The predominant feeling in Glenning's breast when Doctor Kale left him was one of resentment. The old fellow had presumed far beyond his rights, had gone into the future in an entirely unwarrantable way, and had given advice for which there was no thanks in the young man's heart. His resentment was heightened by the fact that Julia Dudley's face had been haunting him all morning. Certainly he did not love her. He had never exchanged a word with her; he had only seen her once, a vision of white beauty with brown, braided hair, standing like a Niobe in that night of stress and peril. He had never been of a susceptible temperament. He had work to do in the world, and love must wait. That had been his motto of renunciation, for he had a deep, strong, tender heart, charged with that priceless heritage God gives to each of his children. But when the girl with the braided hair had stepped forward in the presence of half the town and had singled him out for her cavalier in the adventure of that hour, he had felt a strange and unaccountable thrill pass through him. Her presence had been with him in the burning, blinding heat of his subsequent struggle, and the knowledge that she was waiting without for him to appear again a victor had nerved his arm and his smoke-numbed brain to success. He did not try to hide these facts from himself, but it was galling to think that a meddlesome old busy-body had also found them out, and had flung them in his face, coupled with a warning.
He shook himself together and took another view. He must not be supersensitive. The old man had been good to him. He had ministered to him and nursed him when he, himself, was worn and tired. And Dillard had said he was peculiar. But Glenning had seen the deeper, truer side to Doctor Kale for a few moments, and he knew that whatever nature he presented exteriorly, down in his heart he was a man. That personal experience of which he spoke evasively probably referred to the death of his wife. Anyhow it was something very vital; something of serious import, and John saw now that it had been shrewdly given him to assist him in formulating a proper attitude towards Miss Dudley. Old Doctor Kale loved her. Of course it was a paternal, protecting love, but it was deep as the nethermost sea, and as true as heaven. And old Doctor Kale knew that as sure as grass grew, and water ran down hill, a man and a maid will love.
Slowly through these engrossing reflections a sound crept to Glenning's brain. He had been conscious of it for several moments in an indifferent way, but all at once it assumed the tones of a conversation. He inclined his head in the direction from whence the sound came, and caught a name which made him start. He got up, alert, calm, quiet, and moved swiftly towards the cheap oak dresser. He now observed for the first time that this sat in front of a door connecting with another room, and it was from that room the voices came. There was no transom, but by moving the dresser slightly he would have access to the keyhole. This would have to be accomplished without noise. He listened. The voices had sunk to a murmur. There was no choice, and instantly his long, sinewy fingers gripped the top of the dresser on either side. Oh, how it hurt when he put forth his strength! But he lifted it, swerved it a few inches, and set it down without a sound. The exertion had racked his body with acutest pain, but he smiled grimly as he thought of what his recent caller would have said and done could he have seen him, then squatted before the keyhole and softly put his ear to the tiny aperture. In an instant his face grew grave.
"Tonight, Travers; it must be tonight," a husky, coarse voice was whispering; "it's got to be done!"
"And you wantmeto do it?" came the answering whisper, in a nervous, excited manner.
"Yes. There's nothing in the State that can beat my Thunderer, Daystar and Imperial Don except that long-legged devil-colt. You want to retire from business. You can do it after this summer's racing with the tips I'll give youif you'll kill Dudley's colt tonight!"
"I can't! I can't!" was the moaning reply. "I'm not too good; I'm afraid!"
"Afraid of what?" a sneering voice returned. "Of the dark, two old niggers, an old man and a girl? You're not game a bit!"
"Let me think ... let me think! How much can I make?"
"Ten thousand, easy. See here, it can be done in a minute. We've tried poison and fire, but there's no escape from a pistol bullet, unless that lank fool who last night went where I tried to go chooses to stand in the way—and I shouldn't care if he did."
"Where will the horse be?—the stable's burned flat."
"I'll find that out today and let you know soon after dark. But you'd better not do it till along towards three in the morning. Everybody will be asleep then."
"But if they should catch me, Marston? I'm supposed to be respectable!"
"Damn you for a rank coward!" was the explosive rejoinder, spoken aloud. "I know a fellow who'll do it for a ten-dollar bill!"
The heavy tramping of feet followed this harsh speech, as though the man who had spoken was leaving the room.
"Hold on, Marston!" the nervous voice protested, eagerly. "Come back a minute! And don't talk so loud. That new doctor's on this floor somewhere. I was asleep when they brought him in half dead last night, and the night clerk, Jones, put him on this floor somewhere. Be patient. A man can't risk his life and reputation without thinking about it. Sit down just a minute and let me think."
Some unintelligible grumbling was the only reply Glenning could hear, but he judged from the silence which followed that both men were still there. He took advantage of this lull in the conversation to put his eye to the keyhole. A compactly built, brutish looking man was in his line of vision, sprawled in a chair directly facing him. Glenning would have recognized anywhere the one who had vainly tried to enter The Prince's stall. He was an evil appearing man. His shoulders were very broad, and his neck was so thick and short that his round head seemed to spring from his body. He was flashily dressed, with knee length riding boots of russet leather. His face was sensual and cruel; his straight black hair grew low upon his forehead. His eyes were small and set close to his nose, and his upper teeth habitually showed, like a wolf's. A heavy scowl sat upon his features from his present ill humour. The watcher at the keyhole felt a great wave of repulsion surge over him as he beheld this being in the shape of man, and unconsciously his heart hardened. Nothing was visible of the second occupant of the room except the toe of one shoe, which kept up an incessant tattoo on the worn carpet. Two minutes passed, and Glenning noted that the figure fronting him was growing restless. The frown on his low forehead deepened into threatening furrows and he began to strike his boots with the whip he carried. Suddenly he sat upright.
"Out with it, man!" he hissed. "Don't dally here till the morning's gone! Are you going to do it or not?"
The tattoo ceased, and the foot was withdrawn from view. Then its owner came within the radius of the little circle formed by the keyhole. He walked straight to the burly figure in the chair, and bent down to whisper his decision. The man on watch could only see his back. He was a low, thin person, wearing a brown checked suit. Glenning swiftly put his ear to the little opening, and listened with the greatest intensity. It was of the utmost importance that he should hear the outcome of the plot. But only elusive murmurs reached him, and not a word could he hear. Observation was his second chance; the only one left. Again he brought his eye to bear. Both men were standing now, close together. They had come to a satisfactory understanding, for the heavy man's face had lightened, and he had one hand laid in a confiding way upon the shoulder of his confederate. Then they passed from the room, whispering as they went.
Glenning got onto his feet, found a chair, and sat down. Of one thing only was he sure—there was work before him. The rest was dark, but plain ahead lay his duty. The Dudleys must know of all that had passed in the next room. The one called Marston had spoken of poison and of fire. Then the burning of the stable had been the work of an incendiary. He was exerting every malign effort to get rid of Dudley's horse. The third trial was to occur that night. John got up and looked at his watch. It was after eleven. Major Dudley had said in his note that he would call in the afternoon. But he might not come till late, and something might happen whereby he could not come at all. The matter was most urgent and vital, admitting of no delay whatever. He knew no one who could act as a messenger on an errand of this character. Dillard had said he would drop in at noon, but he had duties of his own. He must go himself. There was no other course open. When he had come to this decision Glenning took a quick inventory of his physical condition. The wound over his right lung was his most serious hurt. The burns which he had sustained were only on the surface, and while they were quite painful, they would not prevent his proposed journey. Strange to say, his face had scarcely been touched by the fire. There was an ugly welt about two inches long upon his left cheek, and a scratch or two upon his forehead and neck; that was all. His hair was badly singed, as he discovered when he endeavored to brush it. He made his toilet as carefully as possible, finding shaving a task for a stoic, but going through with it nevertheless. By twelve he was appareled in a neat gray suit and clean linen, and feeling very much himself. He went down to the dining-room early, and was grateful to be assigned to a table in an obscure corner. It was his especial desire right now to be unnoticed, and besides he had an innate abhorrence of publicity; of being looked at and commented upon, even though favorably.
