CHAPTER VIIWaldstricker and Mother Moll
"Deforrest is so interested in the little Skinner girl," Helen Young explained to Ebenezer Waldstricker when they were alone after supper. "Ever since he helped to get her father out of Auburn, he's done all he could for her."
"He's a philanthropist at heart, I imagine," remarked Ebenezer, agreeably.
"Yes, and so good to everybody. Dear Forrie! I wish he'd meet the right woman and marry her. He'd be so happy in a home of his own. When I think of leaving him alone—"
The tender face flushed crimson, and happy eyes dropped under the man's bright gaze. He reached over and took a slender hand in his.
"But you're not sorry you're coming with me, are you, dear?" he chided gently, and Helen lifted her head with a glad cry.
"Oh, no, no, darling!... I'm the happiest woman in the world!"
"And I'll keep you so," replied Ebenezer, in earnest.
"I was thinking, though," observed Helen, after a moment, "that Deforrest might come with us if he hasn't made other arrangements."
Waldstricker contemplatively kissed each pink finger of the small hand he held, then pressed his lips to the soft palm.
"I should like very much to have him, Helen," said he. "I'm very proud of your brother, you know."
"You can't make me happier than to praise him," she smiled.
For several minutes no more was said. Then Waldstricker spoke as though thinking aloud,
"I wonder if that little Skinner girl will be of any assistance in the matter of locating Bishop?"
"Perhaps," replied Helen. "She seemed very eager to get the money! Don't you think so?"
"Yes, I think she did, but I've been wondering if she's trustworthy. Is she, Helen?"
Miss Young made a hasty affirmation.
"Yes, indeed, she's more than that!" she exclaimed. "She wouldn't deceive any one she loves for anything in the world, so Deforrest tells me."
"I sincerely hope so," sighed Ebenezer. "I've quite set my heart on her helping me. Money is no object in a matter like this."
"Of course not," murmured Helen, sympathetically.
"Letts also is doing some good work," Ebenezer continued. "He's been through nearly every hut on the Rhine."
Helen shivered. "I can't tolerate that man around," she replied. "Once in a while he comes here to see Deforrest or to sell something, and I can't get him away quickly enough."
"He's a good spy, though. That's all I want. He and the Skinner girl ought to produce that dwarf between them."
"I hope so for your sake, dear," murmured Helen.
Waldstricker took out his watch and glanced at it hurriedly.
"It's time for me to go, sweetheart," said he. "I want to get home before dark. Come as far as the lane with me—do!"
"The twilight is lovely, isn't it?" whispered the girl, when they were traversing the pear orchard.
"Made more lovely because of you," replied Waldstricker, sentimentally.
"How romantic you are tonight, dearest!" Helen laughed.
They had turned slowly up the hill, when suddenly Helen stopped and slipped her hand into Ebenezer's arm.
"There is that old woman you heard read from the fortune pot!" she exclaimed. "Let's step one side until she's passed us? She rarely lets a person go by without speaking."
Waldstricker threw up his head arrogantly.
"I'm not afraid of the hag," he replied pompously.
Together they advanced up the hill. Mother Moll, leaning on her cane, crept slowly down toward them. When her faded, nearsighted eyes caught sight of the two approaching figures, she halted in the middle of the road until they were almost upon her. She stared at Waldstricker fully fifteen seconds, while he looked steadily back at her. Then her withered lips spread wide in a sneering, cackling laugh.
"So he air aready been settin' on yer head an' layin' on yer heart, mister," she greeted him, "the leetle man like this, huh, ain't he?"
She shook her cane at the tall man and clacked at him again. Helen was conscious that at Moll's insults, Ebenezer's anger was rising by the minute. She was herself greatly moved by a kind of superstitious awe of the old woman's cryptic utterances. But seeking to avoid any further unpleasantness, she smiled in a friendly manner and asked,
"How do you do, Mother Moll?"
The hag thrust forward her face and raised one withered arm,
"I air fine, young lady," she screamed, crooking her fingers at the girl, "an' feel finer'n you can do this day, or ye'll ever with him." She pointed her cane at the scowling, dark-faced man; and slowly bobbed her head back to Helen. "Yer life'll draw out long an' terrible, till ye'll wish ye hadn't never seen 'im. He'll set up a knot hole an' drag ye livin' through it. Then he'll turn yer heart inside out an' haul ye back again."
She paused, while Waldstricker's face grew darker and darker. The frown on his brow roused Helen to action.
"Let's go on, dear," she whispered. "Don't pay any attention to her foolish talk."
"Not yet," returned Waldstricker, ominously. "Not yet!"
Moll laughed discordantly, shaking her head until the wisps of gray hair fell in strings about her face.
"He knows I ain't done tellin' ye what'll happen if ye line yer life with his'n," she croaked. "Lady, he air wicked, awful wicked, an' nothin' but misery, deep an'plentiful, air a goin' to make him any better. Every one he loves—"
Incoherently, she rambled on and the man's countenance took on an expression of such rage that Helen Young uttered a cry of dismay. She had never seen Ebenezer in one of his savage moods. Before she could draw him away, he had lifted his riding whip and a sudden twist of his arm brought it sharply down on the grandam's thin bent shoulders.
"Ebenezer!" screamed Helen, horrified.
"Drat ye, ye brute!" cried Moll, tottering back, "an' twice drat ye!" She swayed forward on her cane. "Ye can lick me till I die, an' 'twon't change yer own life any. It'll only add to the sufferin' ye got to go through yerself."
