MRS. PRESTON, Miss Jenny Ann and Miss Betsey, in the old phaeton, plodded on ahead of the young people to show them the route to the old sulphur springs. They passed by a number of beautiful Virginia farms and old homesteads along the shady roads. Miss Betsey was deeply interested in the history of the neighborhood, and in the old families that had lived in this vicinity since the close of the Civil War. Mrs. Preston liked nothing better than to relate that history to her New England guest.
To tell the truth, Miss Betsey Taylor was far more clever than any one might have supposed. She remembered very well that the friend of her youth, Mr. John Randolph, had come from somewhere near Culpepper, Virginia. Nor was she by any means unwilling to know what had become of him after he had disappeared from her horizon. But Miss Taylor did not intend to ask her hostess any direct questions if she could be persuaded to relate the story of this John Randolph in the natural course of her conversation. It may be that MissBetsey had even been influenced in her desire to spend some time on the Preston estate by this same thirst for information in regard to the friend who had certainly lived not far from this very neighborhood.
"Whose place is that over there?" inquired Miss Jenny Ann unexpectedly, pointing to an old brick house overgrown with ivy.
Mrs. Preston flicked her horse. "It belongs to the Grinsteads. They are descendants of the Randolphs, who used to live in these parts."
Miss Betsey's eyelids never quivered. "The Randolphs?" she inquired casually. "What Randolphs?"
"James and John were the heads of the family in my day, but they have both—— Dear me! are the young people following us? We must hurry along," returned Mrs. Preston absently.
Miss Jenny Ann looked out of the phaeton. She reported that she could see Madge and Phil, who were riding side by side, leading the horseback cavalcade.
Miss Betsey's side curls bobbed impatiently, but she decided to ask no more questions of her hostess just at present.
Behind Madge and Phil, Lillian and Jack Bolling were riding companions, and Eleanor and Harry Sears brought up the rear. The four front riders kept close together, but everynow and then Harry and Eleanor would lag behind until they were almost out of sight of the other riders.
Madge did not like Harry Sears. He was not always straightforward, and he was not kind to those who were less fortunate than himself. It may be that the little captain's dislike was due to the fact that Harry was always particularly rude to David and never failed to try to make the boy feel his inferior position. She did not believe, as Harry did, that because he was well off and well-born he had the privilege of being impolite to poorer and less aristocratic people. So Madge could not imagine how Eleanor could like Harry Sears. She did not know that Harry showed only his best side to Eleanor.
"I do wish Nellie would keep up with us, Phil!" she exclaimed a little impatiently. "I am afraid she and Harry may get lost if they keep on loitering; they don't know which roads to take." Phil looked back anxiously over the road. At some distance down the lane Harry and Eleanor were riding slowly, deep in conversation.
"I think I will ride back and ask Nellie to hurry," proposed Madge, turning her horse and cantering back to her cousin.
"Hurry along, Eleanor," she said rathercrossly. "It is ever so much nicer for us to keep together."
Eleanor laughed. "Don't worry about me, Madge. I am not going to fall off my horse and we can catch up with you at any time we wish. I don't wish to ride fast. Harry and I are talking and I like to look at the scenery along the road."
Madge's face flushed. Eleanor was generally easy to influence, but once she made up her mind to a thing she was quietly stubborn and unyielding.
"All right, Nellie," Madge shrugged her shoulders eloquently, "but if you and Harry are lost, don't expect us to come back to hunt for you. Mrs. Preston particularly asked us to keep her in sight, as the roads about here are confusing. I am sure I beg your pardon for intruding." Madge touched her horse with the tip of her riding whip and cantered back to Phil's side, her cheeks scarlet, her eyes snapping. Hereafter Eleanor could go her own way. Madge had heard Harry Sears chuckle derisively as she turned away and it made her very angry.
Eleanor gazed after Madge's horse a little regretfully; not that she intended doing what her cousin had asked of her, but she was sorry that Madge had become so cross over nothing.
"Hurry Along, Eleanor," Called Madge.
"I tell you, Miss Eleanor," Harry Sears continued when Madge was out of hearing, "I don't trust that fellow Brewster. I know we are going to have trouble with him before this holiday is over. I want to warn you, because I know you don't like the fellow either. Tom Curtis won't hear a word against him. But I know Brewster is up to some mischief when he goes off for hours and stays by himself. I have pretty well made up my mind to follow him some day to find out what he does."
Eleanor shook her gentle, brown head. "I don't think I would spy on him, Harry," she protested. "I don't like David, because he is so rough and rude, but I don't think he is positively bad."
"Oh, it wouldn't be spying," argued Harry. "If I think the fellow is going to get us in trouble, I believe it is my duty to keep a close watch on him."
"He'll be awfully angry," sighed Eleanor.
Harry made no answer, but merely smiled contemptuously.
Eleanor's horse was ambling down a road that was cut along the foot of a tall hill. On the other side there was a steep declivity that dropped nearly twenty feet to the ground. A low rail fence separated the embankment from the road, which was rough and narrow.
All of a sudden Eleanor's horse began to shy off to one side of the road. The more Eleanor pulled on her left rein, the more her horse moved toward the right; and on the right side of the road was the precipice.
One of her horse's forefeet went down beneath the level of the road. Eleanor tried to rein in, but she felt herself sliding backward over the right side of her horse.
"Harry!" she cried desperately. Harry Sears turned in amazement. He was not in time. Eleanor rolled off her horse. In falling she struck her back on the rail fence. But the fence saved her life. She tumbled forward toward the road, instead of rolling down the steep embankment.
Harry was off his horse in a moment. Eleanor was huddled on the ground, her face white with pain. She had fallen off her horse, though the animal had not tried to run away. It had stumbled back into the road and stood waiting to know what had happened.
"Your saddle girth broke, Eleanor," explained Harry. "Are you much hurt?"
"No-o-o," replied Eleanor bravely, with her lips trembling. "I believe I have bruised my shoulder, but it isn't very bad."
Harry had Eleanor on her feet, but he could see that she was suffering intensely. He did notknow what to do. The rest of the riding party was well out of sight. He did not like to leave Eleanor alone while he galloped after them; yet he did not believe that she would be able to ride on.
"Can you fix my saddle girth, Harry?" questioned Eleanor. "We shall be left behind sure enough, and Miss Jenny Ann will be angry with me."