The boy who had brought his breakfast approached in a deferential way for his order, which Glenning gave with the request that it be served quickly. But before it came he began to realize the penalty of greatness. The guests of the hotel commenced to assemble, and every one that entered, male or female, big or little, cast their eyes about until they found the hero in his corner. And the painful part of it was they did not withdraw their eyes after they had found him, but gazed and gazed with truly rural interest, in which rudeness really had no place. One little girl in brown curls even ventured to point, and ask, "Mama, is that him?" before the maternal hand could grasp her arm, and the paternal voice admonish her in a loud whisper to behave. Still his dinner did not come, and he began to grow embarrassed. Finally, in desperation, he drew some old letters from his pocket and began to re-read them, finding such employment better suited to his taste than staring sillily back at the many pairs of eyes which were now beholding him. Directly a small envelope slipped from the packet in his hand and fell face upward on the table. The address was in an unformed feminine hand. He did not re-read this letter, but as he picked it up and placed it back in his breast pocket along with the others a look of dejected weariness settled heavily on his face. He forgot all those who were watching him; forgot the urgent present, as a pair of wonderful wine-brown eyes swam before him. Dishes jingled at his elbow; his dinner was being served. He must eat quickly and go. He must behave well, and let the people look as long as they wished, for they were to be his people now, and his home was to be among them. In time he was to be the family doctor for many of them.
But the grip of a past such as held him now was not the palsied touch of age. It was the strong-handed hold of vigorous youth, which tightens the more as we make resistance. Glenning shook back the straight black locks which had fallen upon his forehead, and the melancholy of his eyes became a shadow of living pain. A lassitude was upon him, weighting his spirit, leaden-like. He ate perfunctorily, choosing no dish above another, taking always the one closest to hand. He was not aware of the obsequious attentions of the waiter who stood proudly behind his chair, with mouth set in a perpetual grin. He did not hear the purring questions this worthy asked. Sometimes it was this way with him. He had fought a battle from which gods would have shrunk, and had come out clean. But the price! Sometimes he wondered, in bitterness, if it had been worth while, and then later, when quiet came, and he felt an awed sweetness stealing upon his soul, he was glad.
By force of will alone he brought his mind back to the hour before him. Then, hurriedly making an end of his dinner, he went to his room for a light cane, found and descended the parlor stairs to avoid the office and the loungers there, and started up street.
The appearance of any stranger in a town the size of Macon is always remarked. Little wonder then that John Glenning found himself, as it were, on dress parade. When he had run the gantlet of one block, which happened to be the one upon which most of the business houses were located, he turned to the right, to allay any suspicions as to his ultimate destination. He would make a detour, and come back to main street further on. The first corner which he approached was occupied by a small, weather-beaten, one-story frame house, setting slightly back in a yard poorly kept, wherein a few straggling rose bushes strove for existence. Entering the front door of this house as he passed was a slightly bent, limping figure. He recognized in a moment Doctor Kale, but whether this was his residence, or whether he was making a call, he could not determine. He was quite thankful, however, that the old doctor had not seen him, for an unpleasant situation would have developed at once. He had given his word to remain in his room for two days, and he did not feel inclined to share his secret with a comparative stranger, even though his friendly interest in the Dudleys could not be questioned.
Glenning crossed the street diagonally and resumed his eastward course, walking more rapidly. The increased circulation which his exercise occasioned caused him considerable suffering, but he set his jaws, and went on. Presently he passed the jail, a stone structure, with narrow slits for windows. Pitying any unfortunate who might be languishing in the gloomy pile this bright June day, he fell to noticing the pleasant looking houses which he passed, most of them of frame, most of them old, and possessing no decided style of architecture, but indicating thrift and cleanliness on the part of their occupants. Then he had swerved onto the main street once more, which led on in an unbroken line almost to Cemetery Hill, beyond which was the Dudley home. He passed very few people now, for it was hot at this time of the day, and not many were stirring. Then, too, it was the dinner hour. He found this walk would have been delightful under ordinary circumstances, for the pavement was lined with maple trees, which cast a continuous shade below. He passed some beautiful homes on this part of his walk; residences which showed plainly the lavish elegance of ante-bellum prosperity. He grew the least bit nervous as he crossed the railroad just this side of Cemetery Hill. It was here the pavement ended, and for the remainder of his journey he must take the pike. He was not afraid of his welcome; he knew that would be cordial and genuine, but until he should be able to make his errand known it would appear somewhat as if he had come to be thanked. His sensitive nature revolted at this. He really would have preferred to let the incident drop without discussion, but he knew that was impossible. He was now in view of the fence, the long, iron fence bent and twisted in places which bounded a large and exceedingly well kept lawn, from which arose in stately splendour, irregularly, majestic oaks, maples and elms. The lawn sloped gently upward, and on its crest was the home, looking very square, solid and dignified, with its upper and lower porticos and its rows of windows, four above and four below. There was no sign of life. Glenning went down the fence, watching for a gate. The night before he had had no time for minor things, and it was almost as though he had never seen the place before. The gate proved to be at the other corner of the yard, was double, and had a lion's head cast in the center of the iron arch which spanned it. One of the gates yielded to his touch and he went in, feeling decidedly like a trespasser. He found himself at the beginning of a graveled drive, winding picturesquely through borders of evergreens up to the front of the mansion. Unconsciously, perhaps, he put his hand to his tie to see that it was in place, then bravely set his face towards his goal.
As he drew closer he discovered that the house was pretentious, and that the disposition and care of everything outdoors was peculiarly correct. He did not tarry as his feet brought him near the end of the drive, but walked with a firm tread upon the portico, removed his hat, and knocked briskly upon a panel of one of the heavy doors, both of which were open wide. Accompanying his knock, rather than following it, came the sound of the swishing of dainty drapery overhead; a sound which instantly became more audible, and mingled with it was the musical hum of a lilting tune. Glenning glanced up, his heart behaving somewhat oddly, for his position was a trifle nervous, and beheld, around the further bend of the old stairway, where it gave upon the broad landing, a flutter of garments. He knew at once who it was, and he knew she had not heard his summons at the door, for she was humming industriously, and evidently had just started to descend the stair. Across the landing she floated, to the top of the downward flight, and at that point she lifted her eyes and beheld the tall young stranger standing in the middle of the open doorway. The humming stopped abruptly, and so did Julia. She did not recognize him at that distance, for the brighter light was at his back, and his clothing was entirely different from what it had been the night before. Knowing it to be a stranger, and presuming he had called to see her father, she came very demurely and very slowly down the stair, one hand sliding gently along the mahogany rail. Glenning waited in respectful silence until she should come nearer. She had dropped her eyes, but as her feet reached the floor she lifted them in an interrogative glance, and then she saw—the singed and burned hair, the disfiguring welt upon his cheek, one or two pieces of court plaster which he had tried to remove and failed. The change which transformed this quite correct and polite young lady was electric in its rapidity. Her hands clasped and flew up under her chin, and there came a look upon her sweet face such as the man had never seen in his life before. There was gratitude, compassion, and a lingering, unconscious tenderness, and eloquent, if wordless emotion beamed in her brown eyes. For a moment each was speechless. Then Julia came forward with outheld hand.
"O, you are he!" she exclaimed, and the blood rushed up to her face, overflowing its delicate beauty with rich tints. "You saved our Prince!"