Waldstricker's arm went up again, but Helen grasped it frantically.
"Ebenezer, don't!... Don't strike her any more. Please!... Go home, Mother Moll.... Please go! Oh, do!"
The old woman leaned heavily on her stick, tearless sobs shaking her emaciated frame. For a space of sixty seconds her watery, faded eyes stared into Waldstricker's flashing dark ones—then she drew a long, convulsive breath.
"It air like ye to hit the awful young an' the awful old," she shrilled at him, "but, 'twon't do ye no good. Curls'll bring yer to yer knees, hair'll make yer heart bleed blood redder'n the sun, an' the leetle man'll jerk 'em tight 'bout yer throat till ye thunder out fer mercy."
"Come along," muttered Ebenezer, roughly, to Helen. "If she torments me any more, I fear I'll kill her."
His words were not so low but they caught the quick ear of the old woman.
"Kill me, yep, kill me, ye proud whelp! Go 'long; do it, ye big coward! Before ye're done with life, ye'll hate yerself worse'n uther folks hate ye."
She hobbled a little distance, reaching backward to rub her shoulders. Then she twisted completely around, facing the other two.
"Mind my word, pretty miss," she croaked in halfgrunt, half yelp. "Let 'im go like ye would a snake; like ye would a slimy worm a crawlin' at yer feet." Still snarling in pain, she lifted one shaking arm and pointed a crooked forefinger at Waldstricker. "She won't always stay with ye, ye skunk ye!" Then she staggered away, Helen and Ebenezer staring after her until she was lost in the gloom of the gully.
"Isn't she dreadful?" Ebenezer said, with a rueful laugh.
"She's so old," was Helen's gentle reproof. "She's not accountable for anything. Deforrest says she's very good to the other squatters."
"They're an unseemly mess." The man struck at an overhanging bough savagely. "And your brother has power enough to remove the worst of them if he wanted to. That old hag, for instance—"
"Deforrest wouldn't do it," interjected Helen.
"He may if I make it worth his while," replied Waldstricker. "But there, I was foolish to let 'er get on my nerves so. I beg your pardon, dear. My only excuse is I dislike to see the laws of God broken in such an iniquitous way. Why, I felt when I struck her the righteous indignation the Master must have felt when he drove the money changers from the temple."
Helen looked at him, startled. She was shocked at his words, as she had been terrified by his act.... A dreadful doubt darted into her mind. Was Mother Moll right? Could she be? Instantly she dismissed the suggestion, condemning herself for paying any attention to the empty vaporings of the half-witted, childish, old woman. She was sorry for Moll, of course, and grieved and hurt because Ebenezer had lost his temper and struck her. But her loving heart excused him. Certainly the provocation had been great. Old Moll was unusually impertinent.
Intent to repair the momentary disloyalty of her doubt, she pressed his arm lovingly.
"There, dear, let's not speak of it again. It's over now and we'll forget all about it."
A little later, when Waldstricker was moodily riding toward Ithaca, Mother Moll's hateful prophecies repeated themselves in his mind.
CHAPTER VIIITessibel's Marriage
During the few hours after the departure of Waldstricker, Professor Young and Helen, Tessibel Skinner was preparing for her marriage. For the present she had dismissed her fear for Andy Bishop and had turned her attention to her own wonderful secret, her marriage to Frederick that evening. She went so nervously from one thing to another that when she stood fully dressed before her father, he scrutinized her inquiringly; but he confined his curiosity to the simple question,
"Goin' out, brat?"
"Yep, Daddy," admitted Tess, confused for an instant, "an' darlin', don't worry if I ain't back fer quite a little while. I air goin' to ride with Frederick." She leaned over him and cupped his bearded face with her hands, her eyes like stars, first shining, then shadowing. "Ye trust yer Tessibel, don't ye, Daddy Skinner?"
Since the first instant she'd been placed in his arms, a wee baby, the squatter had never ceased to marvel at her loveliness. An expression of adoring affection settled over his face.
"Sure, I air a trustin' ye, child," he assured her huskily, "or I wouldn't be lettin' ye run 'round wild on the rocks like ye're doin'.... Ye won't be gone too long, honey?"
"Nope," answered Tess, kissing him, "bar up, darlin', an' don't open to any knock lessen ye know who 'tis," and she ran out of the shanty and closed the door behind her.
"Fine lookin', yer girl, eh, pal?" remarked Andy, presently, from the ceiling.
"Yep," agreed Orn, morosely.
"She air got a beau, now, ain't she, old horse?"
The fisherman's face darkened with anger.
"Yep, an' I hate 'im like I hated his pa. But whena girl air fell in love with some feller, that air all there air to it."
"I hope he won't never hurt her," sighed the dwarf.
"He better hadn't!" mumbled Skinner.
During the silence that followed between the squatter and his prison pal, Tessibel was climbing the hill to meet Frederick. Many conflicting emotions took possession of her as she neared the summit. After tonight she would no longer be Tessibel Skinner, but Frederick's wife, and he, her husband, her own forever and forever. This night-ride would be her cherished secret until Frederick gave her permission to tell Daddy Skinner—until the whole world should know. Her mind was busy with the events of the last thirty-six hours. She was cogitating upon the happiness of her future, when she saw the waiting vehicle ahead of her, and Frederick's dark figure silhouetted in the moonlight. Faster and faster fluttered her heart, and faster and faster moved her feet. She reached the carriage without the student's realizing it.
"Frederick!" was all she had breath to say.
