My fingers closed yet more tightly over the small hand, but her face remained rigid, the lines deep about the mouth.
"The landlady had turned me out," speaking now bitterly and swiftly, "retaining my few belongings, and calling me a foul name which made me cower away like a whipped child. I had nothing left—nothing. For a week I had listened to no kind word, met with no kind act. I was upon the street, alone, at night, purposeless, homeless, wandering aimlessly from place to place, weakened by hunger, stupefied by despair. Men spoke to me, and I fled their presence as though they were pestilence; women, painted, shameless creatures, greeted me in passing as one of their own class, and I sought to avoid them. Once I mustered sufficient courage to ask help, but—but the man only laughed, and called me a foul name. I do not know where I went, what the streets were called. I remember the brilliantly lighted hotel: the theater crowds jostling me on the sidewalks; the saloons where I saw women slipping in through side entrances, the strains of piano music jingling forth on the night air. I—I knew what it meant, and lingered, faint and trembling, before one illuminated front, like a fascinated bird, until a drunken man, reeling forth, laid hand on my shoulder with proposal of insult. I broke away from him, and ran into the dark, every nerve tingling."
She shuddered, catching her breath sharply.
"Then—then I found myself out among the residences, where everything was still and lonely, walking, walking, walking, every shadow appearing like a ghost. I sat down to rest on the curbing, but a policeman drove me away; once I crept into a darkened vestibule in a big apartment building, but another discovered me there, and threatened to take me to the station. I did n't care much by that time, yet finally he let me go, and I crept miserably on. I became afraid of the police; I felt as I suppose criminals must feel; I slunk along in the dark shadows like a hunted thing. The night grew misty and damp, but I found no shelter. I had no will power left, no womanhood, no remorse; I had become a thing to play with, a body without a soul. I had ceased to care, to think, to even remember; I only wanted to drop the struggle, and have it over with. Perhaps I should have taken my own life, had I only known how to accomplish it—it seemed infinitely worse to live than to die. It was thus I came there, to that corner. I heard the policeman approaching along the side street, and, terrified, sprang into the yard to escape—then—then, I met you."
Someone laughed at one of the other tables, and I wheeled about in my chair. For an instant I believed her voice had been overheard, but instantly realized the mistake and turned back, noticing how she was trembling.
"Tell me," I questioned earnestly, "what caused you to interfere between me and the officer?"
"What! Oh, I hardly know," a touch of hysteria in the nervous exclamation. "It was just a natural ending to all the rest, I suppose. I was a criminal in heart, a fugitive; I hated the law, and was afraid of the police. I merely did what occurred to me first, without thought, volition, purpose. I was compelled to choose instantly between his mercy and yours; the—the difference seemed small enough then, but—but I realized you were frightened also, and—and so I preferred to trust you. That was all; it was my fate, and—and, well I did n't care much how it ended."
"But you endeavored to escape from me; you sought to compel my leaving you?"
She lifted her face again, flushing, saddened, slightly indignant, the brown eyes widening.
"Perhaps the soul was not all dead," she returned gravely. "Perhaps womanhood was not all gone. I did not know you; I was in terror."
"And now?"
Our eyes met, her own cleared of tears, gazing frankly at me.
"I am not afraid; I believe I have found a man, and a friend."
I was conscious of a sudden wild throb of the heart, a swift rush of blood through my veins.
"I might have doubted that myself a while ago," I acknowledged almost bitterly, "but now I am going to make good. Lord! how a fellow can run to seed when he lets himself go. Don't you know you are helping me, as much as I am you? You didn't find much out there—only a drunken discharged soldier, an ex-hobo, with a laborer's job. I 've wasted my chance in life, and been an infernal fool. I can see that plain enough, and despise myself for it. I knew it before you came—the difference was then I did n't care, while now I do. You have made me care. Yes, you have, girl," as she glanced up again, plainly startled by this unexpected avowal. "You care, and because I know you do, things are different. I mean it; this is no word play. I tell you when a man has been steadily dropping, in his own estimation, as well as the social scale; when he has just about lost his pride, his self-respect, his realization of right and wrong; when he sees nothing ahead worth fighting for; when he seeks happiness in drink, and makes companions out of crooks and hobos, that is when it amounts to something to have a real woman like you come into his life, and hear her speak of trust and friendship. Lord! it 's like a breath of pure air amid the foulness of the pit. I believe inyou, and I have n't believed in anybody for a long while. Perhaps you didn't wholly mean all you said to me; perhaps you 'll forget about it when your luck changes, but it 's a thing that is going to stay with me; you can bet on that! I guess it was what I 've been hungry for; the loss of it had taken the very heart out of me," I paused, fearful I might be going too far, yet given fresh courage by the expression of her face. "You see you belong to my class, little girl, and—and you are the first of them to speak a kind word to me in five years. It's—it's a bit tough to be cut dead by your own class."