The touch of the small, cool hand in his affected Glenning strangely. It brought recollection—which was bitter—and it made this girl's presence very real—which was sweet.
She spoke again almost at once, in a somewhat calmer voice, though it was plain to see her feelings had not abated.
"My father and I are in your lasting debt. Come into the library. He will want to see you. He was going into town for that purpose later in the afternoon. Peter told us he delivered father's letter safely."
As she was speaking she led the way into the room on the right. Glenning followed, and both sat down.
"I—might have waited for him to come," said John, "but—I thought something might detain him, and an incident has arisen which makes it necessary that I see him at once. Otherwise I would not have forced myself upon you so soon after—last night."
"I am glad you have come, Mr.—Doctor—"
"Glenning, Miss Dudley."
"Doctor Glenning, for I want to speak my thanks with father's. I do not know whether I should apologize or not for appealing to you last night, for I had never seen you until that moment. But I was wild with grief at the thought of my Prince burning to death before my eyes, and when the rest gave back cowardly, and left you alone, it was borne in upon me that you would do it—that you could do it, and were not afraid. Now, when I am calm and sane, I see that I was presuming enormously—almost inhumanly, upon your manhood, for I had no right in the world to speak to you as I did, and I believe I am ashamed of it today, and think I should ask your pardon."
Her words followed each other swiftly, as though the speech was one which she wished to say quickly, before her determination to speak it wavered. The flush which had come to her face at the door had never receded, and still enveloped her features charmingly, as she sat with bent head in the cool semi-gloom of the old library.
Glenning looked on her a moment keenly before he replied. The picture she made might have stirred any man's heart. He knew she was sincere; that sufficed for the time.
"Don't speak of apologies," he answered, in a voice which had grown deeper and more vibrant. "You do not owe me any. I have read of days when men counted it a favor to serve a lady, be she friend or stranger. Let us not think those days are entirely gone—that they are as dead as the people who lived in them. Candidly, and without simulation, I was glad to do what I did for you—gladder still that you felt you might call upon me. That means more than all else, perhaps. And it was not all a duty, believe me; it was a pleasure."
A smile trembled upon her lips as she raised her head and looked squarely at him.
"And these," she said, "upon your cheek, and neck, and forehead. Your hands, blackened and burned"—her voice quivered—"your lungs perhaps scorched—what of these?"
He laughed gently.
"Let us say my body has been purged of some of its sins by fire, and let us call the marks badges of honor. They will not deface, and I shall never be sorry for them."
There was a peculiar earnestness to his tones she could not fathom. None of the young men in Macon would have made a speech like that. None of them could have understood such sentiments. She understood them but vaguely herself, yet they appeared very noble. As he spoke, she knew that she was noticing for the first time the square lines of his angular face, and the half melancholy, half humorous expression of his eyes.
"You take serious things quite lightly," she contended, "but it is difficult to answer you. You are striving not to permit your heroism to be recognized, butweknow better, father and I, and you must not speak deprecatingly of it before us. It will hurt us. Shall I go for father?" She arose quietly and stood before him. "Peter is arranging new quarters for the Prince, and father is superintending the work."
"Yes, if it is convenient for him to come now. I don't think I need delay him long. You, too, had better be present, for you will be interested in my message."
"Very well. Wait just a moment."
She disappeared in the hall with light footsteps, and Glenning, with his eyes set intently upon the worn Brussels carpet in front of him, awaited her return.
The presence of a peculiarly sweet perfume, brought to his nostrils by a light zephyr floating through the open window near, caused him to look up. He could see through the casement an old and shabby honeysuckle, and it was from this the odour came, so elusive as to make him doubt its reality. He wondered why so unsightly a shrub as this had grown to be was allowed a place in the purlieus of the immaculate lawn, then his eyes came indoors. The room in which he sat was large. An old fireplace was on one side, but this was hidden by a screen. Above it was a tall mantel, with some chaste bric-a-brac, and above this the picture of a man of unusually fine appearance. A young man, whose every feature bespoke courage and determination. The remainder of the wall space was pretty much given up to book cases of various sizes and designs, and all crammed with books. A center-post mahogany table stood in the middle of the room, and this also was heavily sprinkled with books and papers, and a few magazines. Being a man, Glenning did not know that the threads in the carpet under his feet showed, nor that the haircloth with which the chairs were upholstered was worn into holes in many places. But he pricked his ears at once when he heard quick footsteps on the long side porch, and the sound of more deliberate and heavier steps coming with them. He was on his feet when Major Dudley and Julia came into the library arm in arm. A smile of genuine welcome was on the aristocratic features of the master of the place, and he came forward with more celerity than he was wont to show, clasping Glenning's hand in a grip which almost made the young fellow wince.
"You're none too soon, suh; none too soon!" he exclaimed, beaming warmest appreciation into the eyes of his caller. "Sit down, suh, sit down, while I apologize for not coming to inquire after you this morning, instead of waiting for this afternoon. You must have a constitution of adamant," he added, as the three took chairs.
"It is pretty tough," admitted Glenning. "I'm almost myself today. Still I would not have ventured to impose myself upon you this morning had it not chanced I heard something which you will be glad to know—or, at least, which you should know, for it is not pleasant news."
"One moment, suh." Then to his daughter, in a tone of greatest respect—"Julia, bid Peter mix two juleps and serve them here at once. Now, doctor, what were you going to say?"
"I shall wait for Miss Dudley's return, with your permission. That which I have to say concerns you both equally. This is a lovely old home, if you will pardon the comment."
Major Dudley took a book from the table by which he sat. Certainly not with the intention of reading, but it was a life-long habit, and if he happened to be in arm's length of a book he never failed to pick it up.
"It's a family possession, suh. The wah's done away with most of them hereabout, but we were fortunate in not being pillaged and burned, like many of our neighbors. Then a number were sold for debt, and passed into vandal hands. But before we proceed fu'ther, suh, you must let me confess my obligation—"
Glenning held up a restraining hand.
"Miss Dudley has done that," he said, "and you would please me most by not referring again to last night's adventure. I was lucky enough to get the horse out, and lucky enough to get out myself. I know all the thanks which you would utter, and I accept them. Now let's close the incident and come down to the needs of the moment, for, believe me, they are pressing."
The Major gazed in sheer amazement at the man, and before he could find his voice Julia returned, glided like a sunbeam to her chair and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
"Peter will be here in a moment," she said, softly.
Glenning resumed talking immediately, and laid bare to the smallest detail the plot which he had heard an hour or two before. The girl's face paled in evident distress as the recital proceeded, while Major Dudley sat like an image of stone, his gray eyes fixed unwaveringly on the speaker.
"That is all," concluded John, "and I have come straight to you, for forewarned is forearmed. I judge the attack will be made between two and three in the morning."
When he ceased there was dead silence for perhaps a minute. Finally one word broke from the Major's lips—"Marston!" His eyes fell to the floor for an instant, then he lifted his head as a stag might when brought to bay.
"He is the enemy of our house, suh, and he has harassed me vilely! If I were a younger man, I'd dare him to do his worst." Then a troubled and perplexed expression came over his face, and he turned to his daughter. "Little girl, this is men's work. Had you not better leave us?"
Julia got up, went to him, and placed one hand upon his forehead and the other around his neck.
"The time has come when I must share your burdens, daddy," she said. Her face was burning, but her voice was very tender and brave. "Let's talk it over together—Doctor Glenning, you and I. Is not that best?"
She turned her gaze on the young man by the window as she put the question.
"Decidedly!" he answered promptly, and with vigour. "I am convinced that an exceedingly base man is attempting you cowardly violence, and if you will permit me I shall gladly take part in your council. The first thought which presents itself is—why not denounce him and place him under arrest?"