At the whispering of his name, the young man sprang to the ground. In another moment he had Tessibel in his arms.
"You've come!" he murmured low, kissing her. "Oh, my dearest, you're here!"
Then he lifted the slender figure into the buggy. Even in the pale light, Tessibel noticed his face gleamed white, and his eyes shone darker than usual. She sat very quiet as he gathered up the reins, and it was not until they were well on their way along the Trumansburg road that the boy turned to her. How beautiful she looked, her shoulders completely covered with dusky-dark curls and her head bowed in maidenly shyness! All his doubts as to the expediency of his act were set at rest. She was deeply essential to his happiness, to his progress. To know she was his wife, married to him, so that none could separate them, would make his absences from Tessibel much easier to bear. He had in the past feared Deforrest Young. Now that fear was being set at rest. He never had worried that Sandy Letts would win Tess any more than he had been apprehensiveof Ben Letts before the drowning of the squatter. The one person he stood in awe of was his mother. Again his eyes sought the silent girl at his side. She had ever been a hallowing influence in his life, and to lose her would be worse than death. After tonight the glory in those unreadable brown eyes would ever shine for him. He threw one arm across her shoulder, and drew her closer. "My little moonlight girl!" he breathed in ecstasy, his cheek against hers. "Are you happy, my sweet?"
Tessibel couldn't have spoken if she had so desired. Her heart seemed filling her throat. Happiness hushed her voice, and gratitude to God for giving her Heaven's best prevented her expression of it.
The next twelve miles were passed in silence. And ever after, when Tessibel in imagination recalled the white road, winding its way into the hills, the quietude of the countryside, the shimmering moonlight, it seemed like nothing real. And she remembered, as in a daze, Frederick taking her in his arms after the minister had married them—how he had called her over and over his wife, his darling, and other whisperings divinely sweet.... In memory all those hours were like strangely mysterious dreams.
Daddy Skinner was waiting for Tessibel. He had sat listening for hours, mostly in silence, a deep brooding expression bending his ragged brows together in a stern frown.
From his position in the attic, Andy Bishop could see the fisherman's face. The dwarf was quick to recognize that something was wrong with his friend.
"The world air waggin' yet, Orn," he remarked soothingly.
"Sure, but 'tain't much of a world," grunted Skinner, sighing.
Andy bent his head a little farther through the hole.
"It air a lot, while we got Tess," he answered. "We got Tessibel, ain't we, pal?"
The squatter's mouth wrinkled at each corner.
"Yep, I guess we got 'er all right, but I wish to God she'd come home."
"She'll be along soon," assured Andy, with a smile.
For a few minutes they remained silent. Then Orn Skinner burst forth again,
"I ain't got as much use for that feller Tess loves as a dog has for a million fleas, an' I never liked 'is pa, uther...."
"Ye wouldn't wish she'd be lovin' Sandy Letts, even if he does make money, eh, Orn?" asked Andy.
"Thunder, no!" snorted Skinner. "I'd ruther she'd be dead 'n married to Sandy. But that ain't sayin' a honest squatter airn't better'n a high born pup.... I wish Tess loved a decent chap."
At that moment the speaker's daughter was standing alone on a small country inn porch, some miles from Trumansburg, waiting for her husband.
Frederick had gone to get the rig to take them back to the squatter settlement. There was absolute stillness, absolute calm everywhere but within herself. Her heart fluttered with new emotions, new desires, ambitions to make herself worthy of the man she'd married. Her eyes were on the sky, her soul among the stars, her own stars that had crept out one by one, each to look lovingly down upon her happiness.
What a glorious night it was! More wonderful than yesterday even! Or any of her many yesterdays! This hour, the climax of her love, had transported her through the mystery of immeasurable joy. She would never again be the old Tessibel. She was Frederick's wife! Her breath came in sudden, quick, happy sighs, for just then she heard his voice from out of the darkness. Ah, his tones, too, were deeper, richer than yesterday!
Even in the shadow, Frederick saw her distinctly as he came toward the house.
"My own little wife!" he whispered tumultuously. "How happy I am!"
"Won't ye take me home now?" murmured Tess. "It air late an' Daddy'll be worried."
"We'll start at once," promised Frederick tenderly, leading her down the steps.
Daddy Skinner heard the horse coming down the hill,heard Frederick as he said his low, "Good-night, my darling," and unbarring the door, the fisherman waited impatiently for his daughter to enter the shanty.
One glance and he stretched out his hand.
"Ye're sick, brat," he stammered. "Be ye sick, my pretty?"
Dropping her eyes, Tessibel shook her head.
"Nope, I ain't sick," she faltered. "But—but—"
She wanted to throw herself upon her father's broad shielding breast and sob out her joy. But she couldn't do that so she stood hesitantly, her lips quivering.
"I air wantin' to be hugged in yer arms, Daddy Skinner," she told him. "Tell yer brat ye love her awful much."
And according to his custom in his daughter's sentimental moments, the fisherman, after dropping the door-bar, seated himself in the wooden rocking-chair, and held out his arms.
"I were just a sayin' to Andy, I wished ye'd come home," said he. "Love ye, kid?... I love ye better'n all the world, and everythin' in it.... Well! If my pretty brat ain't cryin'.... Sandy ain't been chasin' ye, has he?"
"Mebbe she air been a fightin' with her beau," piped the dwarf, from the ceiling.
The girl's mind traveled back through the events of the evening.
"Nope, I didn't fight with 'im, Andy," she smiled through her tears.