It was her hand, white and slender, which reached shyly across the table, and touched mine, but her eyes alone made answer.
"That is all right," I continued, my voice shaking. "I understand how you feel. Anyhow you 've made a new man out of me; maybe the stuff is n't much, but there is a soul in it somewhere, and you 've given that soul something to get a grip on. That was all I needed, just to get my teeth set. But what about you? This is no fit place for your kind—you better go home to your mother."
She shook her head with decision.
"Why not? is she hard?"
"Yes, she would be very hard with me."
"Do you mean you would rather risk it here with—with me, than go back, and face her?"
"Yes, even that," she replied soberly. "I have courage to fight it out here, but not there. I know what it will mean if I go back—reproaches, gossip, ostracism—all the petty meannesses of a small town. I loathe the very thought. I am strong again, and I will not go. It is between God and me, this decision; between God and me." She drooped her head, hiding her face upon her arms, her shoulders trembling. "You—you may despise me; you may think me the lowest of the low, but I—I am going to stay here."
I sat in silence, amazed, puzzled, gazing across at her, my face sober, my hands clinched.
"You actually mean you dare risk yourself here—with me?"
"With your help; with you as a friend to talk to—yes."
I drew in my breath sharply, my forehead beaded with perspiration.
"But stop and think what I am," I urged recklessly. "A mere hobo."
She raised her face, the flushed cheeks wet, the brown eyes glowing indignantly.
"No," she said earnestly. "You are not that; you are a man."
For a long minute I did not answer, unable to determine what to do, how to act. We had both finished our meal, and there was no excuse for lingering longer at the table.
"You will go with me, then?"
"Yes."
I pushed back my chair, and she arose also, following me without question as I passed across to the door. The cashier nodded to my good night, and I opened the door for her passage to the street. The mist of the cloudy night had been blown away by an increasing breeze. The air was warm, and the sky brightening in the east. I glanced aside into her face, and led the way into a near-by park, the two of us trudging along a well-kept gravel path, until I discovered a bench hidden from observation amid surrounding shrubbery.
"I 've simply got to think this whole matter out," I explained simply. "It's happened so unexpectedly. I 'm stumped as to what had better be done."
She remained standing, resting one hand on the back of the settee, a slender figure, neatly enough dressed, yet exhibiting evidence of her long night's wandering.
"You mean I am a problem? You—you do not know what to do with me?"
I glanced at her, surprised by the change in her voice.
"Naturally; a young woman is usually a problem, isn't she? This particular one has come with a suddenness sufficient to jar anybody's nerves. Three hours ago I was without responsibility, a mere log adrift on the current. I 've hardly wakened up yet to the change in conditions. Here I am a fellow so utterly worthless that I have n't even been able to take decent care of myself alone, yet all at once the duty fronts me to double my responsibilities."
Her cheeks reddened.
"No, you are not! Is that then your conception of me? Let me tell you differently. Just so soon as this city wakes up, I am going to start forth again and seek work."
The smile I was attempting faded.
"Seek work! I understood you confided yourself to my care."
"Not—not in that way—never!" indignantly. "You had no right to so construe my words. You—you know I am not like that. I trusted you as a man; I—I gave you my—my confidence as a friend," her speech growing swift, and impetuous. "Do not make me sorry. I will not accept your money; I will never remain dependent upon you, or a burden. I have regained my courage, and am no longer afraid. All I needed was to know that I was not all alone—I can fight for the rest."
"Mrs. Bernard," I began quietly, realizing her spirit. "You have given a wrong meaning to my words; I respect you, believe in you, and merely desire to help you to the best of my ability. Sit down here, and let us face this thing squarely together. We must n't act like children, or close our eyes to facts. For instance—we have both been up all night. That is n't specially new for me, but it is to you, and the exposure and strain shows. You are not fit to go out hunting employment."
"Poverty has no choice," bitterly. "The fact that I am tired does not matter."
