little way, low over the harbor? Come——"
It seemed to her that between them was beating and throbbing darkness, out of which his eager eyes said, "Come."
"Oh, no," she protested, with dry lips. "Anthony wouldn't like it."
"What has Anthony to do with it?" He had taken her hands in his and was crushing them. The rings cut and hurt, but she made no sign; she only looked at him large-eyed, and said, not knowing what she said, "He has nothing to do with it——"
"Then come——"
She was conscious that he was taking the pins out of her big hat. That he was winding her white chiffon veil, nun-like, about her head, so that her face was framed. And within this frame glowed her hot cheeks and questioning eyes.
"Come," he said, again, and lifted her to her seatand fastened her in, and took his place beside her. He whistled, and two men came, and the buoyant ship slid down the track toward the water; the big propeller waved for a moment its octopus arms, then started with a mighty roar.
For a moment they swam the surface, then, light as a bird, the "Gray Gull" soared.
Up and up, with the white yachts in the harbor just beneath them, with the gold of the sunshine surrounding them; and out of it his face bending down to her.
"Are you afraid?" he asked, as he had asked in the storm.
And she, with her cheeks still burning hot, looked up at him and laughed.
"Afraid—with you? Oh, Justin, Justin, I could fly like this—forever."
Captain Stubbs' cottage was one of the show places of the town. Built before the Revolution, it was of typical English rural architecture—one-storied, with a square chimney, and with a garden which made it the delight of artists who came from far and near to paint it; in the spring crocuses starred the borders, violets studded the lawn with amethyst, pale irises and daffodils, narcissus and jonquils stood in slim beauty. Later came sweet peas, and the roses followed, hiding with their beauty the weather-beaten boards. The late summer brought nasturtiums in all their richness of orange and bronze-brown, and in the fall, the dahlias blazed.
The captain lived alone, attending to his domestic affairs in a fashion which was the envy of less spick and span housekeepers. He would not have his home invaded by prying folk, but to his invited and welcome guests he would show his carved ivories, his embroideries, heavy with gold, his dragon-encircled jars and vases. Everywhere was the charm of shining neatness, and flowers were everywhere.
"I think I should have looked for a wife," the captain had told Bettina and Miss Matthews one day when they had lunched with him, "if it hadn't been for my flowers. I don't need a wife to cook for me. I'm a better cook than most women. And I don't need a wife to mend my clothes, because every sailor can handle a needle. And I don't need a wife to keep the house clean for me—there isn't any woman on earth that makes things shine like a man who has been taught to rub brasses and scrub down decks. What I'd need a wife for would be to make things pretty, and to look pretty herself. But Lord, I ain't the kind to attract a pretty woman—and so I just gave it up."
A faint glimmer of resentment had shone in Miss Matthews' eyes. "I guess most women are kept so busy that they haven't time to think about their looks."
"Well, if I had a wife," the captain had said, "I'd like to have her wear bright things. My mother had dimity dresses—there was a pink one, like a rose, and a green one that looked like the young grass in the spring, and there was one that made me thinkof forget-me-nots, or the sky when there isn't a cloud in it."
Bettina had smiled at him. "How pretty your mother must have been."
"It wasn't that she was so pretty; it was her soft, quiet ways, and those bright-colored roses. And I've been looking for that kind of woman ever since."
"If your mother," little Miss Matthews had told him, "had lived in this day of shirt-waists and short skirts, she'd probably be wearing high collars and sad colors with the rest of us."
The emphasis with which the little lady had offered her opinion and the flush on her face had made Bettina look at her with awakened eyes. "Why—I believe she likes him. She'd be really nice-looking if she'd fix her hair——"
To-day, as Miss Matthews stopped for a moment at the captain's gate to admire his sweet peas, she was not even "nice-looking." She was pale and thin, and had a hoarse cough.
"I'm going home and to bed," she said. "I took cold that day in the rain, captain, and it hasn't left me since, and I took more cold yesterday, going to school without my overshoes."
"You come right in, and I'll make you a cup oftea," said the captain, hospitably. But Miss Matthews refused, wearily.
As she turned away, however, Mrs. Martens came to get the flowers which were the captain's daily offering for Diana's table, and the little man extended a beaming invitation to both of them.
"You pick your posies," he said, "and I'll get some tea for you and bring it right out here. You make her stay, Mrs. Martens; she needs a rest."
Sophie smiled at the little teacher. "You ought not to be out at all," she said, sympathetically.
"School closes in four days," explained little Miss Matthews; "after that I think I shall fall down and die, but I've got to keep up until then."
As the two women stood there at the gate together, they presented a striking contrast: Sophie in her black, modish garments, with the look upon her face of the woman who has been loved, and who has bloomed because of it; Miss Matthews, a faded shadow of what she might have been if love had not passed her by.
"How's Betty?" Miss Matthews asked, as she sat down on a bench on the little covered porch, and watched Sophie's slender fingers pull the sweet peas.
