Ijima had scanned the lake constantly since we started, as was his habit. Miss Pat turned to speak to Helen of the shore that now swept away from us in broader curves as we passed out of the connecting channel into the farther lake. Ijima remarked to me quietly, as though speaking of the engine:
"There's a man following in a rowboat.",
And as I replied to some remark by Miss Pat, I saw, half a mile distant, its sails hanging idly, a sloop that answered Gillespie's description of theStiletto. Its snowy canvas shone white against the green verdure of Battle Orchard.
"Shut off the power a moment. We will turn here, Ijima,"—and I called Miss Pat's attention to a hoary old sycamore on the western shore.
"Oh, I'm disappointed not to cruise nearer the island with the romantic name," cried Helen. "And there's a yacht over there, too!"
I already had the boat swung round, and in reversing the course I lost theStiletto, which clung to the island shore; but I saw now quite plainly the rowboat Ijima had reported as following us. It hung off about a quarter of a mile and its single occupant had ceased rowing and shipped his oars as though waiting. He was between us and the strait that connected the upper and lower lakes. Though not alarmed I was irritated by my carelessness in venturing through the strait and anxious to return to the less wild part of the lake. I did not dare look over my shoulder, but kept talking to my passengers, while Ijima, with the rare intuition of his race, understood the situation and indicated by gestures the course.
"There's a boat sailing through the green, green wood," exclaimed Helen; and true enough, as we crept in close to the shore, we could still see, across a wooded point of the island, the sails of theStiletto, as of a boat of dreams, drifting through the trees. And as I looked I saw something more. A tiny signal flag was run quickly to the topmast head, withdrawn once and flashed back; and as I faced the bow again, the boatman dropped his oars into the water.
"What a strange-looking man," remarked Miss Pat.
"He doesn't look like a native," I replied carelessly. The launch swung slowly around, cutting a half-circle, of which the Italian's boat was the center. He dallied idly with his oars and seemed to pay no heed to us, though he glanced several times toward the yacht, which had now crept into full view, and under a freshening breeze was bearing southward.
"Full speed, Ijima."
The engine responded instantly, and we cut through the water smartly. There was a space of about twenty-five yards between the boatman and the nearer shore. I did not believe that he would do more than try to annoy us by forcing us on the swampy shore; for it was still broad daylight, and we were likely at any moment to meet other craft. I was confident that with any sort of luck I could slip past him and gain the strait, or dodge and run round him before he could change the course of his heavy skiff.
I kicked the end of an oar which the launch carried for emergencies and Ijima, on this hint, drew it toward him.
"You can see some of the roofs of Port Annandale across the neck here," I remarked, seeing that the women had begun to watch the approaching boat uneasily.
I kept up a rapid fire of talk, but listened only to the engine's regular beat. The launch was now close to the Italian's boat, and having nearly completed the semi-circle I was obliged to turn a little to watch him. Suddenly he sat up straight and lay to with the oars, pulling hard toward a point we must pass in order to clear the strait and reach the upper lake again. The fellow's hostile intentions were clear to all of us now and we all silently awaited the outcome. His skiff rose high in air under the impulsion of his strong arms, and if he struck our lighter craft amidships, as seemed inevitable, he would undoubtedly swamp us.
Ijima half rose, glanced toward the yacht, which was heading for the strait, and then at me, but I shook my head.
"Mind the engine, Ijima," I said with as much coolness as I could muster.
The margin between us and the skiff rapidly diminished, and the Italian turned to take his bearings with every lift of his oars. He had thrown off his cap, and as he looked over his shoulder I saw his evil face sharply outlined. I counted slowly to myself the number of strokes that would be necessary to bring him in collision if he persisted, charging against his progress our own swift, arrow-like flight over the water. The shore was close, and I had counted on a full depth of water, but Ijima now called out warningly in his shrill pipe and our bottom scraped as I veered off. This manoeuver cost me the equivalent of ten of the Italian's deep strokes, and the shallow water added a new element of danger.
"Stand by with the oar, Ijima," I called in a low tone; and I saw in a flash Miss Pat's face, quite calm, but with her lips set tight.
Ten yards remained, I judged, between the skiff and the strait, and there was nothing for us now but to let speed and space work out their problem.
Ijima stood up and seized the oar. I threw the wheel hard aport in a last hope of dodging, and the launch listed badly as it swung round. Then the bow of the skiff rose high, and Helen shrank away with a little cry; there was a scratching and grinding for an instant, as Ijima, bending forward, dug the oar into the skiff's bow and checked it with the full weight of his body. As we fended off the oar snapped and splintered and he tumbled into the water with a great splash, while we swerved and rocked for a moment and then sped on through the little strait.
Looking back, I saw Ijima swimming for the shore. He rose in the water and called "All right!" and I knew he would take excellent care of himself. The Italian had shipped his oars and lay where we had left him, and I heard him, above the beat of our engine, laugh derisively as we glided out of sight. The water rippled pleasantly beneath us; the swallows brushed the quiet blue with fleet wings, and in the west the sun was spreading a thousand glories upon the up-piling clouds. Out in the upper lake the wind freshened and we heard the low rumble of thunder.
"Miss Holbrook, will you please steer for me?"—and in effecting the necessary changes of position that I might get to the engine we were all able to regain our composure. I saw Miss Pat touch her forehead with her handkerchief; but she said nothing. Even after St. Agatha's pier hove in sight silence held us all. The wind, continuing to freshen, was whipping the lake with a sharp lash, and I made much of my trifling business with the engine, and of the necessity for occasional directions to the girl at the wheel.