"Oh, but it does. Now I am not quite so badly off as you suppose. All I ask is a chance to think, to arrange some plan. Won't you sit quietly there until I puzzle it out?"
She sank down wearily upon one end of the settee, and I took the other, leaning forward, my face in my hands.
For a few moments as I sat thus in silence the obvious way out never once occurred to me. Somehow the memory of my own position had become blotted out in contemplation of the serious predicament of my companion. How could I assist her in spite of her pride, and her determination to continue the struggle alone. I could not take her to my boarding house, which was exclusively for men, nor did I have any acquaintance able to furnish her employment. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, and my fingers touched the two bills handed me by Vail. For an instant I failed to realize their significance, and then the recollection of my own engagement came swiftly back. At first the memory was a disgust; the very presence of the girl, and her tale of struggle, made me realize the sordidness of this plot in which I was involved. Somehow it struck me then as a dirty, underhanded scheme. Yet, as I reviewed the details, this conception largely vanished. We were defrauding no one, merely protecting a man helpless to protect himself, backed by legal advice, as well as by the desire of the administrators of the will. The comparatively large sum of money offered me for the service was not excessive considering the amount involved, or the way in which I physically resembled the party represented. The feeling of resentment died away, but I doubted if she could be made to look at it in the same light. I glanced across to where she sat, the gray dawn giving me clear view. Her head rested back upon one arm, and she was asleep. Uncomfortable as she looked, she was still resting, the tired lines of her face less noticeable. I had no heart to awaken her, and remained motionless, thinking it all over carefully in detail.
We remained undisturbed, our settee removed from the main pathway, along which a few early workmen passed. She was the very one to act the part of Philip Henley's wife, if she would consent. Her refinement, the clear innocence of her face, would be convincing, and I began already to long for her company. Yet she would have to be told every detail, convinced the apparent fraud was justifiable. I rather dreaded the look in her eyes when she first heard the proposal, and her questioning me. While I still hesitated, fearful of refusal, the sun shining upon her face awoke her suddenly. She straightened up instantly, but her eyes smiled as they met mine.
"I was asleep," she said in surprise. "For how long?"
"Nearly two hours."
"And you have sat there quietly all that time?"
"That is nothing. I was tired, but not sleepy. Besides, I had so much to think about."
"You mean regarding what you shall do with me," and she arose to her feet. "It is time now I did something for myself."
"Wait, please," and I extended my hand, almost forcing her back upon the settee. "Let me say a word first before you decide to go. All I told you last night about myself is true, with one exception. I have money, and profitable work in view—see!" and I held before her the two bills.
She gazed at them with wide-open eyes, half convinced of some legerdemain.
"A thousand dollars," she exclaimed bewildered. "You! why, what does it all mean?"
"Yes, and nine thousand more promised, when I complete work that ought not to require to exceed two months. I was not without money in the restaurant, only I could not ask the cashier to change so large a bill. Sit down again, please, and let me tell you the story."
She did so, almost reluctantly, as though doubting my sanity, but I could note a change in the expression of her face as I proceeded. I told it slowly, carefully, pausing to explain each detail to her questioning, yet was not interrupted more than once or twice. Somehow, as I thus repeated the proposed scheme to another it did not appear quite as easy, or honorable, as when I faced it alone. However, I struggled through, painting the affair as well as I could, but without daring to propose her cooperation. Her wide-open eyes on my face gave me a thrill of apprehension I could not analyze.
"That 's the whole story," I ended, rather lamely.
"What do you think of it?"
"I—I hardly know," with slow hesitation. "It is very strange. Tell me the young man's name again."
"Henley—Philip Henley."
"And the town?"
"Carrollton, Alabama."
"And he is in prison for crime, you say—what crime?"
"Forgery, a fourteen-year sentence."
"Did they tell you when he was sent there?"
"No; I believe not."
"And his wife has disappeared? They can find no trace of her?"
"So both men assured me."
"And this one named Neale—are you certain he is an administrator?"
"Yes, I was shown a certified copy of the will; everything seemed to be exactly as represented."
She pressed one hand to her forehead, her eyes on the ground. I watched her, an unasked question trembling on my lips. Suddenly she looked up again, her cheeks flushed.
"You were going to suggest that I go with you, were you not?" she asked swiftly. "That I play the wife's part? Why did n't you ask it?"
"Because I lacked courage," I replied frankly, yet leaning eagerly toward her. "I was afraid you would take such a proposition wrongly."
"Then you retain some respect for me; some faith in my character?"