Sophie straightened up. "I'm worried about her,"she said. "She and Anthony Blake went to see the air-ships, and I had a telephone message from Anthony that he had had a hurry call, and that Justin would look after Betty. That was two hours ago, and Betty hadn't returned when I left to come here——"
Captain Stubbs, appearing with a big loaded tray, gave important information.
"Did she have on a white dress?"
"Yes."
"Then she's gone flying with Justin Ford."
"What?" Sophie stood up, and all the fragrant blooms fell at her feet. "Oh, surely he wouldn't take Betty up with him. It would be dreadful."
"Now, don't you worry," said the captain; "he ain't goin' to let a hair of her head get hurt—he's daffy over her."
"Daffy?" Sophie stared.
"Yep." The captain set his tray on the rustic table. "He and that Betty child went with me and Miss Matthews for a day's fishin', and at first we didn't notice anything, but after a while we began to open our eyes—and, well, we ain't blind, are we, Miss Matthews?"
Miss Matthews, drinking her tea thirstily, took upthe captain's story. "It rained, and the captain and I wrapped up and stayed by the boat. But those young folks ran off, and he was helping her along, and she was looking up at him—and—everybody knows what's going to happen when two people look at each other that way."
"And if they are flying," the captain chuckled, "they're probably as near heaven as it's possible to be this side of the pearly gates."
But Sophie would not treat the subject lightly. "It's bad enough for a man to fly," she said, "but he had no right to take that child up with him. Where did you see them, captain?"
"I was standing on those rocks out there, and I saw him rise up over the harbor. I could see that he had someone with him, so I went in, and got my glass, and sure enough, there she was, all in white, with a white veil wrapped tight about her head."
"Which way did they go?"
"Straight out beyond the harbor, and up toward Gloucester way—but don't you worry, Mrs. Martens; they'll be back before they know it."
"But I do worry," Sophie declared, "and I shall certainly tell Justin what I think of his foolhardiness."
"Well, you take your tea," said the captain, soothingly, "and I'll call up and see if they have come in."
Taking tea with the captain meant the tasting of many strange and wonderful flavors. The little man had clung to all the traditions of his seagoing forefathers, who had brought back from the Orient spicy things and sweet things—conserved fruits and preserved ginger, queer nuts in syrup, golden-flavored tea, and these he served with thick slices of buttered bread of his own making.
"You might have had a lobster," he said to Sophie, "if it hadn't been so near your dinner time. I've got 'em fresh cooked."
But Sophie shook her head. "I like your sweet things better. Bobbie and I are the ones who don't like lobster. He says that I'm a sort of oasis in a desert of shell-fish."
"He's got a nice boat," said the captain, "and he's got a nice girl. I like Doris."
Sophie's mind went back to Bettina. "Oh, will you telephone, please, captain?"
The captain came back with the news that nothing had been seen of the "Gray Gull," but that there was no need to worry, as the day was perfectly calm, andthat, as he had Miss Dolce with him, he would certainly not fly high.
Sophie refused to be comforted. "I shall tell Anthony," she said; "he must speak to Justin."
"I don't see what Blake's got to do with it," said the blunt captain; "young Ford may tell him to mind his business——"
Sophie's head went up. "Dr. Blake is Bettina's guardian," she said, "and if Justin resents his interference, I shall certainly be much disappointed in Justin."
Miss Matthews bristled. "You ought to have seen the care he took of her that day in the rain. I shall never forget the sight of those two young creatures running up the hill—the captain said then he had never seen a prettier pair."
In the midst of her worry Sophie felt an insane desire to laugh. Was this tragedy only or, after all, a comedy? If Betty loved Justin? Her imagination could scarcely compass the consequences of this possibility.
Sophie walked home with Miss Matthews, and, returning to Diana's, met Sara half-way.
"Is Bettina flying with Justin?" Sara asked, abruptly.
"Captain Stubbs says that she is. I am very much displeased with Justin. It is really unpardonable that Bettina should be subjected to such danger."
"She didn't have to go if she didn't want to," said Sara, sharply, "but she's crazy about him——"
"My dear——How do you know?"
"Anybody can see it. And I guess it's the real thing this time with Justin."
The wistful expression on the sharp little face touched Sophie's kind heart.
"It's hardly likely. They have known each other for such a short time."
"Time has nothing to do with love," said the sophisticated Sara. "A man and a girl can meet and love in a week and live happy ever after. Oh, yes, they can. And they can know each other all their lives and be perfectly miserable. Dad and mother grew up together, and you've heard, Mrs. Martens, what a life they lived."
The story of the unhappiness of Sara's parents was common property. Yet it hurt Sophie to see the hard look in the girl's eyes.
"My dear child," she said, "everything depends on the amount of affection which two people give each other—time doesn't count."