It took Harry quite ten minutes to mend Eleanor's saddle girth. She sat limply on the grass, hoping that the pain in her shoulder would pass. It did not, but she managed, with Harry's help, to get back on her horse.
Harry started off at a brisk canter, a little uneasy. He and Eleanor were entirely unfamiliar with the country through which they were traveling. There were roads that intersected each other every few miles. These were not marked with sign-posts and Harry had no idea in what direction lay the old sulphur springs.
But Nellie was not following him. He reined up and rode back to her. "What's the matter now?" he asked impatiently.
"I am so sorry, Harry," apologized Eleanor. "I think I can ride, but I can't go fast; it hurts my shoulder so dreadfully." Eleanor's soft brown eyes were filled with tears, which she tried in vain to keep from falling. Her pretty,light-brown hair, which she had braided and tied up with a black velvet ribbon, hung in a long plait down her back.
Slowly, keeping the horses in a walk, Harry and Eleanor continued their journey. Harry hoped that some one would ride back to see what had delayed them. Eleanor knew that no one would. Madge would think that they had purposely tarried. She would say so to the others, and no one would seriously miss them until after the arrival at the picnic grounds.
But Eleanor and her companion conquered another mile of the way, when they came to what Harry had feared, two roads that crossed their path like two sides of a triangle, each leading in a totally different direction.
Both riders reined up. Harry found a spring and Eleanor felt refreshed after drinking and bathing her face in the cold water. But which road should they take? They had both given up all hope of rejoining the rest of the party on their way to the springs; all the two now dreamed of was ultimately to arrive there. After careful consideration Harry and Eleanor chose the wrong road.
The old sulphur springs had been a fashionable summer resort in Virginia twenty-five years before. It still had its famous sulphur well and a dozen or more brick cottages in variousstages of dilapidation. The big hotel had been burned down and no one had attempted to rebuild it.
It had been Miss Betsey Taylor's special desire to drink the waters of the famous sulphur well. She had heard of it as a cure for all the ills of the flesh.
When the riding party dismounted from their horses Madge and Phil espied Miss Betsey peering down the old well. Madge had visited sulphur wells before. "Want a drink, Miss Betsey?" she inquired innocently, coming up to the old lady. She decided to revenge herself on Miss Betsey for the excellent daily advice that the maiden lady bestowed upon her.
Miss Betsey looked pleased. "Certainly. I intend to drink the sulphur water all day, and to have some of it put up in bottles to take back home with me. I can't say that I exactly like the odor." Miss Betsey's aquiline nose was slightly tilted.
"Here you are," interrupted Madge, passing Miss Betsey a glass of the sulphur water.
Miss Betsey took one swallow and gave a hurried gasp. "Take it away, child," she urged faintly. "It is the most horrible thing I ever tasted in my life." The old maid's eyes almost twinkled. "I think, my dear, that I will cure my nerves in a pleasanter way," she decided.
Miss Jenny Ann hurried over to them. "What has become of Nellie, Madge?" she questioned immediately.
The little captain shook her head. "She will be along soon. She and Harry Sears were loitering a little behind the rest of us."
But Eleanor and Harry did not arrive. An hour passed, then Miss Jenny Ann and the girls began to feel uneasy. It was growing late. The time had long since come for supper. Finally Jack Bolling suggested that he ride back to see what had become of the wanderers. In the meantime the supper was spread out on the grass. No one ate much. The whole party kept gazing up the road. It was nearly dark when Jack Bolling returned—alone. He had galloped back over the way they had come for three miles without seeing a sign of either Eleanor or Harry.
I CAN'T go any farther, Harry," said Eleanor despairingly.
Harry Sears reached her just in time. Eleanor fell forward on her horse's neck. She had fainted with the pain in her shoulder, which had increased with every step her horse had taken.
Harry laid Eleanor on the ground under a tree. Then he stood staring at her pallid face. He had not the faintest idea what he should do. He knew of no spring nearby where he could get water. Girls were an awful nuisance, anyway; something was always happening to them. Harry was sorry that he had ever ridden with Eleanor. It was stupid of him to have let the rest of the party get so far ahead of them.
Still, poor Nellie did not open her eyes. Harry hitched both of the horses to a fence rail and then came back to gaze at Eleanor until she came to herself.
When Eleanor opened her eyes it was to see Harry's frown, partly of impatience and partly from worry. She tried to sit up, but the pain made her ill and she lay back on the ground.She realized that she must have sprained her shoulder when she fell from her horse. She had been wrong in believing it to be only bruised.
"What shall we do, Eleanor?" asked Harry gloomily. "You can't ride any more and I can't leave you here by yourself. This road seems to be cut through a wilderness. We have not passed a house in miles!"
"You can help me over into that woods, Harry," she said faintly. "I'll lie down under the trees and wait—the sulphur springs can't be very far from here—then you ride on and find the others. Madge will drive back in Mrs. Preston's phaeton for me," smiled Eleanor, though her lips were almost colorless with pain. "Please don't forget where you leave me, Harry."
Harry Sears's face cleared. Eleanor's idea was the only possible one, and she was a brave girl to be willing to be left alone. "Don't you fear," he comforted her, as he led her deeper into the thick grove of trees. "I'll tie my handkerchief to the tree nearest the road. Besides, your horse will be hitched near here. When you hear us driving along the road, in about ten or fifteen minutes, just you sing out."
Eleanor was grateful when Harry left her, and she could give way to her real feelings. Shewas on a bed of moss and Harry had rolled up his coat for a pillow to put under her head. But the pain in her shoulder was excruciating. She could not get into any position where it seemed to hurt less. Each time she moved a twinge caught her and she would have liked to scream aloud. But Eleanor did not scream; she waited patiently, though now and then the tears would rise in her eyes of their own accord and trickle down her white cheeks. Madge was such a long time in coming to find her. However, Harry did not know his way to the sulphur well. It might take him some time to find it. How late it was getting! The sun was low in the west.
After taking a last look at the spot where Eleanor lay, at her horse hitched to a fence rail, at his own white handkerchief, which fluttered from a low branch of a tree near the road, Harry rode furiously off. He would surely find their friends in a few moments. But Harry continued to ride in exactly the wrong direction. Every yard he covered took him farther away from the sulphur springs. While he was galloping on his wild-goose chase the party at the springs decided to return to the Preston farm. They were too uneasy about Harry and Eleanor to have a good time, and they concluded that they would either overtake the lost couple on the way home or else find that the two youngpeople had given up and returned to the farm.