"I certainly do," earnestly.
"And you see nothing wrong in carrying out your part? You mean to go to Carrollton with someone—a woman?"
"I—I agreed to the terms—yes."
She drew a long breath, her eyes upon mine.
"Then I will go also," she said soberly, and held out her hand.
"You mean that?"
"Yes—why not? Surely it is as right for me as for you. You wished me to say yes, did you not?"
My face must have answered, as my lips failed, but she went on swiftly:
"Then I will go; only remember it is acting, a mere play in which I have a certain part to perform. We are to be friends throughout it all—actors on the stage. There must be no misunderstanding about this."
I had recovered my voice now, realizing all she meant, and anxious to reassure her.
"Certainly. There will be no mistake, Mrs. Bernard. That was why I hesitated to ask you, for fear you might misinterpret my purpose. You are the very woman to do this. I dreaded to have with me the kind Vail would have sent. I am delighted—truly I am, and nothing shall occur to cause you any regret."
"We go tonight?—I shall need clothing."
"Of course; that was what this money was advanced for, to outfit us. How much will you need?"
She thought a moment, a little line of perplexity between her eyes, finally naming a sum which surprised me.
"Not more than that?" I exclaimed. "Surely that is not enough."
"Oh, yes, it is," laughing. "There will be no dressing. All I need do is appear neat."
We sat there and talked it over, deciding exactly our course of action. At nine o'clock I left her, hunted up the nearest bank and got change for my bill. Then I gave her the amount asked, and we separated, to meet again late that afternoon at the depot. I felt no doubt as to her being there on time. My day was a busy one, as I had to visit my boarding house, buy needful clothing, and arrange for transportation. At the moment specified I called up Vail on the phone, and he responded instantly, the very tone of his voice evidencing the relief he felt at hearing from me.
"Began to think I had skipped with the thousand?" I asked. "Well, I have n't, for the other nine looks too good."
"You are going, then?"
"Sure; all packed, and transportation bought. Best of it is I 've found the right woman to go along with me.
"Good; I didn't know what to do about that—the one I had in mind is out of town. Who is she?"
"Oh, never mind her name; she is all right, a friend of mine."
"Not likely anyone I know. Where are you?"
I told him, and he agreed to send over certain papers to me by messenger. These arrived promptly, and I studied them carefully until nearly train time, getting all the facts firmly implanted in my mind. Then, my heart beating somewhat faster than usual, I took cab to the depot, more deeply interested I fear in again meeting Mrs. Bernard, than in the adventure itself. We met beneath the grim shadow of the train shed.
The events of the day had changed her greatly. At first, as she came toward me through the crowd near the gate, holding out a neatly gloved hand, I could scarcely realise that this well-dressed, soft-voiced lady was the homeless creature I had consorted with the night before. Her eyes laughingly challenged mine, while the hours since had given her back perfect control.
"So you did not even know me," she said pleasantly. "Oh, but you did not—you were passing by when I spoke. Don't apologize, for really I take it as the highest compliment. You are wonderfully improved yourself. If I had ever doubted your claim to having been well born I would realize the truth now. That is something not easily counterfeited."
"And something evidently you need never try to counterfeit," I added, forgetful of our peculiar relations, as I gazed at the arch face under the broad hat brim. "Pray how did you work such a marvelous transformation on so small a sum? I had a theory marriage was expensive."
Her cheeks flamed.
"That depends," she replied; "I had excellent training. The marvel is even greater than you suppose, for behold this case also filled with necessities. Is this our train?"
"Yes," and I took up the grip she designated as hers. "Let us get settled and into the diner, for I am hungry as a wolf."
I had procured opposite sections, and, before retiring, we studied the papers, together with Vail's letter of instruction, and thus came to a complete understanding. She was quick-witted, and spoke frankly, and yet, when I finally lay down in my berth I felt less well acquainted with her than before. Somehow, in a manner inexplainable, a vague barrier had arisen between us. I could not trace it to any word or action on her part, and yet I felt held away as by an invisible hand. Her very cordiality exhibited a reserve which made me clearly comprehend that the slightest familiarity would be checked. Evidently she had determined coolly to carry out the deceit, to act her part to perfection, because of the reward, and she meant I should comprehend her exact position. I fell asleep dissatisfied, half believing she was also playing a part with me, although it was impossible to conceive her purpose. The conception even came that she was herself an adventuress, yet I throttled the thought instantly, unwilling to harbor it.