My contrition at the danger to which I had stupidly brought them was strong in me; but there were other things to think of. Miss Pat could not be deceived as to the animus of our encounter, for the Italian's conduct could hardly be accounted for on the score of stupidity; and the natural peace and quiet of this region only emphasized the gravity of her plight. My first thought was that I must at once arrange for her removal to some other place. With Henry Holbrook established within a few miles of St. Agatha's the school was certainly no longer a tenable harborage.
As I tended the engine I saw, even when I tried to avoid her, the figure of Helen Holbrook in the stern, quite intent upon steering and calling now and then to ask the course when in my preoccupation I forgot to give it. The storm was drawing a dark hood across the lake, and the thunder boomed more loudly. Storms in this neighborhood break quickly and I ran full speed for St. Agatha's to avoid the rain that already blurred the west.
We landed with some difficulty, owing to the roughened water and the hard drive of the wind; but in a few minutes we had reached St. Agatha's where Sister Margaret flung open the door just as the storm let go with a roar.
When we reached the sitting-room we talked with unmistakable restraint of the storm and of our race with it across the lake—while Sister Margaret stood by murmuring her interest and sympathy. She withdrew immediately and we three sat in silence, no one wishing to speak the first word. I saw with deep pity that Miss Pat's eyes were bright with tears, and my heart burned hot with self-accusation. Sister Margaret's quick step died away in the hall, and still we waited while the rain drove against the house in sheets and the branches of a tossing maple scratched spitefully on one of the panes.
"We have been found out; my brother is here," said Miss Pat.
"I am afraid that is true," I replied. "But you must not distress yourself. This is not Sicily, where murder is a polite diversion. The Italian wished merely to frighten us; it's a case of sheerest blackmail. I am ashamed to have given him the opportunity. It was my fault—my grievous fault; and I am heartily sorry for my stupidity."
"Do not accuse yourself! It was inevitable from the beginning that Henry should find us. But this place seemed remote enough. I had really begun to feel quite secure—but now!"
"But now!" repeated Helen with a little sigh.
I marveled at the girl's composure—at her quiet acceptance of the situation, when I knew well enough her shameful duplicity. Then by one of those intuitions of grace that were so charming in her she bent forward and took Miss Pat's hand. The emerald rings flashed on both as though in assertion of kinship.
"Dear Aunt Pat! You must not take that boat affair too seriously. It may not have been—father—who did that."
She faltered, dropping her voice as she mentioned her father. I was aware that Miss Pat put away her niece's hand with a sudden gesture—I did not know whether of impatience, or whether some new resolution had taken hold of her. She rose and moved nearer to me.
"What have you to propose, Mr. Donovan?" she asked, and something in her tone, in the light of her dear eyes, told me that she meant to fight, that she knew more than she wished to say, and that she relied on my support; and realizing this my heart went out to her anew. A maid brought in a lamp and within the arc of its soft light I saw Helen's lovely head as she rested her arms on the table watching us. If there was to be a contest of wits or of arms on this peaceful lake shore under the high arches of summer, she and I were to be foes; and while we waited for the maid to withdraw I indulged in foolish speculations as to whether a man could love a girl and be her enemy at the same time.
"I think we ought to go away—at once," the girl broke out suddenly. "The place was ill-chosen; Father Stoddard should have known better than to send us here!"
"Father Stoddard did the best he could for us, Helen. It is unfair to blame him," said Miss Pat quietly. "And Mr. Donovan has been much more than kind in undertaking to care for us at all."
"I have blundered badly enough!" I confessed penitently.
"It might be better, Aunt Pat," began Helen slowly, "to yield. What can it matter! A quarrel over money—it is sordid—"
Miss Pat stood up abruptly and said quietly, without lifting her voice, and turning from one to the other of us:
"We have prided ourselves for a hundred years, we American Holbrooks, that we had good blood in us, and character and decency and morality; and now that the men of my house have thrown away their birthright, and made our name a plaything, I am going to see whether the general decadence has struck me, too; and with my brother Arthur, a fugitive because of his crimes, and my brother Henry ready to murder me in his greed, it is time for me to test whatever blood is left in my own poor old body, and I am going to begin now! I will not run away another step; I am not going to be blackguarded and hounded about this free country or driven across the sea; and I will not give Henry Holbrook more money to use in disgracing our name. I have got to die—I have got to die before he gets it,"—and she smiled at me so bravely that something clutched my throat suddenly—"and I have every intention, Mr. Donovan, of living a very long time!"
Helen had risen, and she stood staring at her aunt in frank astonishment. Not often, probably never before in her life, had anger held sway in the soul of this woman; and there was something splendid in its manifestation. She had spoken in almost her usual tone, though with a passionate tremor toward the close; but her very restraint was in itself ominous.
"It shall be as you say, Miss Pat," I said, as soon as I had got my breath.
"Certainly, Aunt Pat," murmured Helen tamely. "We can't be driven round the world. We may as well stay where we are."
The storm was abating and I threw open the windows to let in the air.
"If you haven't wholly lost faith in me, Miss Holbrook—"
"I have every faith in you, Mr. Donovan!" smiled Miss Pat.
"I shall hope to take better care of you in the future."