The three girls gave their horses free rein and cantered home with all speed. Yet it was dark when they arrived. No word had been heard of Eleanor or Harry. It was a cloudy evening and the sun had disappeared quickly. Without waiting, except to give the alarm to Mr. Preston, the entire riding party set out again. Madge thought that she would have liked to ask David to help them, but there was no time to spare. The riders met Mrs. Preston, Miss Jenny Ann and Miss Betsey, who had set out for home in the phaeton. The three older women also refused to go back to Prestons, until Eleanor and her companion were discovered.
In the meantime Harry Sears had finally reached the decision that he was not on the right road to the sulphur well. At the end of a five-mile gallop he turned his horse and cantered back. He passed Eleanor's horse, tugging impatiently at the reins that bound her; he saw his own white handkerchief tied on the tree; but he could not see or hear Eleanor. He would have liked to stop to find out that all was well with her, but he dreaded to let Eleanor know that he had spent all this time and was still without assistance. At the crossroads, where the young man had made his original mistake inthe roads, he at last turned down the lane that led to the sulphur springs. But by this time his friends were well on their way home to the Preston farm.
Eleanor's horse had grown weary of remaining standing. It was past her supper time and she wished her measure of oats. The horse tossed her head restlessly, walked forward a few steps and then backward, tugging and straining at her bridle. In his excitement and hurry to be off, Harry had not tied the horse very securely. He had no other hitching rope than her bridle. The mare gave one final jerk and shake of her head and was free. Quite innocent of the mischief her desertion would cause, she trotted back to her own stable at the Prestons.
At nine o'clock in the evening rain began to fall. The night was pitch dark, except for an occasional jagged flash of lightning. When Madge, in advance of all the others, passed along only a few rods from the very spot where Harry had left Eleanor the latter must have heard nothing, for she made not the faintest outcry.
It was almost midnight before Eleanor's friends discovered that Harry was not with her. Not finding any of the party at the sulphur springs, Sears had lost his head completely. Instead of returning to poor Eleanor he went onto the Preston farm, hoping stupidly that Nellie had in some way been rescued and that he would find her there. The journey back home was a long, weary one. His horse was completely fagged out and had gone lame in one foot. Harry was terrified at the emptiness of the Preston farm; only one or two servants were about; the others had gone with Mr. Preston to look for Eleanor. There were no horses left on the place. So, on foot, Harry set out again, only to have Eleanor's riderless horse pass by him in the night. He hardly saw the animal in his excitement. He did not dream that it was the horse he had hitched to mark Eleanor's resting place, but plodded on, tired and dispirited.
Harry finally ran across Madge, Phyllis and Jack. He told them his story as best he could. Foot by foot the young people retraced their way over the same road, looking for the fluttering signal of Harry's white handkerchief and the waiting horse.
The horse, of course, had run off, and at first it seemed impossible to find the handkerchief. Madge was desperate. It was her fault that poor Nellie was alone at midnight in the rain with her injured shoulder. If only Madge had begged Eleanor to ride on faster, she knew that Eleanor would have consented. It was only becauseshe had commanded it that her cousin had been so obstinate.
The other members of the Preston household were almost as miserable as Madge. Even Miss Betsey Taylor could not be persuaded to return to her bed. She forgot all about her health and her nerves, and was intent only on finding Eleanor, who was her favorite of the four girls.
The rain was still pouring in heavy, unrelenting streams, and everyone was soaked to the skin.
"My poor Nellie!" cried Madge. She and Phil were leading their tired horses along the road. "I shall never forgive Harry Sears for leaving her by herself and chasing all over the country for help. What an idiot he is!"
"Sh-sh!" Phil comforted her, although she herself was quietly crying. It was so dark that no one could see the girls' tears. "Don't blame Harry. He did what he thought was best at the time, although it seems silly to us now."
It was Harry, though, who at last found his rain-soaked handkerchief tied to the branch of a tree. He had held a dark lantern up by every bush or tree that he passed in the neighborhood where he believed he had left poor Eleanor.
"I've found the place, I've found the place!" he cried triumphantly. "Just a minute, Eleanor, and we will come to you!" He ran towardthe spot where he remembered to have left Eleanor. Madge hurried after him, Phyllis keeping tight hold of her hand.
Harry's cry had thrilled all the searchers. Jack and Lillian came next to hunt, with Mr. Preston close behind them. They stood together under the tree where Eleanor had lain. The dark lanterns lit up their haggard faces. Eleanor was not there!
"You have made a mistake in the place, Sears," declared Jack.
Harry reached down and picked up his own coat. "No, this is my coat," he declared.
Madge dropped to the ground, shaking with sobs. She had found Eleanor's little, soft felt riding hat.
"Children," urged Mr. Preston, "don't be so alarmed. It is very natural that, when we took so long to find the poor child, she got up and wandered off somewhere to get out of the rain. I will rouse the neighborhood and we men will search the woods and fields. We will inquire at all the farmhouses in the vicinity. Why, we are sure to find Eleanor. You girls must run along home and wait until morning. I can't have you all ill on my hands with pneumonia."
Miss Jenny Ann, Mrs. Preston and Miss Betsey were crawling out of the phaeton when Mr. Preston led three of the girls back to"I can't go home, Jenny Ann," insisted Madge. "It was my fault that Nellie is lost. Uncle and Aunt will never forgive me."
It was in vain that Miss Jenny Ann pleaded, argued and commanded the little captain to return with the other women to the Preston farm. She simply would not go. So Phyllis stayed behind with her for company.
Just before daylight one of the farmers who lived near the woods where Eleanor was supposed to have been left took the two girls home with him. Eleanor had not then been found.
HOURS and hours had gone by, and Eleanor had lain quite still. Sometimes she was conscious, but oftener she was not. The pain in her shoulder, the exhaustion from the long waiting, had made her delirious. When the rain began it seemed at first to refresh her, she was so hot and feverish. Later rheumatic twinges began to dart through her injured shoulder; her whole body was racked with pain. She seemed to be in some horrible nightmare. She forgot what had happened to her. She no longer realized that she was waiting for her friends to come to her rescue; she only believed that, if she could in some way get back to her own home, "Forest House," the agony and terror would cease.