It was at the close of the following afternoon when our train reached Carrollton. The depot must have been a mile from the town, and very few people were upon the platform, two drummers and ourselves the only ones to disembark. The traveling men hastened to the nearest hack, while I glanced about in search of a conveyance. The only other vehicle present was a two-seated surrey, driven by a rather disreputable negro. I approached in some doubt.
"No, sah," he said, grinning. "Dis yere am my own curridge, sah; tain't nuthin' ter do wid de Henley plantation. I reckon dey done did n't git no telegram. Dey sure did n't less dey wus oxpectin' one, an' cum inter town after it. Yes, sah, I know whar de place am all right. I done worked dar onct. I reckon you 'se Massa Philip Henley, sah; though you 've sure growd some since I saw you de las' time. I 'se ol' Pete, sah; I reckon you remembers ol' Pete."
"Of course I do," I returned heartily, encouraged by his words to believe I would pass muster. "Can you drive us out?"
The negro scratched his head.
"I reckon as how I can, sah, leastwise so far as ther gate. It's going to be plum dark when we gits dar, an' dis nigger don't fool round dar none in de dark."
"Why, what's the trouble, Pete?"
"Cause ol' Massa Henley's ghost was hangin' round, sah. I ain't nebber seen it myself, an' I don't want to, for he was sure bad 'nough alive, but dar 's niggers what has."
"Oh, pshaw," I laughed, turning toward the silent girl. "We will risk the ghost if you 'll drive us out. Put in the grips."
"Yes, sah. I reckon this yere am de new missus."
"Yes," and I assisted her into the rear seat. "That's all; now jog along."
He climbed into his place, but with no special alacrity; but whipped his team into a swift trot, evidently anxious to complete the trip as early as possible. I glanced aside at my companion, observing the paleness of her face.
"Surely you are not afraid of the negro's ghost?" I questioned.
"Oh, no, but the strangeness of it all has got on my nerves. I did not suppose it would be so hard, and—and I am not so sure now that we ought to do this."
"But that is foolish," I insisted, a bit angrily. "We talked it all over, you know, and no harm can be done, except through our discovery. Don't fail me now."
"Oh, I am not going to fail," indignantly. "The ride will steady my nerves," she leaned forward whispering, her head inclined toward the front seat. "Perhaps he can tell us who we shall meet there?"
"Pete," I asked, "who is out there now?"
The negro turned, so I could see the whites of his eyes.
"At de Henley plantation, sah? Why, I reckon de oberseer an' de housekeeper—both white folks. I done don't know just who dey am fer shure, cause dey don't stay long no more. I reckon dey can't abide dat ghost, sah, an' de field han's dey won't stay on de place at all affer dark."
"The overseer and housekeeper then are newly employed?"
"Dem am de fac's, sah. Deh ain't been dar no time at all, an' I reckon as how dey won't stay long, though de niggers say de oberseer am a hell ob a man."
Here was a pleasant situation surely. While the conditions were favorable enough so far as our purpose was concerned, yet I fervently wished we had postponed our arrival until daylight. While the negro's ghost had no terrors for me—indeed, merely afforded amusement—I realized my companion was not so indifferent. She pressed closer to me in the narrow seat, her eyes on the dusky shadows. I endeavored to laugh away her fears, but got little response. The road was a lonely one, although apparently well traveled, bordered by rail fences and, deserted-looking fields. Once we passed through a swamp, and skirted the edge of timber. Then we turned to the right into a branch track, where low bushes brushed our wheels. By this time it was quite dark, and Pete was obliged to hold in his horses. There was a quarter moon in the sky, just enough to give everything a spectral look, with no human habitation visible, and owls hooting dismally in the distance. It was uncanny in the extreme, and even I felt the desolation, and became silent. Pete whistled stoutly, but without enthusiasm, occasionally turning his head to make sure we were still there. I could hear her quick breathing, and feel an occasional clutch of her fingers on my sleeve at some unusual sound. Suddenly the negro pulled up before a high hedge, and I perceived the white glimmer of a gate opposite us, the black shadow of trees beyond.
"Here we am, sah," he whispered, glancing about fearful, "an' de good Lord knows I 'se glad tain't no furder. You just han' me a dollar, sah, an' den I 'se goin' fur to git out o' dis."
"Is that the house in there?"
"Suah, you ought for to know dat. Tain't changed none, 'cept run down a bit, far as I know. Here am your grips, sah."