The old man shook his head, and smiled sadly.
"Had you not just arrived in our town you would realize that to be impossible. He is very powerful, very rich, and has men at his mercy who are high in civic and municipal affairs. Your testimony—or mine—would be laughed at. We cannot touch him."
Glenning's face darkened, and his lips pressed together to a thin, straight line.
"Then it's Greek meet Greek," he said, in a low, hard voice, and Julia, watching him, felt something akin to awe well up in her breast. Somehow he seemed so masterful, so calm, so purposeful, and she had been a witness of his ability to do things.
"Travers is to be his agent this time?"
It was the Major's voice, worry-laden.
"Yes, that's the name."
"He runs the hotel on a lease. Marston owns it. He's tired of working, and wants to buy his way to independence over the body of the Prince. Let him come! I am old to shed man's blood, but I will protect my property!"
"Daddy, you can't sit up all night," remonstrated Julia, trying to smooth the wrinkles from his forehead, "and you would be no match for an able bodied person bent on mischief. Isn't the smoke-house strong enough to keep out whoever comes?"
A throat was cleared in the hall doorway in an apologetic manner. The Major was too preoccupied to hear it.
"Here's Peter," said Julia, soothingly, without looking up.
"Ah! I'd forgotten. Let me ask you to have a julep with me, Doctor Glenning. Peter, pass the tray to the gentleman."
The retainer of the Dudley household shambled forward, bearing a tray upon which sat two glasses, each containing a well-mixed mint julep. It may as well be stated here that the quality of a mint julep depends largely upon the manner in which it is prepared, and Peter had been doing this sort of thing three times a day for more years than he had fingers and toes. This formal courtesy having been duly observed, Peter withdrew at once, and the question of the moment again commanded attention.
"There's nothing, my daughter," said Major Dudley, reverting to Julia's question, "there's nothing can positively thwart a villain except steel or lead. This man has hounded me until I'm desperate!"
"I agree with Miss Dudley," said Glenning, speaking carefully, "that it would not do for you to attempt to cope with this midnight assassin. A personal encounter is not at all improbable, and in that event you would inevitably suffer bodily harm, and perhaps death, for the man who would undertake such a piece of work as this would not hesitate to take human life."
While he was speaking Julia left her father's side and went back to the chair she had formerly occupied.
"Is there any one about the place upon whom you could rely?" John queried.
"We are alone with the exception of Peter and Aunt Frances. They would sacrifice themselves for us, but their aid would be out of the question upon an occasion like this."
A sudden gloom seemed to envelope the Major as he spoke.
"There's no one," he added, in a lifeless tone.
"But in town?" persisted the calm, even voice. "Is there no one—no young person who is not afraid that you could call to your assistance?"
The old man's head moved slowly in sign of negation.
"We live almost absolutely to ourselves, and alone," explained Julia. "It has been the family trait for generations. I have sometimes thought it a grave fault thus to seclude ourselves from the world, and live apart from our neighbors. It is a species of selfishness, but we have always found it very sweet. But living thus we must, you see, be sufficient unto ourselves at all times and under all circumstances. We have no moral nor civil right to make any demands, or ask any favours. We have chosen our lot, and we must abide by it, whatever comes. Until now—until this hour we have never regretted this, but—"
"But at the proper time Fate takes a hand in every game."
Glenning smiled as he finished the sentence in his own way.
"What do you mean?" asked the girl, a quick suspicion of what was in his mind causing her brown eyes to dilate and her lips to part the least bit in anticipation.
His words had an effect on the Major also. He straightened up, while hope sprang to his eyes. Glenning braced his feet on the floor and grasped the arms of his chair firmly before he answered. When he spoke his words came clear and sharp from between his teeth.
"I mean what I say." He held Julia Dudley's eyes with his own, without wavering an instant, as he went rapidly on. "Fate has taken a hand, and I am her instrument. This is no time for false attitudes, hypocrisy, or make-believes. There come times in all lives when superficiality has to be shorn away, when we must look upon things as they really are and cast aside all pretence and the nice fabric which cloaks our everyday actions and affairs. It is in such times we find our real selves, and the pity of it is they are usually compelled by some distressing situation, some condition which of itself strips off all sham and leaves our true natures bare. A little more than twelve hours ago I did not know that either of you were in the land of the living. Chance, if we chose to call it that, brought me in your way, and I did you a service. Simple justice to a fellow being against whose worldly goods I overheard a vile conspiracy brought me to your home today. With what result? You are totally unprepared and unable to meet this crisis alone and unaided. There is no one upon whom to call in this emergency. I am young, strong, and unafraid. I shall watch The Prince tonight!"
Julia put her palms over her face for the briefest moment, and when she took them down her eyes were shining adorably.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "We cannot accept that!"
A faint shadow of annoyance flashed over Glenning's countenance. He feared that she had not understood fully, but in the swift moment which followed he knew that he was wrong, and that she did understand. She was aware that his motive was noble and impersonal, for the knowledge was written on her fare. The caller turned to Major Dudley.
"Will you accept my offer, sir? It is made simply as man to man; as two strangers might meet in the desert, one unarmed and threatened by a wild beast, the other armed, and ready and willing to do what he can. That is the situation, and it is very simple. I see no need to delay, or hesitate. It is an extremely plain proposition. What do you say, sir?"
The Major was grave, upright and dignified as he answered in his measured tones:
"This is the fust time in my life that I have asked or received aid from any man. But I find myself in a sore strait, from which, as far as I can see, there is only one escape. The Prince is almost as deah to me as a child, Doctor Glenning. He is the last of a strain of race hosses which have made Kentucky famous all over the United States, and I confess to you that his swiftness has never been equalled by any of his forebears. To save myself, personally, I would tell you no. To save Julia and the colt, I say yes. It looks base, it looks brazen, it looks coarse and common, but I trust, suh, you realize fully the peculiar position in which you find me, and from which it seems that no one but you can extricate me. My daughter, we accept Doctor Glenning's magnanimous offer provisionally."
Julia merely bowed her head and remained silent. Her face had grown whiter and her eyes almost solemn.
"What restrictions do you wish to place upon me?" asked Glenning.
"Simply this. That you do not go on duty till midnight. There is absolutely no danger before that time, and Peter and I will share the watch. Again, you must promise to remain in shelter when you begin your vigil. The Prince's new quarters will be the smoke-house. Peter is there now doing what's necessary. It's a stanch structure, solid as a block-house of pioneer days, and will withstand an assault. You must also agree not to fire upon anyone unless it should become necessary. I have no desire that any of these people should die. If compelled to shoot, shoot low, and let your aim be to cripple. These are my provisions, and I shall not swerve from them an inch."
The man by the window hesitated a moment only.
"All right," he said. "I agree, since I must, but I had rather go into this business unhampered." He smiled boyishly, and turned to Julia. "We've over-ridden you, Miss Dudley. I hope you, also, will now agree to this little plan?"
"Ye-e-s, if father thinks it right I mustn't be contrary. But you are unfit for such a thing just now, and it seems brutally cruel and unfeeling after what you did last night."
Glenning waved his hand deprecatingly.
"We've forgotten that, you know, and agreed to let it alone. See that you don't trespass again. Tonight will be a lark, nothing else. Do you think I could be possibly frightened by that funny looking little hotel keeper?"
"Travers is an arrant coward, as well as a knave," broke in the Major, "but if Marston has any reason to doubt his project will miscarry, he may come, too. Then it's time to keep your eyes open, for he'll stop at nothing. I'm glad you have consented to my provisions, doctor, and now I've something else to say. I invite you to spend the afternoon with us, and take tea. Then you can return to town at twilight and retire early, in order to get some rest."