In her delirium Eleanor managed to get up from the wet ground. She never knew how or when, but she remembered groping her way cautiously through the dark forest. The hundreds of trees seemed like a great army of terrible men and women waving angry arms at the frightened girl. Now and then she would bump into one of the trees. Eleanor would then stepback and apologize; she thought that she had collided with a human being.
At times Eleanor was dimly conscious that she could hear the sound of her own voice. She was singing in high, sweet tones a song of her babyhood:
"When the long day's work is over,When the light begins to fade,Watching, waiting in the gloaming,Weary, faint and half afraid,Then from out the deep'ning twilight,Clear and sweet a voice shall come,Softly through the silence falling—Child, thy Father calls, 'Come home.'"
"When the long day's work is over,When the light begins to fade,Watching, waiting in the gloaming,Weary, faint and half afraid,Then from out the deep'ning twilight,Clear and sweet a voice shall come,Softly through the silence falling—Child, thy Father calls, 'Come home.'"
"When the long day's work is over,When the light begins to fade,Watching, waiting in the gloaming,Weary, faint and half afraid,Then from out the deep'ning twilight,Clear and sweet a voice shall come,Softly through the silence falling—Child, thy Father calls, 'Come home.'"
There was something in the familiar words that comforted Eleanor. She would soon find her mother and father and Madge. But step by step Eleanor went farther away from civilization and deeper into the woods. At last she came out of the woods altogether to a more forbidding part of the country. A group of small hills rose up at the edge of the woodlands. They seemed to poor Eleanor's distorted imagination to be a collection of strange houses.
A yawning hole gaped in the side of one of the hills. Years before a company of promoters had believed that rich coal deposits could befound in these Virginia hills. A coal mine had been dug in the side of this solitary hillock. But the coal yield had not been rich enough. Later on the company had abandoned it and the old coal mine was disused and almost forgotten. A strange freak of destiny led Eleanor to the spot.
She felt, rather than saw, the opening. The rain had ceased, but the night was still dark. Eleanor believed that she had found the door of her own home at "Forest House." Why was it so dark in the hall? Had no one lighted the lamps? Surely, she heard some one cry out her name!
"Mother! Father!" she called. "Madge!" She put out one hand—the other was useless—and stepped into the black hole. It was all so dark and horrible. Eleanor took a few steps forward; a suffocating odor of coal gas greeted her; she stumbled and fell face downward. Eleanor was literally buried alive. She had wandered into a place that the world had forgotten, and she was too ill to make any effort to save herself.
So it was that Eleanor Butler heard no sound and saw no sign of the desperate search that was being made for her. But if Eleanor were unconscious, there was some one else who knew that the woods and all the nearby fields andcountryside were being investigated, inch by inch, by a party of determined seekers. The man believed that the search was being made for him. For several days he had been in hiding on the edge of the woods, not far from the old coal mine into which Eleanor had stumbled. He had his own reasons for hiding, although he believed that until to-night no crime had been fixed on him.
While Eleanor was groping her way out of the woods this man was crouched in the branches of a heavily wooded tree. He had spent all his life in the open, and knew that a party of men searching through a forest on a dark night would not spy him out so long as the darkness covered him. But he knew that at dawn he must find a better hiding place.
Just before daylight the woods were silent once more. The fugitive understood that the searching parties had gone home to rest and to get reinforcements in order to begin a more thorough hunt at dawn.
The greater part of the night the man had spent in trying to decide where he should conceal himself before the daylight. He knew of but one possible hiding place that was safe. He had tracked through the country for miles to hide his treasures in the old coal mine, although he had believed that he was absolutely free fromsuspicion. Who had betrayed him? Not the old gypsy woman. The man did not consider her. But there was—the boy!
As soon as the woods were free from the hunting parties the man slipped down from his tree. It was a poor place of refuge, but he would crawl into the disused coal mine, for the day at least, to guard his life and his stolen property. He crept cautiously along. As soon as he could get word to the gypsy woman they would both try to get away from the neighborhood. Things were getting too hot for them both. And again, there wasthe boy!
There was some one else afoot in the woods. The man could hear a cat-like tread. Nearer stole the other prowler. There was another sound, a faint call, which the man answered. An instant later the old gypsy woman appeared. "I have been searching for you, lad. The boy says he has got to see you."
It was hardly dawn, but a faint light had appeared in the sky that was not daylight but its herald. A pause hung over the world that always comes just before its awakening.
The man and woman hesitated just a moment at the opening of the old mine. It was dreadful to shut themselves away from the daylight. The man went in first, the old woman close behind him. But a few feet from the entrance he staggeredback; he had struck his foot against something. The man's first thought was that some one had crept into the mine to steal his treasure. A few seconds later he became more accustomed to the dim light and saw the still figure of Eleanor.
The man and the woman stared at the girl as though they had seen an apparition. She was so deathly pale it was not strange that they thought at first that she was not alive.
Both the man and the woman kept close to the ground, so as not to inhale the odor of the coal gas. The old gypsy took Eleanor's limp, white hand. "She is alive," she whispered to the man.
The man nodded. He realized at once that the woods were being searched, not for him, but for this lost girl. He could not imagine how the girl had wandered into this dreadful place of concealment. But she was certainly innocent of any wrong or suspicion of him. Yet, if she stayed in the coal mine with them all day, she might die.
There has hardly ever been born into this world any human creature who is wholly wicked. The man in the mine with Eleanor was not a cruel fellow. He had one strange, wicked theory, that the world owed him a living and he would rather steal than work for it.
Unexpectedly Eleanor opened her eyes. She did not cry out with terror. She was no longer delirious. She smiled at the man and at the old woman in a puzzled, friendly fashion. "It is so dark and dreadful in here! Won't you take, me out?" she pleaded.
Fortunately Eleanor had fallen near enough to the entrance of the mine to get the fresh air from the outside. She struggled to sit up, but the pain in her shoulder again overcame her.
"How did you get in here?" the man asked Eleanor suspiciously.
"I don't know," she answered, beginning to cry gently. "Please take me out."
The man realized that whatever was to be done for Eleanor must be done at once. Every minute that passed made it the more dangerous for him to return to the forest. Later on, when the woods were full of people, he would not dare leave the mine. He knew that even now he was risking his own freedom if he carried the girl out from the safe shelter that concealed them.