Sara was digging the point of her parasol into the sand. "I've never seen anything like it with Justin. Why, he'sneverasked any woman to fly with him. And when I looked up a while ago, and saw that he had—her—I knew he wouldn't have—asked her—if he hadn't—cared——"
"Perhaps we are making things more serious than they really are," Sophie said. But as the two women walked on together, her mental disturbance continued. What if Miss Matthews and Sara had spoken the truth? How would it affect Bettina—how would it affect—Diana?
"I can't quite understand what all the men see in her," Sara was saying. "Of course she's a beauty. But she's so little and white—and she doesn't seem so terribly clever——"
"There's a charm she has inherited from those sleepy Venetian ladies, who only waked now and then to flash a glance at some man—and hold him captive. Those beauties were without conscience. But Bettina has a Puritan streak in her which she gets from her mother—that's what makes her such a fascinating combination, Sara. She's like a little nun; yet one feels instinctively that back of that calm exterior there is force and fire."
Sara nodded. "I know. Men don't like the obvious. That's why so many of us American girls fail to inspire grand passions. We have no surprises—no high lights or shadows—it's all glare——"
"I'm not sure, my dear, but that, in the long run, such women make men happier than the other kind. In this practical world there's little room for varying moods."
"If Justin marries Bettina," said Sara, "they'll live on rhapsodies." She drew a quick short breath. "There won't be any commonplaces. They're both made that way. It will be all romance and roses——"
"My dear—aren't we taking things a bit for granted?"
"You'll see. You haven't watched them as I have."
They had reached Diana's house, and Sophie asked Sara to come in.
"I can't. It's getting late and I must dress for dinner——"
"Some other time then, dear?"
"Yes—I shall love it." Then, with some hesitation, "I'm afraid I've said more than I should——"
Sophie bent and kissed her. "Not a bit. I'm a perfect keeper of confidences—and not a soul shall share what you've told me——"
Delia met Mrs. Martens in the hall.
"Dr. Blake's on the porch," she said, "and he's asking about Bettina——"
"Hasn't she come?"
"No."
"What time is it, Delia——"
"Half-past six——"
"Of all the mad things to do," said Anthony, as Sophie went out to him. "I shall certainly call Justin to strict account—for asking her——"
"She shouldn't have gone," Sophie said. "I can't imagine how he induced her. She's such a little coward."
"They've been away three hours. I went over to the sheds and started a motor boat to search for them. They are beginning to realize over there that something may have happened."
"Did Justin ask Betty while you were with her?"
"No. He simply showed us around, and said he'd walk home with her. Oh, the young fool, the young fool. He can risk his own life if he chooses—but he had no right to take—that child——"
The telephone rang, and Sophie, answering, found Justin at the other end.
"We're at Gloucester, safe and sound. I'm awfully sorry if you've worried, Mrs. Martens. But I could not get to a 'phone before this. We'll come back by train, and Betty says you're not to wait dinner. We'll get something here. We're all right, really—only sorry if you are upset."
"We are very much upset," Sophie told him, severely. "Anthony is here, and he is extremely anxious."
"He needn't worry," grimly. "I can take care of her."
Mrs. Martens, explaining the situation to Anthony a few minutes later, refrained, tactfully, from giving Justin's exact words.
Anthony dined with her, then went off to see Miss Matthews, who had asked him to prescribe for her cold.
"Call me up when Bettina comes," he said, as he left.
Sophie promised, and watched him drive away in his little car. She had never seen him so nervous, so irritable. Was this what the thwarting of his life would mean—that he would let go of the serenity which had made his presence a benediction to his little world?
Or was it really love for Bettina which so disturbedhim? Stranger things had happened. Diana was away—Bettina was beautiful—Justin was in the field to measure lances.
With Peter Pan for company, Sophie waited on the porch for the recreant pair.
When they arrived it was very dark, and she could not see their faces. But what had made that difference in their voices—that subtle, thrilling difference?
When Bettina cried, "I could fly with you,—forever," the light of a great joy leaped in Justin's eyes. But he said nothing; he merely set his hand more steadily to steering.
And Bettina was content to be silent; to drift on and on in this golden world, where there was just herself and the youth with the shining eyes.
Far beneath them several racing yachts seemed flung like white flower petals on the surface of the sea; two girls in red coats on the club-house tennis courts made glowing spots of color; the crowds of people on the rocks, with their heads upturned to view the fairy ship of the air, were as formless and as lacking in life and movement as a patchwork quilt.
Bettina felt no wonder. Her mood was one of heavenly enchantment; having passed the first gate of the great adventure, no small detail could seem strange.
If in those exquisite moments she rememberedAnthony, she gave no sign. Somewhere, perhaps, down there in the darkness, was a weary man working; there were sick people; pain was there and suffering. But such things belonged to an existence in which she had no part. It was as if she had died, and, rising above the earth, looked pityingly on those who still struggled and strove.
She had a sudden whimsical memory of a Sunday-school song which had appealed to her childish imagination:
"I shall have wings, I shall have wings,I shall have wings, some day——"
"I shall have wings, I shall have wings,I shall have wings, some day——"
Years ago she had sung it with a half hundred enthusiastic youngsters. Her vision, then, had dealt, somewhat hazily, with golden crowns, with plumed pinions, and with ultimate bliss; but never had her imagination compassed such a moment as this!