"I am not afraid. I think that if Henry finds out that he can not frighten me it will have a calming effect upon him."
"Yes; I suppose you are right, Aunt Pat," said Helen passively.
I went home feeling that my responsibilities had been greatly increased by Miss Pat's manifesto; on the whole I was relieved that she had not ordered a retreat, for it would have distressed me sorely to abandon the game at this juncture to seek a new hiding-place for my charges.
Long afterward Miss Pat's declaration of war rang in my ears. My heart leaps now as I remember it. And I should like to be a poet long enough to write A Ballade of All Old Ladies, or a lyric in their honor turned with the grace of Colonel Lovelace and blithe with the spirit of Friar Herrick. I should like to inform it with their beautiful tender sympathy that is quick with tears but readier with strength to help and to save; and it should reflect, too, the noble patience, undismayed by time and distance, that makes a virtue of waiting—waiting in the long twilight with folded hands for the ships that never come! Men old and battle-scarred are celebrated in song and story; but who are they to be preferred over this serene sisterhood? Let the worn mothers of the world be throned by the fireside or placed at comfortable ease in the shadow of hollyhocks and old-fashioned roses in familiar gardens; it matters little, for they are supreme in any company. Whoever would be gracious must serve them; whoever would be wise must sit at their feet and take counsel. Nor believe too readily that the increasing tide of years has quenched the fire in their souls; rather, it burns on with the steady flame of sanctuary lights. Lucky were he who could imprison in song those qualities that crown a woman's years—voicing what is in the hearts of all of us as we watch those gracious angels going their quiet ways, tending their secret altars of memory with flowers and blessing them with tears.
Still do the stars impart their lightTo those that travel in the night;Still time runs on, nor doth the handOr shadow on the dial stand;The streams still glide and constant are:Only thy mindUntrue I findWhich carelesslyNeglects to beLike stream or shadow, hand or star.—William Cartwright.
It was nine o'clock before Ijima came in, dripping from his tumble in the lake and his walk home through the rain. The Italian had made no effort to molest him, he reported; but he had watched the man row out to theStilettoand climb aboard. Ijima has an unbroken record of never having asked me a question inspired by curiosity. He may inquire which shoes I want for a particular morning, butwhy, whereandwhenare unknown in his vocabulary. He was, I knew, fairly entitled to an explanation of the incident of the afternoon, though he would ask none, and when he had changed his clothes and reported to me in the library I told him in a word that there might be further trouble, and that I should expect him to stand night watch at St. Agatha's for a while, dividing a patrol of the grounds with the gardener. His "Yes, sir," was as calm as though I had told him to lay out my dress clothes, and I went with him to look up the gardener, that the division of patrol duty might be thoroughly understood.
I gave the Scotchman a revolver and Ijima bore under his arm a repeating rifle with which he and I had diverted ourselves at times in the pleasant practice of breaking glass balls. I assigned him the water-front and told the gardener to look out for intruders from the road. These precautions taken, I rang the bell at St. Agatha's and asked for the ladies, but was relieved to learn that they had retired, for the situation would not be helped by debate, and if they were to remain at St. Agatha's it was my affair to plan the necessary defensive strategy without troubling them. And I must admit here, that at all times, from the moment I first saw Helen Holbrook with her father at Red Gate, I had every intention of shielding her to the utmost. The thought of trapping her, of catching her,flagrante delicto, was revolting; I had, perhaps, a notion that in some way I should be able to thwart her without showing my own hand; but this, as will appear, was not to be so easily accomplished.
I went home and read for an hour, then got into heavy shoes and set forth to reconnoiter. The chief avenue of danger lay, I imagined, across the lake, and I passed through St. Agatha's to see that my guards were about their business; then continued along a wooded bluff that rose to a considerable height above the lake. There was a winding path which the pilgrimages of school-girls in spring and autumn had worn hard, and I followed it to its crest, where there was a stone bench, established for the ease of those who wished to take their sunsets in comfort. The place commanded a fair view of the lake, and thence it was possible to see afar off any boat that approached St. Agatha's or Glenarm. The wooded bluff was cool and sweet from the rain, and a clear light was diffused by the moon as I lighted my pipe and looked out upon the lake for signs of theStiletto.
The path that rose through the wood from St. Agatha's declined again from the seat, and came out somewhere below, where there was a spring sacred to the school-girls, and where, I dare say, they still indulge in the incantations of their species. I amused myself picking out the pier lights as far as I had learned them, following one of the lake steamers on its zigzag course from Port Annandale to the village. Around me the great elms and maples still dripped. Eleven chimed from the chapel clock, the strokes stealing up to me dreamily. A moment later I heard a step in the path behind me, light, quick, and eager, and I bent down low on the bench, so that its back shielded me from view, and waited. I heard the sharp swish of bent twigs in the shrubbery as they snapped back into place in the narrow trail, and then the voice of some one humming softly. The steps drew closer to the bench, and some one passed behind me. I was quite sure that it was a woman—from the lightness of the step, the feminine quality in the voice that continued to hum a little song, and at the last moment the soft rustle of skirts. I rose and spoke her name before my eyes were sure of her.
"Miss Holbrook!" I exclaimed.
She did not cry out, though she stepped back quickly from the bench.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Donovan, is it?"
"It most certainly is!" I laughed. "We seem to have similar tastes, Miss Holbrook."
"An interest in geography, shall we call it?" she chaffed gaily.