The man lifted Eleanor in his arms as gently as he could. She cried out when he first touched her; then she set her teeth and bore stoically the pain of being moved.
"You can trust me," her rescuer said kindly. "I can't take you to your friends, but I will take you to a place where they can find you. Now youmust promise me that you will never say that you have ever seen me or the old woman, and that you will never mention the old coal mine."
Eleanor promised and the fugitive seemed impressed with her sincerity.
The man carried her about a quarter of a mile into the woods. Then he laid her down in the grass and hurried away. Eleanor watched him with grateful eyes. She did not wonder why the man and the old woman had come to the mysterious hole in the earth, nor why they wished her to keep their hiding place a secret; she was not troubled about it. She was still in great pain, but her fever had gone and she was no longer delirious. She remembered the events of the day before up to the time when she started to wander in the woods. Now Eleanor waited, content and full of faith. The day had come, with its wonderful promise. She knew that she would soon be found. She would bear the pain as well as she could until then.
"Nellie! Nellie!" It was Madge's voice calling to her from afar off. The tones sounded queer and strained, but Eleanor felt sure they were those of her cousin. She could not be mistaken, as she had been last night. She must have been dreaming when some one seemed to summon her from the mouth of the cave. Eleanor did not realize that she had but caught anecho of some one crying to her through the heart of the forest.
Eleanor was weak and faint, but she summoned her strength. "Madge! here I am!" she cried. Her voice was too feeble to carry far.
Neither Madge nor any of her companions caught the answering sound. David Brewster, Jack Bolling, Phil and Lillian were with her. Harry Sears had given out at daylight and had gone back to the Preston farm.
Again they were wandering away from the spot where Nellie waited so patiently.
"Nellie! Nellie!" Madge called once more, her voice breaking.
Poor Eleanor realized that Madge's voice was farther off than it had been when she first called.
Eleanor made an heroic effort. She raised herself to a sitting position. "Madge! Phil! Oh, come to me!" she cried. Then Eleanor fainted.
It was a limp, white figure that Madge, running ahead of all the others, found stretched out on the grass. Her companions soon caught up with her.
"Nellie is dead!" cried Lillian, bursting into tears and sinking down beside her friend on the grass.
"Oh, no," assured Phil, "Nellie has onlyfainted." She turned quietly to David and Jack. "Go back, please, and tell Mr. Preston and some of the other men to bring a cot on which to carry Eleanor. She is only worn out and exhausted with exposure and pain. She will be all right soon. Don't look so heartbroken Madge."
Madge had not taken her eyes from her cousin's pale, haggard face. She could not believe that she was really looking at Eleanor. Could this poor, white, exhausted little creature be her Nellie? Why, it was only the afternoon before when Madge had last seen Eleanor laughing and talking to Harry Sears. And now——!
A few minutes later the men came with the cot and Eleanor was carried to the Preston home. Everybody, except David, followed her in triumph.
For David Brewster did not go back home with the others; he wished to find out about an old coal mine which he had been told was in this vicinity. He did not, of course, dream of Eleanor's connection with the place, but he had his own reasons for wishing to discover it.
An hour later the man and the old gypsy woman were startled by another visitor. David crept into the opening in the side of the hill. When he left, the man and woman in the mine had promised the lad to leave the countrysideas soon as possible. They had also agreed to return to David the silver and the greater part of the money stolen from the Preston house on the night of the corn roast. It remained for David to see that the stolen goods were returned to the house without suspicion falling on any one. David believed that he could save the evil-doers from disgrace and detection. But how was he to save himself?
ELEANOR, dear, do you know who the two Indian Chiefs were who appeared so mysteriously at our 'Feast of Mondamin'? They followed Lillian and me about all evening and wouldn't take off their masks."
Eleanor was propped up in a big, four-post mahogany bed with half a dozen pillows under her lame shoulder. One arm and shoulder were tightly bandaged. Eleanor had had a serious time since her accident. For rheumatism, caused by her exposure to the rain, had set in in the strained shoulder. She was now much better, though still feeling a good deal used up, and she found it very difficult to move.
Eleanor turned her head and smiled languidly at the excited Madge.
"Of course I don't know who the Indians were. Dear me, I had forgotten all about them. I suppose they must have been Mrs. Preston's and Miss Betsey's burglars. Has any one caught them?" Eleanor was getting interested.
"I should say not," giggled Madge cheerfully. "Those Indian braves were no other personsthan our highly respected friends, Mr. Tom Curtis and Mr. George Robinson! The sillies came all the way here just to be present at the corn roast, and then rushed off without telling us who they were. Tom was awfully cross because I never mentioned their appearance at the feast in any of my first letters. But I forgot all about them, there has been so much else going on. Only in my last letter I just happened to say that Mr. Preston had never been able to find out anything about his burglars, and that the two men dressed as Indians, whom Mr. Preston had always suspected, had disappeared."
Eleanor laughed. "Of course Tom had to 'fess up' after that, didn't he? Tom would so hate to do anything that might arouse suspicion. I think Tom Curtis is the most honorable boy I ever knew. Don't you?" asked Eleanor.
"Of course I do," answered Madge emphatically. "By the way, Tom and George will be back in a short time now with the motor launch. As soon as you are well enough we shall probably start off again, though our holiday time is almost over. You and I have distinguished ourselves by getting lost on this houseboat trip, haven't we, Nellie, dear? Only it is the old story. It was my fault that I got into trouble, while yours was only an accident, youpoor thing!" Madge patted Eleanor's hand softly.
The bedroom door now opened to admit Phyllis and Lillian. Phil carried a large dish of ginger cookies, hot from the oven, and Lillian a platter heaped with a pile of snowy popcorn. Both girls planted themselves on the side of Eleanor's bed.
"Phil, I thought you and Lillian promised to go walking with Harry Sears and Jack Bolling," protested Madge. "I was to take care of Nellie this afternoon while Miss Jenny Ann and Miss Betsey drove with Mrs. Preston to look at the 'ha'nted house' we have talked so much about."
Lillian shook her golden head calmly. "Did not want to go walking," she remarked calmly. "Phil and I broke our engagements. We decided that we would much rather stay with you and Nellie." She smiled and gave Eleanor a hug. "Cook is going to send up a big pitcher of lemonade in a few minutes. Who wouldn't rather stay at home than go walking with two tiresome boys on an afternoon like this?"