Above the noise of the motor Justin was aware of the lilt of her fresh young voice:
"I shall have wings, I shall have wings——"
"I shall have wings, I shall have wings——"
The humming wires keyed the hackneyed tune to a sort of celestial harmony:
"Bright wings of love, from God above,To bear my glad soul away——"
"Bright wings of love, from God above,To bear my glad soul away——"
Justin glanced down at her rapt face.
"Do you like it?"
"It is—heaven!"
As she again took up the little song, he joined in, and they finished the last verse triumphantly; then they looked at each other and laughed.
"I used to sing it in Sunday-school," Bettina explained.
"So did I," and these simple sentences, in their uplifted mood, seemed fraught with great meaning.
They were beyond the harbor now. Ahead of them and to the right was the open sea; to the left, the town, with its church steeples like pin points beneath them, its most imposing buildings no bigger than mushrooms.
"Are we so very high?"
"Not so high, perhaps, as it seems to you. It is perfectly safe."
On and on they went, leaving the lighthouse behind them, leaving behind them the harbor and the town, passing, finally, the great forest through which they had raced in the rain.
Then Justin had asked, "Do you remember?"
And Bettina had answered, "Shall I ever forget?"
The gulls circled below them, uttering mewing cries. It was as if they protested against the intrusion of this bird man and bird woman in a realm which had belonged to winged things since the world began.
They came presently to a long and lonely stretch of beach, above which Justin sailed, low, and, relaxing his vigilance for the first time, he began his eager wooing—all fire and rapture.
And Bettina trembled—and listened.
It seemed to her that throughout her life she had waited to hear that which Justin was saying to her now.
"You were made for me—dear. In my dreams there has always been a girl like you—little and white and helpless—but vivid, too, in flashes. When I saw you for the first time in that dark room on that rainy day I knew that you were—mine. I know I'm not good enough for you. I know that if you should ever marry me I should thank God on my knees every day of my life. But it isn't conceit which makes me believe that you and I have been coming toward each other always. I don't know why you gave me back the silver ring. At this moment I don't care—although the other night my world wentto pieces—but just now, what you said,—and the way you said it, that you would fly with me forever,—made me feel that all the things I had hoped were true——"
Bettina felt as if their souls were bared. What conventional thing could she say which would hide her joy? Her eyes would tell him though her lips might not.
As if he read her thoughts he bent down to her. "Look at me," he urged, and again, "My dear one—is it, then, really—true?"
She knew now that she was Justin's and he was hers until the end of time. By all the white wonder of her thoughts she knew it. By all the quickened blood in her beating heart. What she had felt for Anthony was the affection of an unawakened nature—she had given him gratitude, friendship—but between them were the years across which she must look somewhat timidly; between them was his sadness, which oppressed her, and his profession, which she feared.
But here was youth, which she understood, and romance, for which she had longed, and love at white-heat.
Thus, as she soared with Justin, she forgot past promises and future judgments, and whispered, "It is true——"
After that they talked in the language of youth and love.
"Do you know how pretty you are?"
"You think that I am pretty because you—like me."
"I think it because I—love you."
The echo of their light laughter went trailing after them as the song of a lark trails through the blue.
Softly, at last, Justin brought his shining ship down to the surface of a little bay.
Two men at work on the beach came out in a dory in answer to his call.
They were eager and curious, and glad to tow the queer craft into shallow water, to make it fast, and to watch it for a time.
"We will walk about for a bit," Justin said to Bettina, "and go back at sunset."
Bettina demurred. "It's really late now," she said, with her eyes on the eastern horizon, where the first gray haze of twilight was beginning to gather.
"Look the other way. There's all the gold of the west, and it won't be dark for hours."
"But Sophie will worry."
"She will think you're with Anthony—he's nice and safe."
"Perhaps some one will have seen us, and have told her, and anyhow, I must get back for dinner."
"Any one may eat a dinner, but for you and me there may never be another moment like this!"
Following a steep path they came presently to a curious and lonely spot. Here was an ancient burying place. On a rocky headland, overlooking the entrance to the harbor and the wide sweep of the sea beyond, the first dead of the colony had been buried; here lay the forefathers of the town. Many of the stones had fallen; others stood sturdily where they had stood for centuries. Strange old stones they were, of gray slate, etched with forbidding symbols of skulls and crossbones.
In one corner was a monument of later erection. It had to do with the memory of more than a hundred men who had been lost in a September gale off the fishing banks.
Bettina shivered as she read the carved history.
"Oh, how did the women stand it," she said, "to come here to the top of this hill, week after week, watching? To wonder and worry and fear. Towake in the middle of the night and know that their husbands and lovers were out in the blackness and storm. And then at last to see the boats coming in, and not know whether the ones they loved were on board—to find, perhaps, at last, that they were not on board. How did they stand it?"