Involuntarily Glenning's eyes went around to where the young mistress of the old home sat.
"Let me repeat father's invitation," she said. "We shall be glad to have you stay. It will be pleasant for us, and will give you an opportunity to lay your plan of action for tonight. It will also save you an extra trip, if you have no other business on hand for the afternoon."
Glenning bowed.
"Nothing whatever. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day, I will establish an office down town, and incidentally desert the Union House. I have no desire whatever to remain the guest of our friend, Mr. Travers. He might put arsenic in my soup, or strychnine in my bread. But for the rest of this day I'm free, and I am delighted with your invitation, which I accept with pleasure."
Julia arose and went to the Major's side again.
"This is the hour for father's siesta," she said. "He has been accustomed to taking a nap this time of day ever since I can remember, and I know he especially needs it now." She bent down and whispered in the old gentleman's ear, but Glenning caught the words. "Lie down and rest now, daddy dear. I'll take care of our guest until you wake. And don't worry. Everything will come out all right."
Major Dudley arose a little unsteadily. His present trouble, crowding the heels of last night's occurrence, had told on him. His face was careworn, and there was the suggestion of a stoop in his shoulders. John had likewise risen.
"If you will pardon me, suh," spoke the Major, "I'll lie down a while now. A lazy custom of mine for which there really is no excuse. But habit is strong, and grows stronger the more we humour it. I will be up and out in the course of an hour. My daughter will entertain you, suh."
He bowed in formal, old-fashioned courtesy, and made his way to a long, deep davenport across the room which Glenning had hitherto failed to notice.
The caller now followed Julia into the hall.
"It seems impossible for us to treat you as a stranger in any way," she said, in a low, musical voice, "or to make company of you. Shall we sit on the portico, or would you rather go out on the lawn? We can take chairs out, if you prefer."
"Am I to speak with perfect freedom? I believe that is the best and truest basis for friendship, and I hope we may grow to be friends."
The partly alarmed glance which she darted at him showed only the habitual expression, half-smiling, half-grave, wholly genuine.
"The truth, always, and straight from the shoulder," she answered. "Deliver me from men or women who are constantly beating about the bush and perpetually feeling their way."
"Bravo!" he exclaimed, softly, and laughed—a chest laugh which thrilled her. "If everyone followed that maxim we would always know where our neighbours stood. Then this is the thing I wish now—to go have a look at The Prince's new stable. It had best be done by daylight, and—"
"Why, certainly."
She took a sunbonnet from the hat-rack near by, and turned to the long side porch back of the hall.
"Come with me. It is not very far away."
They passed the length of the porch side by side, silently. Some steps brought them to the ground, and as Glenning cast his eyes about he saw a portly figure in blue calico and bandana swathed head disappearing up another short flight of steps at the other end of the house.
"That's Aunt Frances," explained Julia, smiling at the precipitate manner in which the old negress had sought the shelter of her kitchen. "She is very shy for one of her age, and she is especially 'jubus' of young men. I don't know why, for I'm sure they are not near so critical as the young women. But she is faithful, and wonderfully watchful of me. I love her devotedly. Yonder is her consort, Peter, hard at work."
The smoke-house was not over fifty yards from the mansion, and was reached along a walk of huge flat stones. The way to all the out-buildings was paved in this manner. Peter was evidently hung on the horns of a dilemma as the two young people came up. He removed his tattered hat deferentially, greeted them with two profound salaams, and plunged into a recital of his woes, using the saw he held in one hand by way of emphasis and illustration.
"De stable hit bu'n, 'n' de Prince got to hab a home. Massa 'low de smoke-house wuz de only t'ing lef' fittin', 'n' hyar I been all day tryin' to wuk out de riddle. Dar's de do', 'n' dar's de Prince, hitched to dat freestone peach tree, 'n' de question whut's 'plexin' my mind is, how I gwi' git 'im thu dat do'!"
He ceased with his head on one side, and rheumy eyes which glared defiantly at the young man fronting him.
"What have you been doing with your saw?" asked Glenning, amused, but holding his face decorously straight.
"Cut a winder on de yon' side o' de house. Hit tuk me twel dinner-time. Now comes dis pesky do', whut de Prince won' fit. Ef he had 'nough gumption to stoop, he could go in, but he's dat proud he won' bend a bit. 'N' he got to git in hyar 'fo' dahk, sho'."
"Let me take a look. Maybe I can offer you a suggestion."
John passed through the low door. He found himself in a tall, dark room, odourous of cured meats and burned hickory fagots. It was scantily lighted by a square window of diminutive size, for in making the opening Peter had been careful not to get it large enough to admit the body of a man. But Glenning thought it was just the right size to admit two arms, one holding a bull's eye lantern and the other a revolver. By the aid of the light which streamed through the open door he could discern dimly the rows of blackened rafters overhead, from which broken bits of hempen strings hung desolately. There was not an ounce of meat in the smoke-house, and the man could not help wondering the least bit at this. Could they really be poor! He remembered what Dillard had said to him—"They are in no position to entertain a well guest, let alone a sick one." His heart sank strangely at the thought, and pity filled his breast. He turned swiftly, and went out the door.
"Peter's trouble is not as grave as it might be," he said, smiling at Julia as she stood patiently listening to the darky's discourse. "There are two remedies; to cut up, or dig down. The floor, I notice, is perhaps six inches lower than the ground, or we could saw out the log above the lintel. Either is entirely practicable, and not difficult. Which would you prefer, Miss Dudley?"
Julia did not know, as the perplexed look on her face showed, but Peter did. He broke in before she had time to formulate a reply.
"We'll dig dat do'step up. I've heerd de Massa say afo'time dat de rain'd run under dat do', 'n' dat he gwi' hab it 'tended to 'kase it spile de meat. 'Bleeged to yo', suh. I'll git de pick 'n' shev'l 'n' fix dat d'reckly."
He departed with his peculiar gait.
"Come and look at The Prince, and see if he knows you," said Julia. "Peter hasn't let him get out of sight today."
Together they approached the young animal which stood tethered under the shade of a small peach tree to one side.
"It's wonderful how little he was hurt," resumed Julia, and she could not restrain the emotion in her voice. "See, this is the worst."
She pointed to a spot just above the lean flank, where a long, deep burn marred the satin-like skin.
"A piece of falling timber did that," said Glenning. "I saw it."
He walked slowly around The Prince, and he, who had known horses from his childhood, marveled much at the absolute faultlessness of this young colt. He was modeled for speed, and speed alone, from the tips of his veined ears to his small, polished hoofs. There was not a line at fault, and, unbidden, a great wave of enthusiasm swept the man.
"You will race him this summer?" he queried.
"Yes, if he lives till then," she answered, with some sadness.
"Don't fear but he will live. I pledge you my word he shall be on the track when the day comes."
Julia looked at him with moist eyes.
"You are wondrous kind." Then, with a sudden brightening—"The Princeisfast. Oh, you don't know! He really runs like the wind; so rapidly that it almost frightens you. But this is a secret, you know. Still it has gotten abroad, somehow, and that's why the stable burned, for there are those not far away who also own fast horses, and it would almost kill them to have our Prince victorious."
A scowl darkened the face of the tall, spare man in front of her.
"I can scarcely believe such dastardly cowards are alive. But don't fear them. They shall not harm your horse, and after this night I think their designs upon his life will cease."
"O I fear the night!" she cried. "But remember your promise to father. I wish it was all over, and morning was here again!"
His deep, soft chest laugh reassured her.