"Or astronomy! We will assume that we are both looking for the Little Dipper."
"Good!" she returned on my own note. "Between the affairs of the Holbrooks and your evening Dipper hunt you are a busy man, Mr. Donovan."
"I am not half so busy as you are, Miss Holbrook! It must tax you severely to maintain both sides of the barricade at the same time," I ventured boldly.
"That does require some ingenuity," she replied musingly, "but I am a very flexible character."
"But what will bend will break—you may carry the game too far."
"Oh, are you tired of it already?"
"Not a bit of it; but I should like to make this stipulation with you: that as you and I seem to be pitted against each other in this little contest, we shall fight it all out behind Miss Pat's back. I prefer that she shouldn't know what a—" and I hesitated.
"Oh, give me a name, won't you?" she pleaded mockingly.
"What a beautiful deceiver you are!"
"Splendid! We will agree that I am a deceiver!"
"If it gives you pleasure! You are welcome to all the joy you can get out of it!"
"Please don't be bitter! Let us play fair, and not stoop to abuse."
"I should think you would feel contrite enough after that ugly business of this afternoon. You didn't appear to be even annoyed by that Italian's effort to smash the launch."
She was silent for an instant; I heard her breath come and go quickly; then she responded with what seemed a forced lightness:
"You really think that was inspired by—" she suddenly appeared at a loss.
"By Henry Holbrook, as you know well enough. And if Miss Pat should be murdered through his enmity, don't you see that your position in the matter would be difficult to explain? Murder, my dear young woman, is not looked upon complacently, even in this remote corner of the world!"
"You seem given to the use of strong language, Mr. Donovan. Let us drop the calling of names and consider just where you put me."
"I don't put you at all; you have taken your own stand. But I will say that I was surprised, not to say pained, to find that you played the eavesdropper the very hour you came to Annandale."
A moment's silence; the water murmured in the reeds below; an owl hooted in the Glenarm wood; a restless bird chirped from its perch in a maple overhead.
"Oh, to be sure!" she said at last. "You thought I was listening while Aunt Pat unfolded the dark history of the Holbrooks."
"I knew it, though I tried to believe I was mistaken. But when I saw you there on Tippecanoe Creek, meeting your father at the canoe-maker's house, I was astounded; I did not know that depravity could go so far."
"My poor, unhappy, unfortunate father!" she said in a low voice; there was almost a moan in it.
"I suppose you defend your conduct on the ground of filial duty," I suggested, finding it difficult to be severe.
"Why shouldn't I? Who are you to judge our affairs? We are the unhappiest family that ever lived; but I should like you to know that it was not by my wish that you were brought into our councils. There is more in all this than appears!"
"There is nothing in it but Miss Pat—her security, her peace, her happiness. I am pledged to her, and the rest of you are nothing to me. But you may tell your father that I have been in rows before and that I propose to stand by the guns."
"I shall deliver your message, Mr. Donovan; and I give you my father's thanks for it," she mocked.
"Your father calls you Rosalind—before strangers!" I remarked.
"Yes. It's a fancy of his," she murmured lingeringly. "Sometimes it's Viola, or Perdita, but, as I think of it, it's oftener Rosalind. I hope you don't object, Mr. Donovan?"
"No, I rather like it; it's in keeping with your variable character. You seem prone, like Rosalind, to woodland wandering. I dare say the other people of the cast will appear in due season. So far I have seen only the Fool."
"The Fool? Oh, yes; there was Touchstone, wasn't there?"
"I believe it is admitted that there was."
She laughed; I felt that we were bound to get on better, now that we understood each other.
"You are rather proud of your attainments, aren't you? I have really read the play, Mr. Donovan: I have even seen it acted."
"I did not mean to reflect on your intelligence, which is acute enough; or on your attainments, which are sufficient; or on your experience of life, which is ample!"
"Well spoken! I really believe that I am liking you better all the time, Mr. Donovan."
"My heart is swollen with gratitude. You heard my talk with your father at his cottage last night. And then you flew back to Miss Pat and played the hypocrite with the artlessness of Rosalind—the real Rosalind."
"Did I? Then I'm as clever as I am wicked. You, no doubt, are as wise as you are good."
She folded her arms with a quick movement, the better, I thought, to express satisfaction with her own share of the talk; then her manner changed abruptly. She rested her hands on the back of the bench and bent toward me.
"My father dealt very generously with you. You were an intruder. He was well within his rights in capturing you. And, more than that, you drew to our place some enemies of your own who may yet do us grave injury."
"They were no enemies of mine! Didn't you hear me debating that matter with your father? They were his enemies and they pounced on me by mistake. It's not their fault that they didn't kill me!"
"That's a likely story. That little creek is the quietest place in the world."
"How do you know?" I demanded, bending closer toward her.
"Because my father tells me so! That was the reason he chose it."
"He wanted a place to hide when the cities became too hot for him. I advise you, Miss Holbrook, in view of all that has happened, and if you have any sense of decency left, to keep away from there."
"And I suggest to you, Mr. Donovan, that your devotion to my aunt does not require you to pursue my father. You do well to remember that a stranger thrusting himself into the affairs of a family he does not know puts himself in a very bad light."
"I am not asking your admiration, Miss Holbrook."