We had no sooner alighted than he wheeled his team, and departed, whipping the horses into a run. I felt her hand grip my sleeve, and glanced aside into her face.
"Frightened?" I asked, endeavoring to speak easily. "Don't let that fellow bother you; surely you do not believe in spooks?"
"No," her voice trembling, "but it is all so desolate. I—I wish we had waited until daylight."
"Well, frankly, so do I," I responded, "but the thought comes too late. There is nothing left us but to try the house; we cannot pass the night out here."
"No, oh, no!"
"Then come on," and I picked up the suit cases. "We will probably be laughing at ourselves in five minutes. You will have to unlatch the gate."
It was held in place by a sagging rope, but opened noiselessly, and we advanced onto a brick walk, so little used as to be half hidden by weeds growing in the crevices. The moon dimly revealed rank vegetation on either side, while ahead, beneath the tree shadows, the darkness was profound. There was no sound, no faintest gleam of light to indicate the house, and I was compelled to advance cautiously to keep to the path, which apparently wound about in the form of a letter "S." We were at the foot of the front steps, the building itself looming black before us, almost before we realized its nearness. I could perceive the outlines indistinctly, and the deserted desolation affected me strangely. Perhaps some of the negro's superstition had got into my blood, for I felt my heart leap when the girl suddenly sobbed, clutching me in an agony of fear. Yet the very knowledge of her fright stiffened my resolution, and I dropped the grips to clasp both her hands.
"Don't!" I insisted. "I know the place looks leery enough, but Pete said the overseer and housekeeper were here. Doubtless they are in the back rooms. Wait here until I go up and rouse them."
"Oh, no; I could not stand it to be left alone."
"All right; here, take my hand, and we 'll go up together."
They were broad wooden steps, leading to a wide porch, the roof supported by heavy columns. Beyond was the dark bulk of the house, shapeless in the gloom. We were within a single step of the top when a man—seemingly a huge figure—suddenly emerged from the shadow of a column, and confronted us.
"What ther hell," he ejaculated sullenly, "are you doin' here?"
I paused with foot uplifted, too astounded at the apparition to respond, conscious my companion had shrunk behind.
"Well, speak up!" growled the voice. "What 's wanted?"
It was not in my nature to fear men, and this was evidently a man. I could feel the warm blood surge back to my heart.
"You surely startled me, friend," I explained. "Are you the overseer?"
"I reckon I am, but what I want to know is, who you are?"
"I?" striving to regain my wits. "Why, I am—am Philip Henley; we—we have just got in from the North."
"How did you git out yere?"
"A negro drove us from the station—old Pete who worked here once; maybe you know him?"
The man grunted.
"What become of the nigger?"
"He simply dumped us out at the gate, and drove back as though the devil was after him. He said the place was haunted."
"And he hit it about right at that, as ye'r' likely to find out afore mornin'. Is that a woman with you?"
"Yes—may we come in?"
"Oh, I reckon I ain't got no license to turn yer away, if yer mind ter risk it. Lord knows I 'm willin' 'nough to hav' company. Git yer duds, an' I 'll light up, so yer kin see a bit."
He disappeared, and I lugged the grips to the top of the steps, where we waited. Then a faint light streamed out through the open door, a moment later outlining his figure.
"Come on in," he said, still gruffly. "Yer don't need be afeerd o' me, mam, and the housekeeper be yere directly."
I confess I entered the dim hall reluctantly, obsessed by some strange premonition of danger, but Mrs. Bernard clung to me, and the sight of her white face gave me new courage.
It was an old-fashioned living room into which we entered, the floor unswept, the chairs faded and patched. Curtains were drawn closely at the windows, while the single oil lamp stood on a center table littered with old newspapers. I dropped the grips on the carpet, not so much interested in my surroundings as in the appearance of the man in charge. The shading of the light gave me only a partial view of the fellow, but he was big, loose-jointed, having enormous shoulders, his face so hidden by a heavy mustache, and low drawn hat brim, I could scarcely perceive its outline. He appeared a typical rough, wearing high boots, with an ugly-looking Colt in a belt holster.
"Where are you from?" I asked, surprised at this display of firearms.
"Texas," with a grin, not altogether pleasant. "That's an ol' friend."
"No doubt, but I see no sense in wearing it here. What are you afraid of?"
He stroked his mustache, eyeing me.