"You girls are terribly good and unselfish about me," exclaimed Eleanor. "It's worth being ill, and having a sprained shoulder, and being rescued by an old gypsy woman and a strange looking man to——" Eleanor stoppedshort. Her face flushed painfully and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry I have broken my word. I promised not to tell. Please, please, don't anybody ask me any questions, for I can't answer them even to please you girls."
Lillian looked mystified and extremely curious. Phyllis and Madge gazed at each other blankly. Neither of them spoke, but they were both concerned with the same question. Could it be possible that Nellie had also run across the old gypsy woman and the man who had held Madge a prisoner until Phil and David had rescued her? But then, Eleanor had been found several miles from the spot where the two old people were in hiding when Madge ran across them.
The little captain made up her mind to one thing; she would not trouble Eleanor with questions. But she would ask David if he thought his mysterious acquaintances were still in the neighborhood. Neither she nor Phil had ever spoken of them, though they had never ceased to wonder at David's knowing such peculiar people.
"Is David Brewster going for a walk with Jack and Harry?" inquired Madge casually.
Lillian shook her head. "Of course not," she replied. "David is going off on his usual secretmission. He goes on one every single afternoon!"
"It doesn't concern any one but him, does it?"
Lillian shrugged her shoulders. "I am certainly not in the least interested," she answered disdainfully. "I think he is the rudest person I ever met."
Unfortunately, there were other members of the boat party who were much concerned with David's peculiar behavior. Harry Sears and Jack Bolling were rather bored with their stay on the Preston farm since Eleanor's accident. The girls devoted all their time to nursing Eleanor; they could rarely be persuaded to take a walk or a drive, or to stir up a lark of any kind. Neither Harry nor Jack, who were from the city, felt the least interest in the farm work. David spent every morning in the fields with Mr. Preston. So Harry and Jack, having nothing else to think about, began to worry and pry into David's actions. It was strange that the boy went away every afternoon and never told any one where he was going, nor spoke afterward of what he had done or where he had been!
Jack Bolling did not really care a great deal about Brewster's affairs, but Harry Sears was a regular "Paul Pry." He had made up his mind to find out what Brewster was "after" onthese afternoons when he "sneaked" off and hid himself.
Just before Jack and Harry started on their walk David Brewster came out on the side porch of the Preston house with his coat pockets bulging with flat, hard packages. He had his hat pulled down over his eyes, and was hurrying off without looking either to the right or left, when Harry Sears called out: "Where are you off to, Brewster? If you are going for a walk, Bolling and I would like to go with you. We are looking for something to do."
David turned red. It was unexpected friendliness for Harry Sears to suggest coming for a walk with him. Harry usually never noticed David at all, except to order him about at every possible opportunity.
But David was resolute. He particularly needed to be alone on this afternoon. Besides his usual occupation, he must make up his mind how he could go about restoring to the Prestons and Miss Taylor their stolen property.
"I'm off on personal business, Mr. Sears," he returned politely. "I can't let any one else come along."
"Well, you are a nice, sociable person, Brewster," sneered Harry. "Sorry to have intruded. I might have known better."
David swung out of the yard without answering.It never occurred to him to glance back to see what Sears and Bolling were doing.
"Let's go after the fellow, Bolling," proposed Harry. "We have nothing else to do this afternoon. It would be rather good fun to find out what knavery the chap is up to and to show him off before the girls. I actually believe that Madge Morton and Phyllis Alden like the common fellow. Maybe they think Brewster is a kind of hero; he is so silent, dark and sullen, like the hero chap in a weepy sort of play."
Jack Bolling hesitated. "I don't think it is square of us to spy on Brewster, no matter what he is doing," he argued.
"Ido," returned Harry briefly. "If he isn't up to something he has no business doing, what harm is there in our chancing to run across him—quite by accident, of course? If he is up to some deviltry, it is our business to find it out."
David had turned a corner in the road and had jumped over a low stone fence into a field when the other two young men started after him.
Harry soon espied David, and he and Jack tramped after him cautiously, always keeping at a safe distance.
But David Brewster was wholly unaware that he was being followed. He hurried from one field to another until he came to a meadowthat had been left uncultivated for a number of years. It was uneven, running into little hills and valleys, with big rocks jutting out of the earth. One of these rocks formed a complete screen. David walked straight toward this spot as though he were accustomed to going to it. He lay down on the grass under the rock. On his way to his retreat he had made up his mind how he should try to return the stolen goods to the rightful owners, so there was nothing to keep him from his regular occupation. David pulled out of his pocket one of the small, flat objects that he carried and almost completely concealed it with his body as he leaned over it.
A few minutes later Harry Sears crept up on tip-toe from the back of the rock. Jack Bolling was considerably farther off. He meant to give David some warning of his presence before he approached him.
Harry Sears lay down flat on top of the rock. He made a sudden dive toward David, grabbing at the object that David held in his hand.
"What have you there?" he demanded. "Out with it! You've got to tell what you do every afternoon, hiding off by yourself."
David Brewster sprang to his feet, his face white with passion. He thrust the object that Harry coveted back into his pocket.
"Get up from there!" he shouted hoarsely. "What do you mean by spying on me like this? What business is it of yours how I spend my time? I am answerable to Tom Curtis, not to you. Here is your friend, Mr. Bolling, sneaking behind you on the same errand; and I suppose you both think you are gentlemen," he sneered.
"Oh, come, Brewster," interrupted Jack Bolling apologetically, "I suppose Harry and I were overdoing things a bit to come over here after you. But there is no use getting so all-fired angry. If you are not up to mischief, why do you care if we do happen to come up with you?"
"Because I care to keep my own business to myself," answered David.
"Look here, you fellow, don't be impertinent," broke in Harry Sears coolly, as though David had scarcely the right to speak to him.
David felt a blind, hot rage sweep over him. The boy was no longer master of himself. Some day, when he learned to control this white heat of passion, it was to make him a great power for good in the world. Now his rage was the master.
"Take care!" he called suddenly to Harry. He swung himself up on the rock opposite Harry, forcing his opponent into an open place inthe field. Then David let loose a swinging blow with his closed fist.