"You may save yourself the trouble!" she flashed; and then laughed out merrily. "Let us not be so absurd! We are quarreling like two school-children over an apple. It's really a pleasure to meet you in this unconventional fashion, but we must be amiable. Our affairs will not be settled by words—I am sure of that. I must beg of you, the next time you come forth at night, to wear your cloak and dagger. The stage-setting is fair enough; and the players should dress their parts becomingly. I am already named Rosalind—at night; Aunt Pat we will call the Duchess in exile; and we were speaking a moment ago of the Fool. Well, yes; there was a Fool."
"I might take the part myself, if Gillespie were not already cast for it."
"Gillespie?" she said wonderingly; then added at once, as though memory had prompted her: "To be sure there is Gillespie."
"There is certainly Gillespie. Perhaps you would liefer call him Orlando?" I ventured.
"Let me see," she pondered, bending her head; then: "'O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides.'"
"That is Celia's speech, but well rendered. Let us consider that you are Rosalind, Celia, Viola and Ariel all in one. And I shall be those immortal villains of old tragedy—first, second and third murtherer; or, if it suit you better, let me be Iago for honesty; Othello for great adventures; Hamlet for gloom; Shylock for relentlessness, and Romeo for love-sickness."
Again she bent her head; then drawing a little away and clasping her hands, she quoted: "'Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rosalind?'"
I stammered a moment, dimly recalling Orlando's reply in the play. I did not know whether she were daring me; and this was certainly not the girl's mood as we had met at St. Agatha's. My heart leaped and the blood tingled in my finger-tips as memory searched out the long-forgotten scene; and suddenly I threw at her the line:
"'How if the kiss be denied?'"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"The rehearsal has gone far enough. Let us come back to earth again."
But this, somehow, was not so easy.
Far across the lake a heavy train rumbled, and its engine blew a long blast for Annandale. I felt at that instant the unreality of the day's events, with their culmination in this strange interview on the height above the lake. Never, I thought, had man parleyed with woman on so extraordinary a business. In the brief silence, while the whistle's echoes rang round the shore, I drew away from the bench that had stood like a barricade between us and walked toward her. I did not believe in her; she had flaunted her shameful trickery in my face; and yet I felt her spell upon me as through the dusk I realized anew her splendid height, the faint disclosure of her noble head and felt the glory of her dark eyes. Verily, a lady of shadows, moonlight and dreams, whom it befitted well to walk forth at night, bent upon plots and mischief, and compelling love in such foolish hearts as mine. She did not draw away, but stood quietly, with her head uplifted, a light scarf caught about her shoulders, and on her head a round sailors cap, tipped away from her face.
"You must go back; I must see you safely to St. Agatha's," I said.
She turned, drawing the scarf close under her throat with a quick gesture, as though about to go. She laughed with more honest glee than I had known in her before, and I forgot her duplicity, forgot the bold game she was playing, and the consequences to which it must lead; my pulses bounded when a bit of her scarf touched my hand as she flung a loose end over her shoulder.
"My dear Mr. Donovan, you propose the impossible! We are foes, you must remember, and I can not accept your escort."
"But I have a guard about the house; you are likely to get into trouble if you try to pass through. I must ask you to remember our pledge, that you are not to vex Miss Pat unnecessarily in this affair. To rouse her in the night would only add to her alarm. She has had enough to worry her already. And I rather imagine," I added bitterly, "that you don't propose killing her with your own hands."
"No; do give me credit for that!" she mocked. "But I shall not disturb your guards, and I shall not distress Aunt Pat by making a row in the garden trying to run your pickets. I want you to stay here five minutes—count them honestly—until I have had time to get back in my own fashion. Is it a bargain?" She put out her hand as she turned away—her left hand. As my fingers closed upon it an instant the emerald ring touched my palm.
"I should think you would not wear that ring," I said, detaining her hand, "it is too like hers; it is as though you were plighted to her by it."
"Yes; it is like her own; she gave it—"
She choked and caught her breath sharply and her hand flew to her face.
"She gave it to my mother, long ago," she said, and ran away down the path toward the school. A bit of gravel loosened by her step slipped after her to a new resting-place; then silence and the night closed upon her.
I threw myself upon the bench and waited, marveling at her. If I had not touched her hand; if I had not heard her voice; if, more than all, I had not talked with her of her father, of Miss Pat, of intimate things which no one else could have known, I should not have believed that I had seen Helen Holbrook face to face.
The night is still, the moon looks kind,The dew hangs jewels in the heath,An ivy climbs across thy blind,And throws a light and misty wreath.
The dew hangs jewels in the heath,Buds bloom for which the bee has pined;I haste along, I quicker breathe,The night is still, the moon looks kind.
Buds bloom for which the bee has pined,The primrose slips its jealous sheath,As up the flower-watched path I windAnd come thy window-ledge beneath.
The primrose slips its jealous sheath,—Then open wide that churlish blind,And kiss me through the ivy wreath!The night is still, the moon looks kind.—Edith M. Thomas.
On my way home through St. Agatha's I stopped to question the two guards. They had heard nothing, had seen nothing. How that girl had passed them I did not know. I scanned the main building, where she and Miss Pat had two rooms, with an intervening sitting-room, but all was dark. Miss Helen Holbrook was undeniably a resourceful young woman of charm and wit, and I went on to Glenarm House with a new respect for her cleverness.