"Wal, personally, stranger, I ain't greatly feerd o' nuthin', but I wus hired fer to keep people outer this shebang. There ain't no work goin' on, so I don't hav' no niggers to keep folks out."
"Who employed you?"
"That don't make no difference. Those wus my orders—not to talk, nor let enybody hang 'round except you folks."
"Then we were expected?" in surprise.
"Sure; I reckon yer 'd a been hoofin' it up the road long afore this otherwise. Still, I dunno," with a suggestive wink, "I 've got a likin' fer pretty girls."
I glanced at her, where she had sank down on a dilapidated sofa, but no expression of her face told me she had overheard. It was the man's wink, more than his language, which angered me.
"Cut out your references to the lady," I said in a low tone, "unless you are starting in for trouble."
"Oh, skittish, hey! Wal, stranger, I never run away frum no troble yet, an' I reckon I don't begin now. Besides, yer need n't ride no high hoss with me. I 'm on ter your game."
His words sufficed to silence my batteries. I felt no fear of the man, big as he was and armed, but the thought that he might have been sent there by either Neale or Vail, and informed of the conspiracy, made me cautious about angering him. I must discover first the exact situation before locking horns with this Texas steer.
"Oh, do you!" I returned carelessly. "All right, then, we 'll let it go at that; only please remember the lady is under my protection. What is your name?"
"Coombs," in better humor, feeling he had bluffed me. "Bill Coombs."
"Can we have a bit of lunch?"
"I reckon yer can. Ol' Sally is a rustlin' some grub now. I stirred her up when I furst cum in."
He sat down cross-legged on a chair the other side the littered table, and stared at us, his hat still drawn down over his eyes. Whether the fellow knew no better or was deliberately insolent, I could not clearly determine. However, it was easy to perceive the girl was alarmed, and my thought was with her. This unmannerly brute could wait until we were alone for his lesson. I had handled worse men than him in my time, and I proposed finding out before we retired who was master. So when he even rolled and lit a cigarette, eyeing me closely during the operation, I pretended to take no notice, but spoke to her quietly, in a voice which would not carry across the room.
"Don't mind him," I whispered. "He's only a rough-neck trying to bully a bit. I'll teach him his place before tomorrow."
"It is not the man so much," she replied, giving me a glimpse of her eyes. "But it is all so desolate and gloomy. I have never been superstitious, but that negro's fear actually gave me the creeps. I have been seeing shadows ever since."
I laughed lightly, touching her hand.
"Still we 've found nothing else than live ones. Shadows won't hurt us, and this place will look better by daylight."
"You have n't any nerves."
"Oh, yes, I have; only they are trained. I didn't anticipate an easy job when I came down here. It's assumed a different form, that's all."
"You do not like it?"
"Not altogether," I admitted. "I am beginning to wonder if those fellows were square, if they gave me the straight story. Coombs' words would seem to indicate that he knows I 'm a fraud. Perhaps he did n't mean that, but it sounded so. Why should they tell that rough-neck their plans, and send him down here? I 'll find out what he knows, and how he knows it, before another ten hours. If he 's here to spy on us I 'll make him earn his money."
She did not look around.
"Are—are you just beginning to doubt what those men told you?"
"Doubt!" in surprise. "No; I don't know that I do. But I don't like to be mistrusted and watched. Why? Do you think they are double-crossing us?"
"I 've—I 've taken your word," she said quickly. "But it has never seemed quite right to me. I—I hardly know why I consented to come, only I was so miserable, anything seemed better than the life I was leading."
"You saw all the papers," I interposed, "and they bear out every statement."
"Yes, but could they not be forged? Why should any honest lawyer advise a client to undertake such a fraud?"
"Why, really I do not know," I returned, looking at her in astonishment. "Of course it does seem queer, but the case is a peculiar one, and, perhaps, can be solved in no strictly legal way. If you felt so about it, why did you not say so before?"
"Don't get angry—please. I hardly think I was myself then. It was just an impulse I could not resist to get away from the past. I was desperate enough then for anything. I don't think I cared whether it was right or wrong. But on the train I lay awake and thought it all over, and—and I would have gone back then if I could. I am sorry, so sorry, but I am thoroughly ashamed of myself—here, as I am."
"You mean, pretending to be my wife?"
"Yes; that—that is bad enough, surely. I must have been crazy to ever consent. Even if the truth is never known I can no longer respect myself. But—but that is not all—we are actually criminals, engaged in a criminal plot. Because the plan was concocted by a lawyer makes no difference. We could be arrested, imprisoned."