Daddy Skinner's beard rubbed lovingly over the dishevelled curly head.
"There! There! My little 'un!" he singsonged. "I'll rock my babe a bit. Ye stayed out too late, I air a thinkin'."
Oh, to tell him everything that had happened in the past few hours. But she had promised Frederick, and Tessibel would rather have died of grief than betray her trust. She put her lips close to the fisherman's ear.
"I air lovin' the student, Daddy," she whispered. "I didn't see Sandy tonight. I jest been with Frederick."
The squatter's only answer was to press her lovinglyto him and for a long time he swayed back and forth slowly. Suddenly he ceased rocking.
"Ye'd best git to bed, baby," said he. "Crawl back, Andy, and let the brat undress."
Andy's shining face disappeared with a "Good night, brat," and "Good night, old horse."
The father and daughter heard him settle himself on the straw tick, and soon all was quiet above. And later by half an hour, Tessibel was dreaming of the young husband who that day had opened a new world to her, who had led her from girlhood into the immensity of womanhood.
CHAPTER IXThe Musicale
Tessibel, arrayed in her new dress and slippers, a roll of songs under her arm, stood in the shanty kitchen. Neither Daddy Skinner nor Andy had made any comment when she told them she had really consented to sing at the home of the dwarf's enemy. Now she craved their commendation. A little doubtful, she went to the ladder, and glanced upward. The dwarf was nowhere to be seen.
"Andy," she called softly.
"Huh?" drifted from somewhere above in the darkness.
"Crawl to the hole, dear, an' squint down at my dress."
A little scramble and a face peered down upon her,
"Ye been a cryin', Andy," said Tess, a break in her voice. "What ye been a cryin' fer, honey?"
"Seem's if Waldstricker air goin' to take ye away from my pal an' me."
Daddy Skinner gave a grunt with no articulate word in it. Tess whirled around on him and fastened her bright eyes upon her father's bent head.
"Daddy," she began tremulously, "air you an' Andy thinkin' things ye hadn't ought to of Tessibel?"
Skinner shook his head.
"Me an' Andy hates Waldstricker, that air all," he said.
Tess shrugged her shoulders.
"I ain't et up with love fer him uther," she offered in defense, "but Miss Young wanted me to—oh, daddy, why didn't you tell me I couldn't go right at first—"
"Of course, ye be goin'," broke in Daddy Skinner, "but don't ye forgit us, my pretty!"
Tess gurgled in joy. She went to her father's side and gathered the dear head into her arms.
"If that air all what air worryin' ye, then kiss yer brat," said she. "I air goin' to sing an' mebbe I'll only see Waldstricker to speak to 'im. If he says anythin' 'bout Andy—"
"What'll ye tell 'im, kid?" gasped the dwarf.
"Oh, I'll string 'im like I allers does," returned Tess. "Now you're done squallin' like a baby, look at me!"
"Ain't she swell?" enthused Andy. "Orn, have ye looked 'er over?"
"Sure," mumbled the Squatter, "an' she air finer'n silk."
Tessibel hugged her father again, fluttered a kiss from the tips of her fingers to the little man above, and repeating her usual admonition to them, not to talk aloud, she started for Young's with palpitating heart. Deforrest met her as she ascended the front porch. Smiling he took her hand. His eyes expressed his approval of the winsome face and the trim figure in the new dress.
"Prompt as usual," he greeted. "How beautiful you are tonight, my dear!"
The color swept to Tessibel's face in great waves. She loved everything beautiful, the roses, the violets, the blue of the sky! Even the night things were beautiful, too. Did Professor Young think her beautiful like all these wonders? She smiled, her face shining in its mantling crimson. Deforrest took her arm, leading her into the living room, where Helen stood at the table, drawing on a long white glove.
"Gaze upon your handiwork," laughed her brother. "Quite a surprise for Ebenezer and his friends, eh?"
Helen examined Tessibel from the top of her head to the tip of her pretty boots with critical, gratified eyes.
"Yes," she decided, "you're all very satisfactory, Tess." Then to her brother, "Now, let's go, dear."
When Deforrest drove his horses up the long roadway leading to the Waldstricker mansion, Tessibel noticed the house was lighted from cellar to garret, that a long line of vehicles was making its slow way to the porch. Her heart fluttered with embarrassment. As they drew up to the stone veranda, Tess reached spontaneously for Helen Young's hand.
"It seem's if I jest couldn't sing afore such a awful lot of folks," she murmured helplessly.
Helen returned the pressure of the cold fingers.
"Try to imagine you're in church," she suggested. "You won't break down, my dear, I feel quite sure."
"I—I—air goin' to try to be awful careful anyhow," replied Tess, hopefully, but she heaved a deep sigh as Deforrest Young lifted her quite into his arms and placed her on the low, broad porch-stone.
Amid a crowd of laughing people, they passed into the house, and while they were removing their wraps, Helen took the opportunity to give her little protege a few last admonitions.
"Don't forget to put the 'g's' on your 'ing's,' and remember always to say 'your' quite plainly," she whispered.
"I will," Tessibel promised.
By this time, they had entered the crowded reception hall, and the squatter girl's heart leapt into her throat when Ebenezer Waldstricker came forward to meet them. He welcomed Helen Young tenderly, taking her hands in his. Tess noticed both corners of his mouth were up.
"I'm so happy to have you here, Helen, my darling," he murmured, bending over the hands he held.
A flushed face smiled into the speaker's.