"This will be child's play, Miss Dudley. Do not permit your rest to be disturbed on my account. I love the darkness. Not because I am altogether evil, but because of the solitude and peace which it brings. We can find ourselves better in the still hours; we can face ourselves and take counsel, and repent of what has been unworthy, and gather strength, perchance, for the next day."
She raised her eyes with the tiniest frown of wonder, but he had bent down and was rubbing the foreleg of The Prince.
Peter arrived at this point with his implements and set vigorously to work, and in the space of a half-hour the colt was safely domiciled anew, and was munching oats from a soap-box, both of which had been provided by his faithful groom.
The remainder of the day passed with remarkable swiftness for John Glenning. He found in Julia a character of unusual charm. She was unsated with the world, unspoiled by men, unworried by the demands of society. Her life had been a trifle monotonous, perhaps, but she possessed the polish which gentle birth and proper environment bestows, and her ready, bright mind had been led along the channels of the pure and good only. Her innate womanliness was ever uppermost, never approaching prudery, but marking unmistakably her speech, gestures and manners. Soon after their return to the house they had been joined by Major Dudley, and ere he realized how time had flown the vigorous ringing of a bell on the side porch made Glenning aware that it was tea time. It was rather a frugal repast to which he sat down a few moments later, but the napery was snowy white, and the service of elegant silver, solid and old. Aunt Frances, in white cap and apron, moved ponderously about the board in prompt and deft manipulation of dishes, and to the poor office- and hotel-worn man it was as though he had accidentally strayed into Paradise. Candles in antique old brass holders lighted the table, and there was witchery in the misty halo they cast upon the fresh, lovely face and waving hair of Julia Dudley. She was happy and bright at tea, striving alike to entertain their guest and to lift the gloom which had again enveloped the Major. This side of her father's nature she had seldom seen, and it made her afraid. Should he grow morose or brooding at his time of life the result would be disastrous, she knew, and before the meal was finished she made a mental resolve to bring about that very night the talk which the Major had promised her the afternoon before. Then she would be the better able to aid him.
The sun was down when they again came out upon the portico, and twilight was silently clearing the way for darkness.
"You have been most kind to me," said Glenning, standing bareheaded upon the low step between the portico pillars. "Your hospitality has been the best thing I have known for a long time. Let me beg you, Major, not to let this little affair tonight keep you from sleeping. There is not the slightest use of anyone being at the smoke-house until after midnight, and I shall be here not later than twelve. If, however, you would feel easier to know that a friendly eye was on The Prince, let Peter go. Remember I consented to your terms readily, and now I implore you to listen to me. Will you retire at your usual hour?"
"I will see that father keeps to the house," Julia said, with an unexpected firmness which surprised both her hearers. As she spoke she thrust her arm through the Major's and pressed it gently.
"There is not the slightest necessity for either of you to sit up," resumed Glenning. "I shall come and quietly go around to the smoke-house and remain there till morning. And please do not be alarmed unnecessarily. I shall keep my word to you, Major, depend upon that, and above all, go to sleep with the positive assurance that The Prince shall pass through this night unharmed."
He clasped each one's hand firmly, and turned away.
As the tall, upright form disappeared down the avenue, Julia put one hand upon her father's cheek.
"Daddy," she said, "this night I must hear why Devil Marston hates us."
The day had been very warm, and the old settee on the portico offered a comfortable seat, so it was here Major Dudley and Julia decided to stay. The master of the house made one more effort at postponement, but the young mistress would have none of it. It must be that night, and at once. Affairs had shaped themselves in such a manner that a complete revelation of all that had been kept hidden from her was imperative. So Peter fetched the long-stemmed meerschaum pipe which his master never smoked except of evenings, and received his instructions regarding the colt. These, by the way, were superfluous, for the negro had already made his arrangements to be a bed-mate of The Prince that night. Then, with the faint odour of the cherished honeysuckle at the corner of the house in their nostrils, and the faraway plaint of a mourning whip-poor-will floating spookily up from the lowlands on their right, they settled themselves, one to the task of telling a story he had rather have kept, and the other listening eagerly, yet with a certain dread. Julia felt that a new existence was opening up for her, and it looked formidable enough in the uncertain atmosphere which now enveloped it. Hitherto her way had been smooth, and her tasks and renunciations had been those of love. But as she thought of that dark-faced, brutish looking man who lived only a half mile further down the road, and knew that in some way both he and she were concerned in the tale she was to hear, for the first time in her happy life a vague terror took hold of her and her body sank closer to the form beside her. Major Dudley had his pipe alight by this time, but he was slow to begin speaking. For perhaps five minutes he said not a word, and Julia discreetly did not urge him. She knew it would come, and they had half the night ahead of them. Presently her father's hand strayed over into her lap and found hers.
"Julia," he said, and his voice was so tender and caressing that the girl caught a sob in her throat, that he might not hear, and be distressed. "Julia, I have hoped all my life that it would never become necessary for you to hear this story. It but illustrates man's inhumanity to man, and shows the harm an evil mind can bring about. Now I will tell you all about it, for it is your right.
"You never knew old Brule Marston. He was the father of our neighbour, and at heart was as vile a being as I have ever known. He loved your mother"—there was a catch in his voice here—"or at least pretended that he did, and wanted to marry her. His family's position was good, but only from the great fortune they had always owned. In reality the Marstons have been a bad lot as far back as I have any recollection of them. They have lived in Kentucky a long time, but they have always bought their position in a community, and I have never known one of the name to be a true gentleman, as we of the Bluegrass construe the word. Brule Marston was hot-headed, rash, impetuous and domineering as a young man. We were near the same age, he being a few years my senior, and we knew each other but slightly, for our families never visited, as you well know. Your mother came from Virginia to visit in the neighbourhood. It was to the Beckwith home she came—you know Miss Adeline, the old maid who lives with the Rays. She was one of the belles of the period, and I met Margaret at their home. Brule Marston met her about the same time, and then the mischief started. Each of us loved her from the first, and in his own way. Brule tried to force her into a promise of marriage, and for a time I thought I had lost her. He was handsome in a dark, devilish way, and I think it was his dashing manner which captivated Margaret for a time. They were heavy days for me, my daughter, but I played fair, and never said or did an underhand thing to attempt to further my cause. She gave no preference to either suitor so far as being in her company was concerned, and we had an equal chance. In the end I won, and that was God's choicest and sweetest gift to me. My rival took his defeat as might have been expected. He went raving wild when Margaret told him, and had not help been within call I believe he would have struck her in his frenzy. Then followed a prolonged drunken spree, when he scoured the country roads at night like a fiend escaped from hell, shouting his curses at the sky, and shooting his revolver recklessly. I had never feared him, and made no especial effort to avoid him in my nightly calls upon my fiancée But I was glad we never met, for mischief most certainly would have ensued.
"Margaret and I were married quietly, and now comes some more news. You know you have often spoken of your uncle Arthur's picture over the mantel in the library, saying how sorry you were never to have known him? He was several years my junior, and had been at college in the East. He came home and met Margaret after she and I had confessed our love. He at once conceived a violent affection for her, and when he discovered he was too late to hope to win her, it went hard with him, indeed. He stayed till after the wedding, and then went West, following the lure of gold. For a few years we heard from him at intervals, then his letters ceased, and today we do not know whether he lives or not. We loved each other dearly, and it has always been a cross to me that I was the innocent cause of his exile. I have made efforts to find him, but they have all been futile.