I was abroad early the next morning, retracing my steps through St. Agatha's to the stone bench on the bluff with a vague notion of confirming my memory of the night by actual contact with visible, tangible things. The lake twinkled in the sunlight, the sky overhead was a flawless sweep of blue, and the foliage shone from the deluge of the early night. But in the soft mold of the path the print of a woman's shoe was unmistakable. Now, in Ireland, when I was younger, I believed in fairies with all my heart, and to this day I gladly break a lance for them with scoffers. I know folk who have challenged them and been answered, and I have, with my own eyes, caught glimpses of their lights along Irish hillsides. Once, I verily believe, I was near to speech with them—it was in a highway by a starlit moor—but they laughed and ran away. The footprints in the school-path were, however, no elfin trifles. I bent down and examined them; I measured them—ungraciously, indefensibly, guiltily—with my hand, and rose convinced that the neat outlines spoke of a modish bootmaker, and were not to be explained away as marking the lightly-limned step of a fairy or the gold-sandaled flight of Diana. Then I descended to St. Agatha's and found Miss Pat and Helen loitering tranquilly in the garden.
America holds no lovelier spot than the garden of St. Agatha's, with its soft slopes of lawn, its hedges of box, its columned roses, its interludes of such fragrant trifles as mignonette and sweet alyssum; its trellised clematis and honeysuckle and its cool background of vine-hung wall, where the eye that wearies of the riot of color may find rest.
They gave me good morning—Miss Pat calm and gracious, and Helen in the spirit of the morning itself, smiling, cool, and arguing for peace. Deception, as a social accomplishment, she had undoubtedly carried far; and I was hard put to hold up my end of the game. I have practised lying with past-masters in the art—the bazaar keepers of Cairo, horse dealers in Moscow and rug brokers in Teheran; but I dipped my colors to this amazing girl.
"I'm afraid that we are making ourselves a nuisance to you," said Miss Pat. "I heard the watchmen patrolling the walks last night."
"Yes; it was quite feudal!" Helen broke in. "I felt that we were back at least as far as the eleventh century. The splash of water—which you can hear when the lake is rough—must be quite like the lap of water in a moat. But I did not hear the clank of arms."
"No," I observed dryly. "Ijima wears blue serge and carries a gun that would shoot clear through a crusader. The gardener is a Scotchman, and his dialect would kill a horse."
Miss Pat paused behind us to deliberate upon a new species of hollyhock whose minarets rose level with her kind, gentle eyes. Something had been in my mind, and I took this opportunity to speak to Helen.
"Why don't you avert danger and avoid an ugly catastrophe by confessing to Miss Pat that your duty and sympathy lie with your father? It would save a lot of trouble in the end."
The flame leaped into Helen's face as she turned to me.
"I don't know what you mean! I have never been spoken to by any one so outrageously!" She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder. "My position is hard enough; it is difficult enough, without this. I thought you wished to help us."
I stared at her; she was drifting out of my reckoning, and leading me into uncharted seas.
"Do you mean to tell me that you have not talked with your father—that you have not seen him here?" I besought.
"Yes; I have seen him—once, and it was by accident. It was quite by accident."
"Yes; I know of that—"
"Then you have been spying upon me, Mr. Donovan!"
"Why did you tell me that outrageously foolish tale about your chess game, when I knew exactly where you were at the very hour you would have had me think you were dutifully engaged with your aunt? It seems to me, my dear Miss Holbrook, that that is not so easy of explanation, even to my poor wits."
"That was without purpose; really it was! I was restless and weary from so much confinement; you can't know how dreary these late years have been for us—for me—and I wished just once to be free. I went for a long walk into the country. And if you saw me, if you watched me—"
I gazed at her blankly. The thing could not have been better done on the stage; but Miss Pat was walking toward us, and I put an end to the talk.
"I came upon him by accident—I had no idea he was here," she persisted.
"You are not growing tired of us," began Miss Pat, with her brave, beautiful smile; "you are not anxious to be rid of us?"
"I certainly am not," I replied. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you have decided to remain here. I am quite sure that with a little patience we shall wear out the besiegers. Our position here has, you may say, the strength of its weaknesses. I think the policy of the enemy is to harass you by guerilla methods—to annoy you and frighten you into submission."
"Yes; I believe you are right," she said slowly. Helen had walked on, and I loitered beside Miss Pat.
"I hope you have had no misgivings, Miss Pat, since our talk yesterday."
"None whatever," she replied quickly. "I am quite persuaded in my own mind that I should have been better off if I had made a stand long ago. I don't believe cowardice ever pays, do you?"
She smiled up at me in her quick, bright way, and I was more than ever her slave.
"Miss Holbrook, you are the bravest woman in the world! I believe you are right. I think I should be equal to ten thousand men with your spirit to put heart into me."
"Don't be foolish," she said, laughing. "But to show you that I am not really afraid, suppose you offer to take us for a drive this evening. I think it would be well for me to appear to-day, just to show the enemy that we are not driven to cover by our little adventure in the launch yesterday."
"Certainly! Shall we carry outriders and a rear guard?"
"Not a bit of it. I think we may be able to shame my brother out of his evil intentions by our defenselessness."
We waited for Helen to rejoin us, and the drive was planned for five. Promptly on the hour, after a day of activity on my part in cruising the lake, looking for signs of the enemy, we set forth in an open trap, and plunged into country roads that traversed territory new to all of us. I carried Ijima along, and when, after a few miles, Helen asked to take the reins, I changed seats with her, and gave myself up to talk with Miss Pat. The girl's mood was grave, and she wished to drive, I fancied, as an excuse for silence. The land rolled gradually away into the south and west, and we halted, in an hour or so, far from the lake, on a wooded eminence that commanded a long sweep in every direction, and drew into the roadside. Ijima opened a gate that admitted us to a superb maple grove, and in a few minutes we were having tea from the hamper in the cheeriest mood in the world. The sun was contriving new marvels in the west, and the wood that dipped lakeward beneath us gave an illusion of thick tapestry to the eye.