"And I'm happy to be here, too, dear." Then turning, Helen announced "Here's Miss Skinner ... Tessibel, Mr. Waldstricker."
Until then the Elder had not seemed to be aware of the girl's presence, but at the introduction he extended his hand, formally polite. When, in shy greeting, Tess lifted her eyes, one corner of his mouth drew down rigidly. She was more at ease when Deforrest Young joined them. Her welcoming smile caused that gentleman's heart to bound in delight. They made their way slowly and with difficulty down the long hall, Tessibel growing more and more conscious of the curious glances directed at them from all sides. When they reached the drawing room door, her agitation grew perceptibly, having noticed that Waldstricker was detaining Helen. Deforrest held her arm with an encouraging pressure.
"Don't be afraid, dear," he whispered in her ear. "You'll stay near sister and me the entire evening. There!" They had crossed the room and neared a row of chairs arranged against the wall. "Sit down by this open window. My sister will be here soon.... Why!—Why! childie, you mustn't tremble so!"
A mist gathered under Tessibel's lowered lids. Each moment she grew more frightened, and from the corner of her eye measured the distance between their place and the piano. Oh, how thankful she was when Miss Young took a seat beside her. Near the door she recognized Madelene Waldstricker. Across the distance Tess studied the girl a moment. How pretty her gown was!
Tessibel glanced down at her own dress; at her rounded arms shining white under the little ruffle of fine lace. Her dress was pretty, the prettiest she'd ever had, and gratitude toward the woman at her side overcame for the moment her embarrassment. Presently Waldstricker came to them with the request for a song, and Deforrest Young escorted Tess to the piano. He pitied her from the bottom of his heart, as she clutched frantically at his arm.
"You've only to be yourself and sing as you do for us, my dear," he bent to whisper, "everybody will love you then."
That magic word "Love!" It always thrilled Tess into doing her best, and she must do no less tonight for her friends' sake. She sank down quite helplessly into the chair to which Deforrest led her and watched Ebenezer escort Helen to the piano. Her muscles grew taut with fright. How she wished to be back with Daddy Skinner and Andy! But she took the song Deforrest handed her, and through a veil of embarrassment, saw his smiling face close to hers.
"Sit here," he said, in low tones. "I shall be near you."
In one melodious touch of ivory keys, Helen started the prelude and every one in the room grew silent and attentive. Then from the side of the instrument there suddenly appeared before the quiet audience a radiant vision, a girl with tawny, glittering curls hanging in agolden fire-shower about her slender figure. The unfathomable brown eyes swept over the throng a quick glance, then dropped to the sheet of music in her hand.
A spontaneous murmur of admiration fell from many lips. For an instant Helen Young's hands poised above the keyboard, then descended; and as spontaneously as a bird begins its love song to the blue, so Tessibel Skinner began to sing.
The powerful voice rose up and up in seeming unending volume,—up and up until Deforrest Young sank against the wall and locked his fingers together. How had his sister dared to risk such a song with such a child!... Then he took a long satisfied breath, for he saw the little singer sang as a lark sings, without fear or self-consciousness, without knowledge of limitation to her thrilling harmony.
When Tess ceased on a high note, held until it drifted softly to the furthermost corner of the room, a round of applause went up to the high ceiling, and Miss Young, glancing around proudly at Tess, smiled and nodded. The girl felt another song thrust into her hands. This time she was less tremulous and sent back to Deforrest Young a charming, youthful smile. Helen's fingers rippled over the keys softly for a minute or two, and once more Tess began to sing.
"That I may know the largeness of God's love, teach me the fullness of thine own," she thrilled forth.
A groan forced its way almost to Deforrest Young's lips. What a child she was! Yet she sang that song with the abandonment of passion known only to a woman. How beautifully, lithely young she looked, standing there with those flowing, shimmering curls and the tender, throbbing voice pleading to be taught the fullness of human love, that she might find the largeness of the Infinite. Turning swiftly to the window, he pressed his lips together to stifle his emotion. He could no longer bear the stab at his heart, nor risk the mist rising in his eyes. Tessibel, wholly unconscious of the stir she was making, sang on and on, her gaze on the sheet in her hand. Suddenly she raised her eyes and there near the door was Frederick Graves, his face waxen white, his dark gaze bent upon her. Close besidehim stood Madelene Waldstricker. But a single instant Tess faltered in her song. Then again, passionately, insistently, and tempestuously she sang, "That I may know the largeness of God's love, teach me the fullness of thine own!"
She saw his lids droop as she carefully pronounced each beautiful word, and saw him, without a glimmer of recognition for her, turn to the girl at his side. He hadn't even welcomed her with his eyes. Never before had he failed to greet her smilingly. She chilled to the bone, nor dared look again. When the song was finished, she sat down limply. Deforrest Young, strangely stirred, took her hand.
"Sweet child," he murmured, "it was delightful! Lovely!"
At the same moment Waldstricker was bending over Helen Young.
"My dear, how ambitious you are for so young a pupil!" he laughed.
"There's nothing she can't sing," she replied, rising. "Hasn't she a wonderful range?"
"Very," replied Waldstricker, and he, too, turned to look at the squatter girl.
Tess was striving to listen to Deforrest Young, but her disturbed mind was where Frederick stood with Madelene Waldstricker. Her whole loving heart desired him to come and speak to her.
"I never heard her sing like that before," Madelene was saying to Frederick. "I believe you know her quite well, don't you?"