"As you would have stood it, if you had been one of them——"
"Would I?" wistfully. "Do you think I could be brave and patient?"
"You could be everything that is good and beautiful——"
She did not smile or blush. All the glamour of their flight had fallen from her. The old cemetery with its gruesome headstones oppressed her. The purple shadows of the twilight seemed to circle the world.
She shuddered and one little hand caught at the sleeve of Justin's coat.
He glanced down at her. "My dear one, what is it?"
Her frightened eyes pleaded. "I—I don't like it here. I'm afraid."
"With me—silly. You weren't afraid up there in the clouds."
"This is—different. It seems down here as if the whole world were—dead——"
"You're tired. Look here, I'm going to carry you up this hill."
As he said it, masterfully, she felt herself swept up into his strong young arms.
"Put me down!"
He drew his head back to look at her.
"Why?"
"I'll tell you in a minute. Put me down."
He set her on her feet, and she stood there, swaying, her lips parted.
At last she said, "I love you," but held out her hand as if to keep him from her. "I love you—but I mustn't let you—love me."
"Why not?"
"Because—oh, Justin," she was stripping off her gloves, "oh, I've tried to hide these," pitifully, "to hide these from you. I wanted my little moment of happiness, too. But now you've got to know."
The gloves were off, and the last rays of the setting sun, striking the great jewels, brought fire which seemed to blind Justin's eyes.
He caught her hands in his, roughly. "Who gavethem to you?" he demanded. "Who gave them to you, Bettina?"
But all his doubts and fears had crystallized to certainty before she whispered, "Anthony."
"Do you mean that you are going to marry—Anthony?"
She nodded. "He loves me, Justin."
"And you love him?"
Her head went up. "I told you just now that—I loved—you. But I've promised Anthony. He asked me that day before I went to Diana's. The day after I first saw you. And he was so good, and I was so lonely, that I thought that—I cared. I didn't know then what it meant—to care."
His eyes, which had been stern, softened.
"And now that you know," he asked, "what are you going to do?"
She twisted her fingers nervously.
"I don't know," she faltered. "What shall I do, Justin?"
"Oh, my dear," he said, brokenly, "Anthony is my friend. I can't steal you—like a thief—in the night——"
Her lips quivered. "I knew that—you'd say that. I am glad—you—said it."
He turned away. "If you knew how hard it is for me to say it."
She laid her little hand on his arm.
"If you only won't be angry with me."
He turned back to her. "I am not angry," he said, "only I have been—all sorts of a fool."
She sank down hopelessly on a broken stone bench, backed by evergreen trees. "You haven't been a fool," she said. "I should have told you. But I couldn't. Diana wouldn't let me."
SHE SANK DOWN HOPELESSLY
"What did Diana have to do with it?"
"She said that Anthony's friends ought to know me before the engagement was announced."
"So you and she have talked it over, and Sophie, I suppose—and how many others?" His laugh was not good to hear.
"Oh, please. I don't think any of us could have guessed that—things would have turned out like this. I didn't dream how you felt and how I felt until the other night, when you tried to give me the little ring. Then I knew."
"That you loved me?"
"No. That you loved me. I—I didn't know the other until to-day when you said—'Come.'"
"Didn't you know that day in the rain?"
"No, oh,no. I thought it was just because we were both young, and good friends, and happy together."
"And I thought it was because our spirits met—in the storm."
He flung himself down beside her. "To me the whole thing seems monstrous. Anthony is years too old for you, even if you loved him. And you don't love him."
"Yet I can't break a promise, can I?"
He moved restlessly.
"If you told him, he would release you, of course. But somehow I'd feel an awful cad to have Anthony think that I had taken you from him."
"How do you think I should feel?" The color flamed in her cheeks. "Don't you know that a woman has just as fine a sense of honor in such things as a man?"
As she made a movement to rise, he caught at the floating ends of her white veil, and held them, as if he would thus anchor her to himself.
"Forgive me," he pleaded. "I'm afraid I'm too desperately unhappy to know what I am saying."
"I know—I'm unhappy, too."
With the fatalism of youth they had accepted their tragedy as final. He still held the end of her veil in his hand, but her face was turned away from him.
A little breeze came from the west, and there was a dark line of cloud below the gold.
"We shall have to go home on the train," Justin said, as he noted the whitecaps beyond the bay. "There's too much wind to make it safe for us to fly."
"Then we must go now. It is very late."
"I can telephone Sophie from the gatekeeper's house. It's on the other side of the church. And I'll telephone to the men to come after the hydro-plane."
She assented listlessly, and they walked on.
The church, when they reached it, showed itself an ancient edifice. Built of English brick, it had withstood the storms of years. Its bell still rang clearly the call to Sunday service, and at its font were baptized the descendants of the men who slept in the old cemetery.
As they reached the steps, a man who was digging a grave hailed them. "If you and your wife would like to look in," he said to Justin, "you canbring the key to me at the gate. I'll be there when you come."