Harry and David were evenly matched fighters. Harry was taller and older, and had been trained as a boxer in school and college gymnasiums; but David was a firmly built fellow, of medium height, with muscles as hard as iron from his work in the open. In addition, David was furiously angry.
Harry parried the first blow with his left arm, then made a lunge at David.
"Here, you fellows, cut that out!" commanded Jack Bolling. "You are almost men. Don't scrap like a couple of schoolboys. You know the women in our party will be disgusted with you."
Neither Harry nor David paid the least attention to Jack's excellent advice. Both fighters had their blood up. Harry's face was crimson and David's white. Few blows were struck, because David made a headlong rush at his opponent and the combatants wrestled back and forth, each boy trying to force the other on the ground. It was by sheer force of determination that David won. David got one hand loose and struck Harry over the eye. Harry went down with a sudden crash. His head struck the earth with a whack that temporarily put him out of the fight.
But David kept his knee on Harry's chest. He made no effort to get up. His face was still working with anger.
"Say, get off of Sears, Brewster, can't you?" growled Jack Bolling. "You see he is down and out and you've won the fight. Don't you know that the rules of the game won't let you hit a man when he is down?"
David straightened up and stood upright. "Thank you, Bolling," he said curtly. "I wasn't a sport and I am glad you reminded me of it. I was too angry with Sears to want to quit the fight."
Harry was sitting upon the ground, looking greatly chagrined. He had a bruise over one eye and the place was rapidly swelling.
"I expect I ought to apologize to you, Sears, for not having let you alone when you were down," remarked David proudly. "But in the future you will kindly leave my private affairs alone."
David made off across the fields. He hoped to be able to get back to the Preston house before Miss Betsey Taylor returned from her ride to the haunted house. He was lucky enough to find Miss Betsey still out. As David passed through the hall he was glad to find her bedroom door open. He had just time enough to slip into her room and thrust a red cotton handkerchief,which was tied up in a curious knot, under Miss Betsey's pillow, when he thought he heard some one about to enter the room.
David hurried out into the hall just as Madge and Phyllis passed by. Both girls nodded to David in a friendly fashion, though Madge's expressive face was alive with the question: "What is David Brewster doing in Miss Betsey's room?"
MISS BETSEY TAYLOR had a very successful drive to the "ha'nted house." She returned home with the secret curiosity of years partly satisfied. Not that Miss Betsey saw the "ghosts walk," or that anything in the least unusual took place at the "ha'nted house"; it was simply that Mrs. Preston at last unveiled to Miss Betsey Taylor all she knew of the history of the particular "John Randolph" in whom Miss Betsey had once been interested.
It happened that Miss Jenny Ann, Miss Betsey and Mrs. Preston, in driving up the road to the "ha'nted house," had met an old colored mammy coming toward them, carrying a basket on her arm and talking to herself.
She raised up one hand dramatically when she caught sight of the three women. "Stay where you is. Don't come no farder," she warned. "The house you is drawing nigher to is a house of 'ha'nts.' Ghosties walk here in the day and sleep here in the night. It am mighty onlucky to bother a ghostie."
"Why, Mammy Ellen," protested Mrs. Preston, smiling kindly at the old woman, "youdon't tell me that you believe in ghosts? I thought you had too much sense."
"Child," argued the old woman, "they is some assaysthey is ghosts in this here house of Cain and Abel; but they is one thatknowsthey is ghosts here." She shook her head. "I hev seen 'em. Jest you let sleepin' ghosts lie."
"We are not going to disturb them, Mammy Ellen," promised Mrs. Preston. "We are just going to drive about the old place, so that my friends, who are from the North, can see what this old, deserted estate looks like."
"That old woman once belonged to the family of John Randolph, Miss Betsey. Do you recall your speaking of him to me a few days ago?" inquired Mrs. Preston as the old colored woman marched solemnly away.
"Yes, I remember," answered Miss Betsey vaguely. "I believe I knew this same John Randolph when I was a girl."
"Then I am sorry to tell you his story, because it is a sad one," sighed Mrs. Preston. "My husband and I often talk of him. We feel, somehow, that we ought to have done something. John Randolph came back here suddenly, after spending a year or so in New York, after the close of the war. He married three or four years afterward a girl from the next county. She wasn't much of a wife; the poor thing wasill and never liked the country. She persuaded John to sell out his share in the estate to his brother James. You remember, it was the Grinstead place I showed to you on our drive to the sulphur well the other day. Well, John and his wife settled in Richmond and John tried to practise law. He wasn't much of a success. I reckon poor John did not know much but farming. He and his wife had one child, a girl. She married and died, leaving a baby for her father and mother to look after. A few years ago John's wife died, too, and the old man came back here to the old place. He didn't have any money, and I expect he didn't have any other home to go to." Mrs. Preston paused. She had driven around the haunted house, but her visitors were more interested in her story than they were in the sight of the deserted mansion.
"Then, I suppose, poor John died," added Miss Betsey sadly, her face clouding with memories; the John Randolph she had known had been so full of youth and enthusiasm.
Mrs. Preston flapped her reins. "I reckon so," she sighed. "You see, John Randolph did not have any real claim on the Grinsteads. They were his brother James's wife's people, and I suppose they were not very good to him; or it may be the old man was just sensitive. Anyway, John Randolph went away from the Grinsteadplace about six months ago. No word has been heard of him, so I suppose he is dead."
Miss Betsey surreptitiously wiped away a few tears for her dead romance. They were not very bitter tears. Of course, her old lover, John Randolph, was only a memory. But it was sad to hear that he had had such an unfortunate life; he might better have been less "touchy" and not have leftherso abruptly. Miss Betsey's tears passed unnoticed. Miss Jenny Ann was also depressed by the story, and as for kind Mrs. Preston, she sighed deeply every five or ten minutes during the ride home.
But Miss Betsey was so quiet and unlike herself all the evening that Madge, Phyllis and Lillian decided that she must feel ill. The girls would never have believed, even if they had been told, that Miss Betsey, who was on the shady side of sixty, could possibly have been sorrowing over a lover whom she had not seen in nearly forty years. But girls do not know that the minds of older people travel backward, and that an old maid is a "girl" at heart to the longest day she lives.
Miss Taylor went up to her own room early.
Madge and Phyllis were undressing to jump into bed, when a knock on their door startled them.
"Girls!" a voice cried in trembling tones.