"I know who she is," stammered the student, flushing, "but as to saying I know her well—"
"She's very beautiful!" interjected Madelene.
Frederick lowered his head flatteringly, "Not as beautiful as another girl I know," he whispered, and Madelene dropped her eyes with a happy sigh.
"Let's go and speak to her," she suggested. "I feel I must, I'm the hostess, you know."
Frederick reluctantly fell into step with her, and together they crossed the room, a striking picture of entrancing youth. Tessibel's heart ached at the unusual sight. For one burning moment she wanted to scream,to spring up and do some terrible thing to the small girl walking so familiarly at her husband's side. Then she looked away miserably. She could not bear the sight, nor did she turn again until she heard a strange, rather high, girl's voice say,
"It was very lovely, Helen! Such a surprise to every one! I'm ever so grateful to you."
"Tessibel, this is Miss Waldstricker," introduced Helen.
Tess raised a scarlet face at the sound of her name.
For one moment the two girls gazed into each other's eyes. Each had in her panting heart a feeling of proprietorship for the tall, dark boy standing moodily behind Madelene. Tess knew he was there, yet did not look at him.
"You've a beautiful voice," observed Miss Waldstricker, with a shade of condescension in her manner.
Tessibel could feel the blood pulsing even to her finger tips. What did she care for compliments from Madelene Waldstricker? She wanted to hear them from Frederick! Miss Waldstricker whirled suddenly to bring him into the conversation.
"Mr. Graves.... Ah, yes, of course, you know Miss Young, and this—and this is—Miss Skinner, Mr. Graves."
Then Frederick bent over Tessibel's hand, and her fingers shook in his. She raised her eyes slowly and he was looking upon her as if she were a thing apart from him now and ever would be. A crimson wave flew to her face—a flood tide of humiliation.
"I've met Miss Skinner," she heard in a low, unfamiliar tone. "Your voice, Miss Skinner, as Miss Waldstricker says, is very beautiful."
The accent of the ice in his words caused her to withdraw her hand from his instantly. She was stung to the quick by his coldness and indifference. She could not answer him. Was this her Frederick—this the boy who had so often knelt at her feet in ardent adoration? He had gazed at her as if she'd been a stranger, had praised her singing only by repeating what another girl had said. Her head burned like fire, and her heart gave a rebellious, defiant twist. She was his wife. Allthe passion within her tempestuous soul raged in stout protest against his treatment of her. Couldn't—oh, he could have said—have said—just a little something! Then anger fell from her in a trice. Desolation like an ash encompassed her. Of course, she was but a squatter; Frederick was ashamed of her, ashamed he even knew her. It was just at that moment she saw her husband place Madelene's fingers on his arm and laughingly move away with her. Tess started out of her jealous agony as some one touched her arm. Deforrest Young was smiling down upon her.
"Let's go to supper," he invited.
The girl made an effort to master her confusion. Slowly she rose and took the professor's arm. The unfamiliar, embarrassing formality helped to hide her anger and consternation. She found herself positively unable to eat. When had she ever been capable of taking food when her heart filled her throat? She was conscious every moment of the presence of her husband and Madelene a little farther down the table, and that Frederick's attention was wholly taken up with his companion. She had but to raise her eyes to see Madelene's face beaming with pleasure.
Suddenly the voice of a stranger roused Tessibel from her bitter meditation.
"I heard, Mr. Waldstricker, you've located Andrew Bishop. It's true, I hope."
If it hadn't been for the queer feeling in her legs, Tessibel would have stood up. Located Andy Bishop—where? Why in her shanty, of course,—up in the garret under the straw tick. If they had found him, it must have been there. When? Tonight, since she'd left home. She bent over and searched the table for Waldstricker. He was seated next to Helen Young, and his gaze was directed toward his questioner.
"Well," he replied, "that's not quite right, but we hope—" he hesitated, swept his flashing eyes to Tessibel and smiled, "we hope to have him back in Auburn soon. I have two good detectives working for me."
Taking a deep breath of relief, Tess subsided in her chair, and she was not sorry when the signal was given for the company to leave the table.
CHAPTER XA Victim of Circumstances
Frederick Graves had just left Tess at the shanty door. He had found it difficult to explain away his conduct on the evening of the musicale at Waldstricker's.
"It were awful," sobbed Tess, after Frederick had mollified her anger somewhat. "I wanted to die! Ye looked like some big man I didn't know 't all."
"Silly baby," laughed the student. "There were so many people there who know my mother—" He paused and kissed the upraised, tearful face passionately. "I didn't think you'd care. I supposed of course you'd understand. I'm awfully sorry you didn't. You'll forgive me, darling, won't you?"
Tess snuggled nearer him. She wanted to forget how unhappy she'd been.
"Sure, I don't care now,—such a awful lot," she sighed.
Later in the evening, when he came into the hall of his home in Ithaca, he was greeted by his young sister, Babe.
"Fred," she called softly, "come on up, mother wants you."
For some minutes after taking off his hat, he remained in the lower hall considering just what to say to his mother. Shaking his head dismally, he mounted the stairs and went reluctantly to the front room. He hated scenes with his mother. He hated everything about the house, hated even the thought of going back to school. He wanted to take Tess away from the lake—make a home for her—to be with her always. How dear she had grown day by day since he'd married her! His very being fired at the memory of her clinging sweetness.
When he opened his mother's bedroom door andwalked self-consciously forward to turn up the light, a fretful voice from the bed halted him.
"Fred, if you're going to make the room bright, please bring the screen forward."