He unlocked the door for them. They heard his retreating footsteps, and knew that they were alone. Then Justin spoke with quickened breath. "That is as it should be—my wife——"
Out of a long silence she whispered, "Please—we must not—we must not——"
"Surely we have a right to happiness——"
She had left his side, and her voice seemed to come faintly from among the shadows: "Hasn't everybody a right to happiness?"
"Why should we think of everybody—it is my happiness and yours which concerns us—sweetheart."
She did not answer, and, following her, he found that she had entered one of the high-backed, old-fashioned pews, and was on her knees.
Hesitating, he presently knelt beside her.
It was very still in the old church—the old, old church, with its history of sorrow and stress and storm. One final blaze of light illumined the stained glass window above the altar, and touched the bent heads with glory—the bright uncovered head and the veiled one beside it.
Then again came dimness, darkness—silence.
They were in the vestibule of the church before he spoke to her.
"Did you pray," he asked, "for me?"
"I prayed for all men and women—who love——"
He laid his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her with all of his heart in his sad young eyes. "There must be some way out of this," he said. "Surely God can't be so cruel as to keep us apart. Why, we are so young, dear one, and there's all of life before us—think of all the years."
The look with which she met his glance had in it all the steadfastness of awakened womanhood. "You said out there that I could be brave and patient. Help me to be brave—big brother."
"Don't," he said, hoarsely; "don't call me that. It's got to be all or nothing. But whatever comes, whether you marry me or marry Anthony—I'm going to love you always. I'm going to love you until I die, Bettina."
Miss Matthews' cold proved to be bronchitis, and Bettina insisted on nursing her.
"Please let me," she said to Anthony the morning after her flight with Justin. "I suppose I'm in disgrace, anyhow, and this shall be my penance. Only it won't be very severe punishment, for I shall love to take care of her."
"What good is penance if you aren't penitent? I'm perfectly sure that if that young rascal should ask you to go again you'd go."
"It was glorious."
"But very dangerous."
She shrugged. "You do dangerous things every day. Doesn't he, Sophie?"
"Of course."
"That's different. I do such things to help others."
"And I do them to please myself."
"And to please Justin?" There was an impatientnote in his voice. "I have told him that he must not ask you again, Bettina."
"What did he say?"
"He didn't say a word." Anthony smiled at the memory. "He just looked at me as if he would like to punch my head, and turned on his heel and left me."
"Are you angry with him?" anxiously.
"He's angry with me."
"Oh, dear!" Betty sighed. "Sophie gave me a terrible lecture when I came home last night; didn't you, Sophie? And now you and Justin have fallen out, and I'm the cause of all the trouble. I'll go and look after Letty Matthews, and you can learn to love me when I'm gone."
In spite of the lightness of her tone, there was a quiver in her voice which brought both of them to her feet.
"My dear child——!"
"Betty dear——"
Bettina smiled at them with misty eyes. "Please let me go, and when I come back everything will be straightened out—and we'll all live—happy—ever after——"
Nothing that they could say would change herdecision, and they were vaguely troubled by it, feeling that she had erected between herself and them some barrier of reserve which they could not break down.
Sophie voiced this in a worried way when Bettina had gone up to pack the little bag which Anthony was to convey with her precious self to Miss Matthews. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said so much, but when she came she seemed so unconscious of the dreadfulness and danger that I'm afraid I scolded a bit."
"She's such a child! Do you think she will ever grow up?"
"Of course. Diana feels that she has many womanly qualities——"
Anthony, standing by the window, fixed his eyes steadily on the blue distance as he asked:
"What do you hear—from Diana?"
"I've a letter." Sophie rummaged among the papers on her desk. "And there's a bit at the end that will please you—you know Diana and her enthusiasms——"
"Yes, I know——"
His head was still turned away as she opened the thick folded sheets.
"Shall I read it to you?"
"Please."
"She says she likes the hotel, and the people, although she doesn't see much of them. But this is the part you'll appreciate:
"'There's a wonderful bit of woodland, Sophie, back in the hills, and every day I go there and dream. I thought for a while that I had lost my dreams—but now they are coming to me again in flocks—like doves. And yesterday came the best dream of all. I have been trying to think what I could do with my future, and I've thought of this: I'll build a place up here in the forest where Anthony's sick folk can come when they begin to get well, and thus I can finish the work which he begins——'"
She paused, as Anthony faced her. "Why didn't she write that to me?" he demanded, almost roughly. "Didn't she know it would mean more to me than to you—than to anybody——?"
Then with the sudden consciousness that he was showing his heart he stammered, "Forgive me—but you know what I think—of Diana?"
Sophie was infinitely tactful. "Of course I know what you think of her—she's the most wonderfulwoman in the whole wide world; and that's a great plan of hers—to have a haven for your convalescents."
He made no answer, but just stood very still, looking out, and when Bettina came down with her little bag, they went away together.
Miss Matthews in a gray flannel wrapper was shivering over an inadequate fire.