"Brule Marston disappeared a few days after our wedding. It was told that he took a boat at Louisville and went south, as far as New Orleans. He was gone a short time only, and when he returned he brought with him a woman. She was a quadroon, or a Creole, and she was exceedingly handsome in a flashy, barbaric way. Marston had loaded her with costly silks and jewels of all kinds, and introduced her as his wife. No one believed this to be true, and doors were closed upon them everywhere. In the course of a year a child was born to them, a son, who from his cradle was christened Devil Marston, for such was the wicked heart of Brule, his father, who worshiped nothing but his own passions, and made an open mock of religion. Then came the war, and I went with the South. Fearing to leave my young wife unprotected, I took her to her old home in Virginia, and there she stayed safely until the bitter strife was over, and there you were born. When we returned home a fearful tale of horror awaited us. In a maniac fit of rage Brule Marston had killed the Creole woman whom he had brought up from New Orleans. No attempts had been made to bring him to justice for the crime. Partly because everything was so unhinged on account of the war and its effects, partly because no officer was brave enough to try to arrest him. From that time on he lived alone in the old home down yonder, leaving the rearing of his son to an old negro woman who was reputed to be coarse and profane. Harrowing stories came to us of the fiendish cruelties Brule Marston practiced upon his servants, and he thought nothing of knocking one down and stamping him with his feet.
"How swiftly the years have chased each other since I came back home with you and your mother! And how I have wished them back again—those short, sweet years which followed your coming, when Margaret, you and I lived in perfect unity, and peace, and love. But change is the order of the universe, and we must take it when it comes, bravely, if so be God gives us grace, and fit ourselves to meet the new needs.
"Brule Marston died upon a night of awful storm. It seemed as if the cohorts of Satan had assembled to escort his foul soul to the realms of the lost. I will tell you now what I learned later, and I pray you to be brave, my child, and do not fear. The only training which Brule Marston instilled into his son was hatred of us. He never sought to teach him any good thing, or any worthy precept. His eternal and ceaseless injunction was hate, hate, hate. He never forgot the fact that I had robbed him of the pure being he had set his black heart on possessing, and revenge was the only feeling he harbored. Had he lived long enough I believe that in the end he would have wrought us some great harm, for I am assured that was his sole aim and desire. But death found him in the midst of his machinations, and stilled his hand. Devil Marston was an apt pupil, and he readily imbibed his father's teachings. By birth he was well fitted for any scurrilous task or duty, and he has always found joy in causing pain. On that night of storm when old Brule died he called his son to his bedside, and laid upon him his dying wish. It was that Devil Marston should make it his life's work to harass and oppress us, and at last to ruin us utterly, using his entire fortune for that purpose should it become necessary. It is needless for me to tell you the son was not slow to make the promise. It was a task entirely congenial to his nature. You have never been aware of it, my child, but he has had designs upon your happiness, knowing well that through you he could inflict the deepest pain upon me. You of course remember when he was at our home frequently, when we accorded him the courtesy due any one under our roof, while never extending him a welcome, or making him feel that his presence was desired. He always endeavored to be pleasant, but it transpired later that this was acting only; a mask for his true feelings. He often sought to be alone with you, but I could not trust the blood, worse mixed than ever in this man, and I always managed the situation so that I should be present also. This annoyed him, and he could not always hide his resentment—it would flame through the veil of decency he tried to wear with us. I did all in my power to discourage him from coming here, without asking him in so many words to stay away, but he had set his soul upon accomplishing a certain thing, and he would lose his soul rather than lose his project. Then came the night, not long ago, after which his visits ceased."
The low, regular, even tones stopped, and father and daughter sat close to each other in silence, each feeling the other's sympathy through their clasped hands. As they sat thus in the sweet summer night a clatter of hoofs jangled through the star-lit dark. They came from off to the right—from the direction in which the man lived of whom they were talking. The sound gathered rapidly in volume, and a moment or two later they heard a horse running furiously by on the highroad in front of them, going towards town. As the noise died away in the distance Julia pressed the Major's hand, but said nothing.
"It is he," spoke the father, in a voice of pronounced melancholy. "So his sire rode before him, killing on an average two horses every year. It seems the devil not only dwells in them, but is continually chasing them."
"What happened that night, daddy, when Mr. Marston came the last time? I saw him only in passing, and he looked nervous and angry."
"He was angry, little one. We ended it all in the library, but not until he had voluntarily torn away his mask. I would spare you this if I could—if you did not demand it."
Though it was dark Julia knew that he had turned to look at her.
"But I demand it—everything. You will not find me weak, for I am stronger than you know, daddy dear."
"He would not sit down, although I insisted that he take a chair, so our interview occurred with us both standing. He was quite restless, and frequently walked the entire length of the room, switching at his legs with his whip, which he always carries. I do not think I had ever seen him so disturbed—"
"I know all that, daddy; please come to the vital part at once."
The Major drew a deep breath, as though in preparation for some great exertion.
"He told me at the outset that he loved you, and that he wanted me to use my influence to gain your consent to marry him—damn him for a lying, mongrel cur!"
The girl felt his deep rage trembling through the hand she held, but the sickening shudder which swept her from head to foot passed unnoticed by him. His mind was back on the memorable scene, when he had to grip a chair-back to keep his hands off the throat of the scoundrel who faced him—who had dared to come with his black sins thick upon him, and ask for a Dudley, for his, Thomas Dudley's daughter in marriage! When he resumed his story his voice was husky and uneven.
"For a time I did not answer him. I feared to speak, for I would have cursed him from my home—would have driven him out like a rabid dog. I stood behind a chair and looked at him, and through his bravado I saw him grow afraid. He knew his words called for a bullet, and for a moment I believe he thought it was coming. He did not relish my silence. I am sure he had been drinking some, and his mood was more fiery and impetuous than usual. He wanted it all over quickly, and that prompted him to speak again.
"'Will you help me? What do you say?'
"Oh, how I wanted to splinter the chair before me against his face! But I answered him thus:
"'I say that my daughter will never,nevermarry you. She scarcely knows you, she is but a child, but she is not, nor ever will be for you, Devil Marston!'
"Thus I answered him, and I have never seen a human face become so ferocious as his did at that moment. All restraint vanished on the instant, and he became his own self, a raving beast. I do not recall his words. They were hot, reckless, vindictive and threatening. His fury became so great that he forgot all caution, and boasted of his money, and power, and what he was going to do to us. He vowed that he would bring us to a crust of bread before another year had gone, that he would literally starve us to his will. He spoke of the bank, of his power there as president, and declared that he would arrange to pass dividend after dividend if I did not reconsider. When I bought my stock he was only a director, but by unscrupulous wire-pulling and money manipulation he has become the head of the bank, and owns nearly fifty per cent, of the capital stock. That means, my daughter, that he really controls the bank's affairs, and has power to declare or pass a dividend. He could not do the latter without crooked work, for the bank is prosperous to a high degree, but he glories in underhand methods, and would not hesitate to swear to a false statement. If he does do this, I cannot foresee the future very clearly, for you know that is our sole source of income. I made no attempt to pacify him. I did not want his good will, for his ill will were better. I patiently listened to his volcanic speeches, and at last he wore himself out.
"'Now will you agree?' he concluded; 'or will you have me for an enemy instead?'
"'I shall never agree to such a base proposition,' I answered, 'and I had rather have you for an enemy than a friend.' Then I opened the door and pointed him out. 'Don't ever show your evil face in this house again!' I said, and he went, mouthing incoherent threats as he did so. That is the story, child, and you cannot wonder that I have kept it from you, whom I would shield from every sharp wind."
Again there was silence on the portico. A bird rustled in the vines, and a tree-frog, awaking down on the lawn, shrilled his dolorous cry. Perhaps a half hour passed without a word being spoken. Then Julia's calm voice said:
"I believe you did right, and whatever happens you will know that I approved your actions, and if we must suffer because of this man we will suffer together, and help each other all we can. I had no idea of—his feelings for me, but I cannot think them true and noble."