He dropped his hand from the gas jet.
"It doesn't matter," said he, sulkily, and he moved to the foot of the bed. "Let it stay as it is.... Babe said you wanted me."
Mrs. Graves settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose and looked at him.
"Yes! I did tell her to send you in. What's the matter? Anything?"
"No." The answer was brutal in its curtness.
"You've been with that Skinner girl again." The woman sat up in bed and exclaimed angrily. "I can tell by the way you act."
A sudden fury took possession of the student.
"Of course, I haven't been to Skinner's," he contradicted roughly. "Didn't I tell you I wouldn't go and see her any more? What do you want now?"
Relieved by his words in spite of the ugly way in which they were uttered, Mrs. Graves sank back on the pillows. "Sit down," she invited.
He was too nervous and angry willingly to grant even so small a request just then.
"I can listen as well standing here," he answered crossly.
"But I can't talk as well when you stand," insisted Mrs. Graves, peevishly. "Frederick! What's happened to you since your father died? That squatter girl's turned your head. I know it. She's completely spoiled you."
Tessibel and all her girlish sweetness came vividly across the boy's mind. It was ridiculous to blame Tess. Ah, if he were as good as Tess desired him to be, his life would be the most exemplary.
"Please leave her name out of it, will you?" he rasped rudely. "Even if I can't see her, I won't hear anything against her."
Mrs. Graves sat up in bed, throwing back wisps of gray hair, that persisted in falling over her nose.
"Oh, you won't, eh?" she shrilled loudly. "Well,now, you listen to me.... You'll hear what I please to say to you, young man. It's a good thing you don't go to Skinner's any more. It's time you were interested in a decent girl. You've got to marry sometime. It's just as easy to love a rich girl as a poor one. Why don't you propose to Madelene Waldstricker?"
"Madelene's all right, I suppose," the boy answered "but I don't want to marry her."
"You better want to," his mother rejoined tartly. "You've got to do just that very thing."
"You're crazy, Mother. I won't do it. What do you take me for, anyhow? Get that idea out of your head and keep it out."
"If your father were here, you wouldn't dare to say such things to me.... I want you to sit down, do you hear?"
Frederick dropped into a chair wearily. The time had come to tell his mother that Tessibel Skinner was his wife. After that was done, there could be no such arguments. He started to speak, but his mother interrupted him.
"Madelene Waldstricker's wild over you," she explained. "You can't deny you've shown her open attention, at the same time you've been stealing down to that Skinner girl's hut.... Oh, don't deny it any more! But Madelene doesn't know very much about that, and she has lots of money. It's your duty to Babe and me."
"I won't marry her, or anyone else," Frederick repeated.
His voice was very low but every word was distinct.
Mrs. Graves lifted her pillow, turned it over, patted, and sank back upon it.
"Why?" she demanded, searching his face with accusing eyes. "Because of that fisherman's—"
Now he would tell her; now he would explain! He coughed, took out his handkerchief and wiped his lips.
"I shouldn't think you'd say anything against Tessibel Skinner," was what he said at last, "considering what she did for us."
Mrs. Graves uttered a scream, and covered her face with her hands.
"Now throw that in my face, will you?" she cried. "Can't you let me forget my shame and disgrace? Can't you see that girl coming into my life would bring constantly before me my daughter's downfall and death?"
Her voice was tragic, and Frederick's heart always had been tender toward his mother. He saw as vividly as if it had happened but yesterday Teola dying in the church. It had been such a dreadful experience for all of them. Frederick had never doubted for one moment that that terrible ordeal had been the cause of his father's death. He went quickly forward and slipped one arm about her shoulders.
"I'm sorry, mater," he murmured. "There, forgive me!—There!—Don't cry!... Now don't get nervous—the doctor said you mustn't cry."
Mrs. Graves shivered in the strong arms.
"I've reason enough to cry," she whimpered brokenly. "You won't do anything to help me, and you're the one who should."
"I'll go to work," he said eagerly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm tired of college anyway!"
"Go to work!" echoed his mother. "What could you do? You wouldn't get ten dollars a week. Nor anything like it. You haven't any profession, and what is there in Ithaca to do anyway?... Oh, if your father'd only lived!"
She broke into a fresh burst of tears.
"Hush, please, dear," said Frederick, smoothing back the grey hair. "Go on and tell me what you want. There, see, now, I'm listening."
Mrs. Graves used her handkerchief vigorously.
"I said I wanted you to marry Madelene Waldstricker," she responded in ruffled tones. "You've but to ask her, and she'll jump. Babe says she talks of you all the time, and is frightfully jealous of you."
A fair, lovely face, glorious glistening brown eyes, and shrouding red curls passed between Frederick's vision and his mother's face, and he groaned.
"Don't! I said not to talk of Tess."
"But I can't help it," snapped Mrs. Graves. "I've got to tell you about Madelene, haven't I? You must ask her now.... She's staying here tonight."
Frederick withdrew his arms from under his mother and dropped his face hopelessly into his hands.
"Oh, God, help me!" he groaned between his fingers. "I can't do that, Mother! I can't!"
A tender hand went out slowly and touched him. He lifted his face with a sharp gesture and grasped his mother's fingers in his.
"Don't ask me to do that, oh, don't, darling mater, don't!" he moaned. "Anything else—I'd doanythingelse."
The feminine fingers closed over the masculine ones.