"Why aren't you in bed?" the doctor asked.
"Because there is no one to answer my bell, and no one to wait on me—and I'm perfectly sure that if I ever let myself go to bed I shall die."
"Nonsense," briskly. "I've brought Betty back with me, and she's going to stay and see that you're made comfortable."
Miss Matthews' face brightened. "She's the only person in the world that I'd have fussing over me."
"I shall stay here and boss you to my heart's content," Bettina told her.
"Oh, dear," Miss Matthews sighed rapturously, "how good that sounds. I—I want to be bossed. I'm so tired of telling other people what to do—that last day at school I thought I should go to pieces."
"Well, you're not going to pieces," Anthony assured her; "you're going to bed. And when I come back I shall expect to find you asleep."
Bettina, coaxing Miss Matthews to be comfortable, brushed her hair in front of the revived fire.
"What pretty hair you have," she said, as she held it up so that the light might shine upon it. "What makes you spoil it by doing it up in that tight knot?"
"I don't know any other way," wailed Miss Matthews. "I've never had time to be pretty."
"I'm going to braid it," said Bettina, "and by evening it will be waved."
Miss Matthews submitted, luxuriously. "It seems so nice to have some one fussing over me. I don't believe anybody ever brushed my hair before."
Bettina, having hunted out a box of her own belongings, was trying different colored ribbons on the little lady's pale brown locks.
"Do you know, Letty, pink is your color? Yes, it is. Blue makes you look ghastly. Now I'm going to tie this twice around your head so that it will hide all the tight pigtails—I got that idea from Diana."
As she finished the somewhat elaborate process, there came steps outside.
"It's just me," said the voice of the little captain.
Bettina peeped through the door, and announced; "Miss Matthews is sick."
"I know. I met Anthony Blake, and he told me; and what I want to know is, can I do anything——?"
"Nothing—thanks."
"Yes, he can," said the hoarse voice of the invalid. "He can come in. If he doesn't mind my head, I shan't mind him."
The captain, entering, found Miss Matthews in a big chair, her feet covered by a steamer rug, her gray flannel apparel hidden by a white wool shawl which had belonged to Betty's mother, and topping all was the wonderful head-dress of rose-colored ribbon, beneath which Miss Matthews' plain little peaked face looked out wistfully.
"Well, now," said the captain, as he shook hands, "that pink becomes her, don't it?"
Miss Matthews blushed. "Betty fixed it."
"I always did like bright things on wimmen," said the captain, earnestly, "and I like that pink."
"Of course you do," said Betty; "all men like pink, except those who like blue, and now you must go away, for I've got to put my patient to bed."
"Don't you cook anything for her," said the captain, as he backed out of the door, his eyes still gloating over the rosy-beribboned lady on the hearth-rug. "I'll bring you over a bowl of hot chowder to-night, and if there's anything else you want, you just let me know."
"Delia will look out for the other things," said Betty; "she's going to send little Jane to help me. But we shall be very glad to have the chowder."
With Miss Matthews asleep at last, Bettina sat down to write a note to Justin.
It was very brief, and began abruptly:
"I am going to tell Anthony. I lay awake all night and thought it out. It wouldn't be fair for me to marry him—unless he knew. I'd get to be just a shivery shadow, Justin, afraid that he would find that I didn't love him—that I loved somebody else.
"But I can never tell him with his grave eyes watching me, so I'm going to write, now—to-night. It almost seems as if poor Letty had been made a sort of instrument of Providence so that I could be here at this time. I couldn't stay at Diana's with everything over between me—and Anthony.
"Oh, Justin, will he ever want to be friends with us again? Will Diana ever forgive us?
"I wish you were here. Yet you mustn't be here—not until everything is settled. Somehow I don't dare think that we can ever be happy. It doesn't seem right to think of it, does it?
"But I love you."
She gave her note to the little captain when he came with the chowder.
He brought something beside the chowder. In a square box, smelling of sandalwood, was an exquisite kimono of palest pink crêpe, embroidered with wisteria blossoms.
"It has been lying in an old trunk for years," he exulted, as he shook it out before her delighted eyes. "When I saw her," he nodded toward the door of the inner room, "when I saw her with that pink ribbon in her hair, it just came to me how nice it would be if she had a wrapper or somethin' to go with it. And after I got home I went rummagin' around until I found this."
"It's lovely," said Bettina; "she'll be simply crazy over it, captain."
"The funny part of it is that I bought it in foreign lands, thinking that some day I might get married, and I'd give it to my wife—and now I'm givin' it to her."
Bettina sparkled. "Oh," she said, "I believe you're in love with her, captain."