"They are assumed, and base as his nature can make them. He can no more love than a brute beast of the field."
"What could have been his motive last night? Was it pretence only when he made as if he would rescue The Prince?"
"Nothing else. It was a sham show of courage before you—and the people. He may have had some vague hope of getting the colt out, and thus winning favour with you, but whatever his momentary purpose, I am positive his ultimate and main one is our downfall."
They continued to discuss the future until the library clock struck ten.
"You had better go to bed now, daddy," said Julia, coaxingly. "You know it does not serve you well to sit up late, and nothing can be gained by it tonight. Peter is at the smoke-house now, and Doctor Glenning will be there long before the hour of danger, O daddy, what a brave, fine fellow this new doctor is! I can scarcely understand how he has come to us, and taken possession of us, as it were. He carries things with a firm hand, and they all seem right and natural. Kiss me goodnight and go upstairs; I shall be along presently."
The Major arose with a sigh, gave her the caress, and went indoors. Directly she heard his deliberate step on the stair. It was then she went in also, and carefully put out the lights. But instead of seeking her room she found a light, dark-coloured shawl and crept noiselessly back to the settee, leaving the front door slightly ajar. She could not go to sleep yet, and the sense of impending danger had so wrought upon her that she knew it would be entirely useless for her to attempt to compose herself for rest. A subdued excitement was running swiftly through her veins, so she wrapped the sombre folds of the ample shawl closely about her form, completely hiding the white dress which she wore, and let her mind review the incidents which had taken place the last twenty-four hours. The retrospection had its pleasant features, despite the loss and anxiety she had suffered. It was not a disquieting thought to know that a clean, athletic young gentleman with remarkable eyes and a new way of looking at things had for the time usurped control of the Dudley affairs, all in a way which bore no trace of forwardness. It was not a fearsome thing at all to sit there and know that within an hour or two a knight would be on the ground to champion her cause against any and all comers. But it was a new sensation for Julia. She had never had a sweetheart, and the only protection she knew was that offered by her father, which was really only a tender providing for her temporal wants. But this night romance walked abroad. A man, almost a stranger, was really to risk his life for her!
Swiftly the minutes raced by, and Julia was startled when the clock struck twelve. She was sure she had not slept, but this was the hour, and her knight had not come. As the vibrations from within pulsed into silence she became aware that something was moving on the drive. She strained her eyes through the nebulous star-shine, holding her breath in the tenseness of the moment. The figure of a man rapidly assumed proportions before her gaze. He was walking quickly, but noiselessly. He passed the portico step without stopping, and though he wore a cap and his coat was closely buttoned, Julia knew it was the one who had promised to be there at that time. She shrank back and clutched the shawl closely under her chin, but he looked in front of him only, and passed on around the corner of the house in the direction of the impromptu stable.
Julia arose and went in, carefully locking the front door. Then she tipped up to her room, pausing at her father's door to listen. From the regularity of his breathing, and the part of the room from whence the sound proceeded, she knew he was asleep. She was glad of this, for she had feared he would try to sit up. Passing into her own room she undressed and prepared herself for the night, then knelt by the open window, and with her elbows on the sill and her chin in her palms, gazed up at the starry space above her, and prayed. This was her nightly custom, to pray from her open casement. It seemed to her that a freer, more perfect and more intimate communication was established thus. It was only a fancy, of course, but it was one she always indulged in when the weather would allow. This night a new name was added to her petitions. She knelt there a long, long time after her prayers were done, listening, dreading to hear. But only the soft night sounds she had known always came to her. Then all at once a sweet drowsiness crept over her, and soon she was in bed, asleep.
Glenning's approach to the smoke-house came very near resulting in a tragedy. Preoccupied, he walked boldly to the door, and tried to open it. Instantly a belligerent and threatening voice informed him if he "teched dat do' ag'in he'd git a hole in 'im yo' c'd th'ow a dog thu!" John stepped quickly aside and opened a parley with the defender of the door. It was several minutes before Peter could be persuaded that it was the new doctor come to relieve him, although this part of the program had been dinned into him over and over again by Julia, and when at last the door was grudgingly opened a few inches, the rusty barrel of an army musket was the first thing to appear. But the exchange was then soon effected, and the relief guard had to unceremoniously cut off a long string of instructions from the departing Peter, by gently closing the door in that worthy's face, and making it tight on the inside.
Alone with the colt, Glenning drew a small lantern from his pocket, and made his brief preparations. With native denseness of mind, Peter had tethered The Prince broadside on to the window yawning blackly in the opposite wall. The man untied the halter, and led the animal to a point where it would be most inaccessible for anyone attempting it harm by employing the window, and that was really the only point where an attack could be successfully made, for the door was thick-beamed, and could not be forced. This done to his satisfaction, the man sat down directly under the window—in this position the hole was about two feet over his head—and drew forth a thirty-eight calibre revolver. The brief but thorough inspection he gave it showed it to be in perfect trim, so he carefully placed it on a shingle which happened to lie near by. Then he closed the slide of his lantern, found a comfortable attitude with his back against the logs, and did some thinking himself. His mind was keenly awake and alert, and he had no fear of falling asleep. Now and again he would look at his watch, then lean back and stare into the impenetrable blackness before him, and wonder things. The colt was very quiet, his only movement being an occasional stamp of the foot. Finally Glenning's watch showed half-past two. At this time of the year it would begin to grow light soon after three. He arose agilely, and drew off his coat. Then he loosened his shirt at the throat, rolled his sleeves above his elbows, and again sat down, this time facing the window, with his knees drawn up. If the attack was really to be made that night it must come quickly. He had scarcely settled himself in this new attitude when he felt another presence. On the heels of this intuitive perception came light footfalls—a stealthy creeping on the balls of the feet. The prowler was circling the smoke-house, seeking some place of entrance. The feet stopped at the door, and Glenning heard the strain of the bolts as a shoulder was forcibly pressed upon the oaken planks. The man inside smiled grimly, and waited. A moment's silence, and the footfalls came on, to the corner, around it, and the watcher caught the low exclamation of gratified surprise when the marauder saw the window. Glenning got to his knees and slowly rubbed the palms of his hands together, while his jaws grew hard. A shaft of yellow light darted through the window and danced among the blackened rafters near the roof, showing the broken bits of hempen strings which in past years had borne luscious burdens. The man crouching inside set his eyes intently on the opening, while on his body and limbs the muscles rose and ridged themselves for the coming battle. The sword of yellow light flickered lower and lower, revealing the beech logs to which the bark still clung, and the chinking between them. Lower, and around, till it shone in the honest, unsuspecting eyes of The Prince, and glistened on his withers, and found the spot on his shiny coat behind which his heart was beating. A hand holding a bull's-eye lantern came through the window; another hand holding a huge revolver, cocked, crept like a snake to its side. Then up from the darkness beneath the window sprang two other hands, long, slender, white and strong as steel. Around the wrists of the assassin these two hands closed in a grip so fierce that it brought a cry of pain and fright from the one outside, and lantern and revolver fell to the soft earth inside the smoke-house. Then ensued a silent struggle, in which the captive strove with fiendish power born of terror and rage to free himself. Glenning, on his knees, sent all his strength to his vise-like hands. Not a word was spoken, not another sound was uttered. In the gloom the two men strove as two animals might, and their heavy breathing alone broke the stillness. Not for nothing had John Glenning kept himself in rigorous physical training from the first year he went to college. All his hoarded strength leaped up at his call, and gave him the victory. Gradually the frantic struggles of the marauder stopped, and finally he ceased resisting. Then Glenning, with his hands still set in a superhuman grasp, spoke from between his clenched teeth.