"We could almost walk to the lake over the trees," said Miss Pat. "It's a charming picture."
Then, as we all turned to the lake, seeing it afar across the tree-tops through the fragrant twilight, I saw theStilettostanding out boldly upon the waters of Annandale, with a languid impudence that I began to associate with its slim outlines and snowy canvas. Other craft were abroad, and Miss Pat, I judged, spoke only of the prettiness of the general landscape, and there was, to be sure, no reason why the sails of theStilettoshould have had any particular significance for her. Helen was still looking down upon the lake when Miss Pat suggested that we should go home; and even after her aunt called to her, the girl still stood, one hand resting upon the trunk of a great beech, her gaze bent wistfully, mournfully toward the lake. But on the homeward drive—she had asked for the reins again—her mood changed abruptly, and she talked cheerily, often turning her head—a scarlet-banded sailor hat was, I thought, remarkably becoming—to chaff about her skill with the reins.
"I haven't a care or trouble in the world," declared Miss Pat when I left them at St. Agatha's. "I am sure that we have known the worst that can happen to us in Annandale. I refuse to be a bit frightened after that drive."
"It was charming," said Helen. "This is better than the English lake country, because it isn't so smoothed out."
"I will grant you all of that," I said. "I will go further and admit—what is much for me—that it is almost equal to Killarney."
There seemed to be sincerity in their good spirits, and I was myself refreshed and relieved as I drove into Glenarm; but I arranged for the same guard as on the night before. Helen Holbrook's double-dealing created a condition of affairs that demanded cautious handling, and I had no intention of being caught napping.
I am not, let me say, a person who boasts of his knowledge of human nature. Good luck has served to minimize my own lack of subtlety in dealing with my fellow-creatures; and I take no credit for such fortune as I have enjoyed in contests of any sort with men or women. As for the latter, I admire, I reverence, I love them; but I can not engage to follow them when they leave the main road for short cuts and by-paths. The day had gone so well that I viewed the night with complacency. I read my foreign newspapers with a recurrence of the joy that the thought of remote places always kindles in me. An article inThe Timeson the unrest in Bulgaria—the same old article on the same old unrest—gave me the usual heartache: I have been waiting ten years for something to happen in that neighborhood—something really significant and offering a chance for fun, and it seems as far away as ever.
From the window of my room I saw the Japanese boy patrolling the walks of St. Agatha's, and the Holbrooks' affairs seemed paltry and tame in contrast with the real business of war. A buckboard of youngsters from Port Annandale passed in the road, leaving a trail of song behind them. Then the frog choruses from the little brook that lay hidden in the Glenarm wood sounded in my ears with maddening iteration, and I sought the open.
The previous night I had met Helen Holbrook by the stone seat on the ridge, and I can not deny that it was with the hope of seeing her again that I set forth. That touch of her hand in the moonlight lingered with me: I thrilled with eagerness as I remembered how my pulses bounded when I found myself so close to her there in the fringe of wood. She was beautiful with a rare loveliness at all times, yet I found myself wondering whether, on the strange frontiers of love, it was her daring duplicity that appealed to me. I set myself stubbornly into a pillory reared of my own shame at the thought, and went out and climbed upon the Glenarm wall and stared at the dark bulk of St. Agatha's as I punished myself for having entertained any other thought of Helen Holbrook than of a weak, vain, ungrateful girl, capable of making sad mischief for her benefactor.
Ijima passed and repassed in the paved walk that curved among the school buildings; I heard his step, and marked his pauses as he met the gardener at the front door by an arrangement that I had suggested. As I considered the matter I concluded that Helen Holbrook could readily slip out at the back of the house, when the guards thus met, and that she had thus found egress on the night before.
At this moment the two guards met precisely at the front door, and to my surprise Sister Margaret, in the brown garb of her Sisterhood, stepped out, nodded to the watchmen in the light of the overhanging lamp, and walked slowly round the buildings and toward the lake. The men promptly resumed their patrol. The Sister slipped away like a shadow through the garden; and I dropped down from the wall inside the school park and stole after her. The guards were guilty of no impropriety in passing her; there was, to be sure, no reason why Sister Margaret should not do precisely as she liked at St. Agatha's. However, my curiosity was piqued, and I crept quietly along through the young maples that fringed the wall. She followed a path that led down to the pier, and I hung back to watch, still believing that Sister Margaret had gone forth merely to enjoy the peace and beauty of the night. I paused in a little thicket, and heard her light step on the pier flooring; and I drew as near as I dared, in the shadow of the boat-house.
She stood beside the upright staff from which the pier lights swung—the white lantern between the two red ones—looking out across the lake. The lights outlined her tall figure distinctly. She peered about anxiously several times, and I heard the impatient tap of her foot on the planks. In the lake sounded the faint gurgle of water round a paddle, and in a moment a canoe glided to the pier and a man stepped out. He bent down to seize the painter, and I half turned away, ashamed of the sheer curiosity that had drawn me after the Sister. Nuns who chafe at their prison-bars are not new, either to romance or history; and this surely was no affair of mine. Then the man stood up, and I saw that it was Gillespie. He was hatless, and his arms were bared. He began to speak, but she quieted him with a word; and as with a gesture she flung back her brown hood, I saw that it was Helen Holbrook.