"I must ask you, my son," insisted Mrs. Graves, gently. "It's the only hope I have.... I've kept so many things from you, but now I'll tell you why. The lake place is mortgaged to Ebenezer Waldstricker for more than it's worth, and I've borrowed a lot of money from him and from Madelene."
Frederick's hands fell from his face.
"Good God! My God!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I couldn't—I couldn't, Fred, but now you see why you must do this for all our sakes. I haven't any money at all only what they let me have. Babe and I won't have any place to go if you don't help. Oh, Fred, you will think of it, dear, you will?"
The boy got up feeling as if something worse than death had happened to him. He saw no way out.
"Yes, I'll think of it," he temporized.
Mrs. Graves sank deeper into her pillow and closed her eyes with a long sigh. Frederick said no more, but turned quickly and went out of the room.
He staggered downstairs like a drunken man. He ought to have told his mother he was married to Tessibel Skinner. He couldn't marry any other woman!... How could he, when he was already married—married to the sweetest girl in the world? Oh, to get away somewhere to think quietly! To get something to stop the throbbing in his head! This new horror facing him was more than he could bear. He'd go back now and tell his mother he was married to Tess.... No, he'd wait until morning! He opened the library door and stepped in, crossed the room slowly and drewdown the curtain. Turning, he saw a girl rise from the divan. Madelene Waldstricker reached out two rounded arms with an impatient gesture.
"Ah, you've come," she said, smiling into his eyes.
Frederick gazed at the small girlish figure curiously. The new interest in her awakened by the talk he'd just had with his mother, contended with the image of Tess in his mind—radiant, loving, splendid Tess.
He walked to the table and feigned interest in a book.
"I've been with my mother," he said hesitatingly.
"Yes, I know," asserted Madelene, coming to his side, "and she's awfully ill, isn't she?"
"More nervous than anything," replied the boy, impatiently.
"The doctor told your sister and me this afternoon she must have perfect rest if she ever recovers," explained Madelene. "He says she ought to be in a good health resort.... I wish I could help her."
"She tells me you have," blurted Frederick.
"But not so much as I'd like to," Madelene assured him softly.
There was deep sympathy in her voice, and Frederick looked at her critically. This small brown girl had taken on new significance to him. She had come into his life suddenly as a large part of it, that deadening financial part that tied him hand and foot and made him feel like a galley slave. But he could never marry her, never! He belonged to Tessibel Skinner by all the rights of Heaven and earth. He studied the eager girl again—for so long a time that she dropped her lids, blushing. Truly, Tess and Madelene formed a strange contrast—his bride with the red gold of her curls and eyes holding him a willing captive, and this bright-eyed, brown-skinned, little creature, before him with that eloquent, calling appeal of money for his mother.
Never before had he thought any one could for any reason whatever come between him and Tessibel Skinner. He did not concede it now in its fullness, but Madelene was looking pleadingly into his face and had spoken of his mother with tender sympathy. He suddenly reached out and took her hand. He would tell her of his young wife. He would take her into his confidence right then,and all would be well for them both—and for Tess.
"Listen, Madelene," the boy said earnestly. "I have something to say to you."
At the touch of his fingers, Madelene went white and swayed toward him. Her head fell forward on his chest, and his arms closed around her, as if to keep her from falling. Of a sudden, a flushed face was lifted to his, and a smile flashed around a rosy mouth.
"Oh, I'm so happy, oh, so happy!" whispered pursed lips.
And Madelene sighed as she dropped her head against him once more. For the moment Frederick's mind went blank, but the girl's voice drew him back.
"Oh, I was afraid you loved that girl who sings in the church," she was saying. "I've heard so often you did. I just couldn't bear the thought of it, Frederick. Your mother and Babe kept telling me you didn't, but I suppose I was a little jealous."
She laughed and snuggled nearer him. But a short hour before another girl, the girl he adored, his wife, had been in the same tender position. He was so dazed that for the moment he could not find words for an answer. Then slowly he led her forward to the divan.
"I want to talk to you," he ventured hesitatingly.
"Oh, I love to hear you talk," Madelene babbled with joy.
Frederick flushed. He'd have to tell her of his marriage with Tessibel before she really admitted anything that would afterwards make her sorry.
"What I've got to tell you is very serious," he said at length. "You'll listen to me, Madelene?"
Five small fingers touched his lips.
"Nothing is serious now," came the interruption, "not now that I know you love me. It's all I want in the world to make me supremely happy," and she sighed.
Frederick shuddered. Why, he hadn't told her he loved her! He was as far from loving her at that moment as the very stranger on the street.
"But it's something you must know," he thrust in desperately.
"I know what it is," averred the girl smiling. "Iknow all about it.... It's just money, that horrid old money your mother borrowed of brother and me.... But what does money matter? I've lots of it, bunches of it, and more than enough for us all, and so has Ebenezer."
Frederick shook himself impatiently. She must listen while he explained the impossibility of their ever being anything to each other.
"I couldn't take—"
"I'm not asking you to take anything but me," laughed the girl. "Just me, see? There, dearest! Now don't talk of anything disagreeable tonight. I just want to be happy."
And like a contented, purring kitten, she once more settled herself against him. Somehow Frederick couldn't tell her of Tessibel just then. The right moment had come and gone. In the morning he would! By the light of the day it would be easier. Then he would explain everything to her and his mother.
"Put your arms around me," whispered Madelene.
Thrusting Tessibel from his mind, he drew the little figure close into his arms.
"Kiss me," she breathed, and two hours later, when Frederick Graves shut his bedroom door, he had promised to marry Madelene Waldstricker.