"It's poor Miss Betsey!" exclaimed Phil. "I'll wager she is ill or something, she has been acting so queerly all evening." Phil ran to open their door.
"Take me in, children," whispered Miss Betsey, shaking her head. "Sh-sh! Don't make a noise; something so strange has happened. I couldn't wait until morning to tell you."
Miss Betsey dropped into a chair by the window. She was minus her side curls and she had her still jet-black hair screwed up into a tight knot at the back of her head. But in honor of her present frivolous life as one of the houseboat girls she wore a bright red flannelette dressing gown.
Madge looked at Miss Betsey, then choked and began to cough violently to conceal her laughter.
"Don't make that noise, Madge; laugh out-right if you think I am funny," whispered Miss Betsey, instead of giving the little captain the lecture she deserved. "I don't want any one to know I am in here with you. I've got something so strange to show you."
Miss Betsey slipped her hand into the capacious pocket of her dressing gown. She drew out a bright red cotton handkerchief, knotted and tied together into a dirty ball.
"What on earth have you there, Miss Betsey?"asked Phil. "I should be afraid to touch such a dreadful looking handkerchief."
Miss Betsey fingered it gingerly. She seemed to be trying to open it.
Madge picked up a pair of curling tongs and caught the handkerchief by one end. "Do let me throw it out of the window for you, Miss Betsey!" she urged.
Miss Betsey gave a little shriek of protest. But Madge and Phil were staring in Miss Betsey's lap, their eyes wide with amazement. Into the old lady's lap had fallen, from the dirty cotton handkerchief, all her stolen jewelry.
"Where did it come from, Miss Betsey?" demanded Phil.
"From under my pillow," answered Miss Betsey.
"Then the thief must have put it back!" exclaimed Madge impetuously.
Miss Betsey nodded emphatically. "Yes, of course he did. But who and why and how? My money has not been returned. Why should the burglar take pity on me and return me my poor little jewelry? It is of some value. And now Mr. Preston will have a much easier time in tracing the thief, with this handkerchief as a clue to go on. I can't help suspecting one of the servants, for, girls," Miss Betsey lowered her voice solemnly, "I was in my own room all themorning. I made my bed, as it has been my custom to do every day of my life, and when I made my bed there was certainly no red cotton pocket handkerchief with my jewelry in it under my pillow. I have been out this afternoon, but you children have been up on this floor with Eleanor. Now think. Did you hear anything or see any one enter my room at any time?"
Madge and Phyllis stood still, thinking deeply. Suddenly Madge's cheeks flamed. "David!" exclaimed Phil Alden involuntarily at the same moment.
"David?" Miss Betsey's face was a study. She turned almost as red as Madge. "You don't mean that you girls saw David Brewster enter my room this afternoon? No, no, children, it couldn't be! The boy has a bad disposition, I know. He is surly and cross. But then the lad has had no training of any kind. He has had everything against him. He seemed to be quite honest when he lived with me. But, but——" Miss Betsey hesitated. "Of course, David will tell me why he came into my room this afternoon. He probably went there on an errand."
Phyllis Alden shook her head regretfully. She said nothing.
"You don't suspect David, do you, Phil?" questioned Madge.
"I don't know what to think," remarked Phil judicially. "Of course, I don't really suspect David. No one has the right to suspect him without any real proof. But it does seem queer to me that Miss Betsey lost her money first on the houseboat and then here. What is your honest opinion?"
To save her life, Madge could not but think of David's mysterious trip to the Preston house while the barn was burning on the night of the robbery. Still, she did not answer Phyllis.
"Tell us what you think, Madge," insisted Miss Betsey. "Why, I was beginning to feel proud of the boy, his manners have improved so much since he came on this trip. And I have been saying to myself that if I had believed in the boy and tried to help him, as you have done, perhaps he might have been less surly years ago. Some day I may tell you children more of the lad's history."
"Miss Betsey," Madge's voice was very grave, "to tell you the truth, I don't know what to think. I know that there are some things that point toward David's being a thief. But, just the same, I don't believe he is one. You know I have always been sorry for David, Miss Betsey, ever since he pulled me out from under Dr. Alden's buggy, when I was trying to spoil your lawn, as the donkeys did Miss Betsey Trotter'sin 'David Copperfield.' And somehow"—she paused reflectively—"I believe in him still. Iknowthat David Brewster wouldn't steal! It may be my intuition that makes me say this; I have no real reason for thinking it. I trust David, trust him fully. I am sure that he is absolutely honest."
Miss Betsey patted Madge's auburn head almost affectionately. She felt nearly fond of her for her loyalty toward David. "We won't, any of us, speak of suspecting any one, children," she concluded. "You are not to mention having seen David Brewster come out of my room. I would not have suspicion rest on the boy wrongfully for a great deal; it might ruin his whole future life. But we must be very careful; say nothing and watch! There are sure to be other developments that will point toward the real thief. If we do see or hear anything else that seems suspicious, then we owe it to Mr. and Mrs. Preston to take them into our confidence. We must remember that their property was stolen as well as mine, and that they have taken us into their household and treated us as members of their own family. Much as I may wish it," Miss Betsey lowered her voice solemnly, "I feel that we have no right to shield David if he is at fault. But"—Miss Taylor's voice was even more serious—"it would be a far morewicked thing for us to accuse the boy if he is guiltless."
Miss Betsey rose to go. In spite of her funny, old maid appearance and her usually severe manner toward Madge, that young woman flung her arms around the spinster's neck and hugged her warmly. "You are perfectly splendid, Miss Betsey," she whispered. As Miss Betsey tip-toed cautiously out of the room, Madge blew a kiss toward her retreating back. "You can just lecture me, after this, as much as you like. And I promise, I promise"—Madge hesitated—"I promise not to like it a bit better than I do now," she ended truthfully.
Then Madge turned to Phil, her rock of refuge. "Phyllis Alden, if David Brewster stole from Miss Betsey or Mrs. Preston, I don't care what excuse he has, I shall never forgive him, or myself for bringing him on this boat trip. Oh, dear me! I wish dear old Tom were here! I would ask Tom to ask David to clear things up. I suppose if I try to talk to David Brewster, he will bite my head off."
"Come to bed this minute, Madge, and don't talk to anybody about anything until you know more," commanded Phil stolidly. And Madge obeyed.