"I had given you up," she said.
He took both her hands and held them, bending toward her eagerly. She seemed taller than he in the lantern light.
"I should have come across the world," he said. "You must believe that I should not have asked this of you if I had not believed you could do it without injury to yourself—that it would impose no great burden on you, and that you would not think too ill of me—"
"I love you; I am here because I love you!" he said; and I thought better of him than I had. He was a fool, and weak; but he was, I believed, an honest fool, and my heart grew hot with jealous rage as I saw them there together.
"If there is more I can do!"
"No; and I should not ask you if there were. I have gone too far, as it is," she sighed.
"You must take no risks; you must take care that Miss Pat knows nothing."
"No; I must see father. He must go away. I believe he has lost his senses from brooding on his troubles."
"But how did he ever get here? There is something very strange about it."
"Oh, I knew he would follow us! But I did not tell him I was coming here—I hope you did not believe that of me. I did not tell him any more than I told you."
He laughed softly.
"You did not need to tell me; I could have found you anywhere in the world, Helen. That man Donovan is watching you like a hawk; but he's a pretty good fellow, with a Milesian joy in a row. He's going to protect Miss Pat and you if he dies at the business."
She shrugged her shoulders, and I saw her disdain of me in her face. A pretty conspiracy this was, and I seemed to be only the crumpled wrapping of a pack of cards, with no part in the game.
Gillespie drew an envelope from his pocket, held it to the white lantern for an instant, then gave it to her.
"I telegraphed to Chicago for a draft. He will have to leave here to get it—the bank at Annandale carries no such sum; and it will be a means of getting rid of him."
"Oh, I only hope he will leave—he must—he must!" she cried.
"You must go back," he said. "These matters will all come right in the end, Helen," he added kindly. "There is one thing I do not understand."
"Oh, there are many things I do not understand!"
"The thing that troubles me is that your father was here before you."
"No—that isn't possible; I can't believe it."
"He had engaged theStilettobefore you came to Annandale; and while I was tracing you across the country he was already here somewhere. He amuses himself with the yacht."
"Yes, I know; he is more of a menace that way—always in our sight—always where I must see him!"
Her face, clearly lighted by the lanterns, was touched with anxiety and sorrow, and I saw her, with that prettiest gesture of woman's thousand graces—the nimble touch that makes sure no errant bit of hair has gone wandering—lift her hand to her head for a moment. The emerald ring flashed in the lantern light. I recall a thought that occurred to me there—that the widow's peak, so sharply marked in her forehead, was like the finger-print of some playful god. She turned to go, but he caught her hands.
"Helen!" he cried softly.
"No! Please don't!"
She threw the nun's hood over her head and walked rapidly up the pier and stole away through the garden toward St. Agatha's. Gillespie listened for her step to die away, then he sighed heavily and bent down to draw up his canoe. When I touched him on the shoulder he rose and lifted the paddle menacingly.
"Ah, so it's our young and gifted Irish friend!" he said, grinning. "No more sprinting stunts for me! I decline to run. The thought of asparagus and powdered glass saddens me. Look at these hands—these little hands still wrapped in mystical white rags. I have bled at every pore to give you entertainment, and now it's got to be twenty paces with bird-guns."
"What mischief are you in now?" I demanded angrily. "I thought I warned you, Gillespie; I thought I even appealed to your chivalry."
"My dear fellow, everything has changed. If a nun in distress appeals to me for help, I am Johnny-on-the-spot for Mother Church."
"That was not the Sister, it was Miss Holbrook. I saw her distinctly; I heard—"
"By Jove, this is gallant of you, Donovan! You are a marvelous fellow!"
"I have a right to ask—I demand to know what it was you gave the girl."
"Matinée tickets—the American girl without matinée tickets is a lonely pleiad bumping through the void."
"You are a contemptible ass. Your conduct is scoundrelly. If you want to see Miss Holbrook, why don't you go to the house and call on her like a gentleman? And as for her—"
"Yes; and as for her—?"
He stepped close to me threateningly.
"And as for her—?" he repeated.
"As for her, she may go too far!"
"She is not answerable to you. She's the finest girl in the world, and if you intimate—"
"I intimate nothing. But what I saw and heard interested me a good deal, Gillespie."
"What you heard by stealth, creeping about here at night, prying into other people's affairs!"
"I have pledged myself to care for Miss Pat."
"It's noble of you, Donovan!" and he stepped away from me, grinning. "Miss Pat suggests nothing to me but 'button, button, who's got the button?' She's a bloomin' aristocrat, while I'm the wealth-cursed child of democracy."
"You're a charming specimen!" I growled.
It was plain that he saw nothing out of the way in thus conniving with Helen Holbrook against her aunt, and that he had not been struck by the enormity of the girl's conduct in taking money from him. He drew in his canoe as I debated with myself what to do with him.
"You've got to leave the lake," I said. "You've got to go."
"Then I'm going, thank you!"
He sprang into the canoe, driving it far out of my reach; his paddle splashed, and he was gone.
"Is that you, sir?" called Ijima behind me. "I thought I heard some one talking."
"It is nothing, Ijima."