The captain sat down in a chair by the fire. "Well," he said earnestly, "it's like this. I ain't ever thought of her that way, exactly. It always seemed to me that she knew so much, and that I was such a rough old fellow. But lately—well, she's been lonely, and she ain't been well. And all of a sudden it has kind o' seemed to me that, if I ain't smart, I've got a tender heart, and I'd know how to make a soft nest for her to live in, and it seems to me that maybe, after all, she might throw me in along with all the rest of the reasons for getting married. I guess most men are sort of thrown in. Of course the wimmen don't know it, but what they get married for is to have a parlor of their own, and a kitchen of their own, and somebody to fuss over, and it don't make much difference what man they hang their tender affections on, just so he provides the kitchen and parlor. Now here's Letty Matthews, all tired out with teaching, and this is my time to step in. If she'll ever take me she'll take me now, and as soon as she's well enough to hear me say it, I'm going to ask her."
"If Letty marries you, it will be because she loves you—she's that kind. She'd die sooner than take a man for what he could give her."
The captain's face fell. "Oh, Lord," he groaned, "she won't take me just for—myself——"
"You try and see."
"If you can put in a good word for me," the captain urged anxiously, "you do it."
"When a man wants to marry a woman," said his young adviser, "there's just one way to get her. He must just keep at it, captain."
The captain stood up. "Well, what I want to say is this—I shan't ever look at my garden without thinking of her sittin' some day among the flowers, I shan't ever eat a meal without thinking how nice she'd look pourin' out my coffee in a nice bright dress, and I shan't ever go for a day's fishin' without seein' her in the other end of the boat. And every time I shut my eyes, I'll think of her wearin' pretty things like my mother used to wear. Why, I've got money, that I can't ever use, just lying in the bank and waitin' for somebody to come and spend it. And while I like my own way of doin' things, I can get a likely man to help around the house."
"A man?"
"Yep. I couldn't ever boss a maid. And I ain't goin' to let her"—he jerked his head toward the inner door—"I ain't goin' to let her drudge and cook andscrub. So I'll get some lad that's been a ship's cook, and don't like the sea, and we'll keep things nice for her, and she can fuss around the garden and make calls on the neighbors and sit with me when I smoke. For wimmen, after all," concluded the wise little man, "are liked best by the men when they'll listen. A talkin' woman may catch a man, but the kind that holds him is the kind that sits and listens."
He went away after that, and Bettina carried the pink robe to Miss Matthews. "Oh, Letty, dear," she said, "just see how gorgeous you're going to be."
She opened the box, and let out a whiff of foreign fragrance. But when the beautiful pale-tinted thing was laid across the bed, and Bettina had explained that it was the captain's gift, Miss Matthews looked solemnly at her friend. "If you think I'm going to wear that," she croaked, hoarsely, "you're mistaken."
"Of course you're going to wear it."
"Of course I'm not. I—I'd be afraid."
"Afraid—oh, Letty."
"Yes, I would. I've never worn such things. I'd be afraid I'd get a spot on it, and it wouldn't come out. Now when a woman like me has a thing like that she just lays it away to look at. Then she always knows that she has one lovely garment. But if shewears it, she feels that the day will come when it will be gone, and then—she won't own one beautiful thing in the wide world—not one single beautiful thing."
Bettina bent over her soothingly. "There," she said, "you wear it once, Letty, and then, if you wish, you can put it away."
Late at night, Anthony came on his last round of calls and urged that Bettina should have a nurse to take her place. But Bettina refused.
"I took care of mother alone," she said. "I can surely do this."
Every moment that she was with him she was conscious of the difference in her attitude toward him. She had a nervous fear that he might notice the change in her, that he might read her heart with his keen eyes.
But he seemed preoccupied, and just before he went away he said:
"You haven't promised me one thing, Bettina."
"What, Anthony?"
"That you won't fly again with Justin. I think I shall have to ask that you make it a definite promise."
"Suppose I won't—promise."
"I think you will," he said, in his decided way. "You and I, all through our lives, will each have to defer to the wishes of the other. If I knew that a thing worried you greatly I am sure I should refrain from doing it—I should like to know that you felt that way about me—Bettina."
Something of the old tender quality had crept into his voice. Once more they were alone in the shadowy room—but outside now was the darkness of the night instead of the darkness of the storm. Perhaps some memory of her first impulsive response to his wooing came to him as he took both of her hands in his. "There's some barrier between us of late," he said. "I'm a plain blunt man, and I don't know what I may have said or done. Have I hurt you in any way, child?"
Here was Fate bringing opportunity to her. This was the moment for revelation, confession.
But she could not tell him.
She stood before him with bent head.
"You haven't hurt me, but there is something I should like to say to you. May I write it—Anthony?"
He put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to him.
"Are you afraid of me—dear?"
"Oh, no——"
"Then tell me now——"
"Please—no."
For a moment he studied her drooping face, then he patted her on the cheek. "Write it if you must—but you're making me feel like an awful bear, Bettina."
He sighed and turned away.
She put out her hand as if to stop him, but drew it back. Then she followed him into the hall, and stood watching him, with the light from the old lantern again making a halo of her fair hair. But this time she did not go down to him in the darkness. The spell was upon her of a pair of mocking eyes, and of a voice which had sung with her celestial harmonies.