"I supposed you understood."
"No doubt I did, but my brain was numbed; I could not comprehend. It was not your fault, but mine; I do not blame you. Only, must we go on?"
"We shall have to play out the game tonight, at least," I said, startled by her earnestness. "I will talk with Coombs, and will tell you the result tomorrow. Your nerves are all unstrung, and the affair may appear different by daylight."
She put her hand in mine, her eyes on my face.
"No; it is not my nerves. See, my hand does not tremble; I am not afraid physically. I 've simply come to myself; I 'm convinced we 're doing wrong."
"But you will wait until morning? until I have talked with Coombs?" I asked anxiously.
"Yes," after an instant's hesitation. "There is nothing else I can do."
The Texan got noisily to his feet, and swaggered across the floor.
"If you all hav' got through yer whisperin'," he said roughly, "I reckon Sally 's got ther grub laid out."
I bit my lips to keep back a hot reply, feeling the restraint of her eyes, and we followed him into the next room. The table was set for two, and I could distinguish the shadow of a woman standing motionless in the farther corner. The dim light barely revealed her outlines.
"Yer kin talk it out yere," announced Coombs, waving one hand, "cause I won't be present, havin' et already. I reckon Sally won't interfere none."
He slammed the door viciously going out, causing the lamp to sputter. Then the woman came silently forward, a coffeepot in her hand. She was a mulatto perhaps sixty years of age, her face scarred by smallpox, and with strangely furtive eyes. Somehow she fitted into the scene, and I saw my companion gazing at her almost with horror, as she flitted about us silently as a specter. I endeavored to talk, while eating heartily, for I was hungry, but found it difficult to arouse Mrs. Bernard to any response, and she merely toyed with her food. In despair I turned to the other, hopeful that a question or two might dissolve the spell.
"You are the housekeeper, I believe?"
She favored me with a single glance of surprise.
"Yes."
"Have you been here some time?"
"No."
"You probably knew the old Judge?"
"No."
Her monosyllabic answers were perfectly colorless, and, with this last, she picked up an empty dish, and vanished. I endeavored to laugh, but there was no response in the eyes of the woman opposite. She dropped her fork, and pushed back her chair.
"Oh, I simply cannot stand this place!" she exclaimed. "There is something perfectly horrid about it, and—and the people. How shall I ever get through the night?"
"That is nothing," I soothed, although hardly at ease myself. "She is evidently of the taciturn sort. We don't need to keep these servants, you know. I 'll hunt up some more cheerful in town tomorrow. Why, by Jove, it's ten o'clock already. Have you finished?"
"I could n't choke down another mouthful."
"Well, don't be afraid. They mean well enough, no doubt. Sallie!"
She came gliding in, her back to the door.
"Are you the one who is to show us to our rooms?"
"Yes."
She picked up the lamp and went out, and Mrs. Bernard followed instantly, evidently afraid to be left in the dark. I followed with the grips, trailing up the stairs, having seen nothing of Coombs in the front room. In the upper hall our guide threw open two doors, going into the rooms and lighting lamps, thus giving glimpses of the interiors. The one in the corner was the larger, and better furnished.
"This will be yours," I said, placing her valise on the floor. "You can feel safe enough there with the door locked—yes, there is a key—and I will be right opposite if you need anything."
She gave me her hand, but I felt it tremble.
"You are still afraid?"
"Yes, I am—but—but I am not going to be such a fool."
As her door closed I turned to the mulatto, who still stood there, lamp in hand. I was not sleepy, and I wanted most of all to have an understanding with Coombs. I could not talk with the fellow in the presence of Mrs. Bernard, for he was the kind to be handled roughly for results, but now I was ready to probe him to the bottom. "Is the overseer downstairs?"
"No."
"See here, Sallie," I insisted warmly, "I 'm master of this house and I want some kind of answer besides yes, and no. Where is he?"
"Ah reckon he's out in one o' ther cabins, sah—he done don't sleep in the house nohow."
"He does n't sleep here! Why?"
"Ah spect it 's cause he 's afeerd too, 'sah," she replied, her snaky eyes showing. "Ah 's a voo-doo, an' ah don't care 'bout 'em tall, but good Lor', dar ain't no white man wants ter stay in des yere house mor'n one night."
She laughed, a weird, grating laugh, and started downstairs. I stood still, watching her light disappear. Then, swearing at myself for a coward, stepped back into my own room, and closed the door.