CHAPTER XVIIIA Letter
A great deal had happened during the three weeks Frederick had been gone. Helen Young had married Ebenezer Waldstricker, and they had been away now nearly two weeks on their honeymoon. Deforrest Young, too, had spent most of the time out of Ithaca. Tessibel Skinner heard from him frequently, and through his good letters, she had been able to keep up her studies.
One Monday morning while Tess was doing the simple chores around the shack, she had the door open to admit the vagrant breezes of the summer day. Andy, as his custom was on such occasions, lay quietly upon the attic floor, secure from the observation of any chance passer-by. Stepping to the door to shake her dust rag, Tess saw Jake Brewer coming up the path.
"Hello, Jake," she called, a little loudly to warn Andy, "how air ye?"
"Pretty tol'able, thank ye, Tess," Brewer answered politely, "how air you, and how's yer pa?"
"Daddy's pretty bad this mornin'," she told him, a reluctant smile appearing for a moment at the corners of her mouth.
"Pshaw! Tessie, ye don't tell me. It air the heat, ain't it? But Tess, I air got somethin' for you," he sniggered. "Bet ye can't guess what it air."
"Sure, I can't, Jake." The girl tried to match his cheerful manner.
She wished she might greet her squatter friends as of yore, but her heart was sad and lay stonelike in her breast. Of late, Jake had been very kind, running many errands for her. Daddy Skinner was a favorite with the inhabitants of the Silent City, and now that he was so ill, all the other squatters did what they could for his sorrowing daughter.
"Come in, Jake," invited Tess. "Mebbe Daddy'd like to see ye.... He ain't up yet.... Wait a minute.... I'll ask 'im!"
Jake stayed her with a chuckle and a beckoning motion of his forefinger.
"First I'll give ye what I brung ye, Tess," he said, while he fumbled in his pocket. "Here! Look! It air a letter with a big ship up in the corner of it.... Ain't it cute?"
Tessibel held out a trembling hand for the square envelope Brewer proffered her. How many times within the past weeks had she visualized a ship as it took its rapid way to the other side of the world! How many times had she seen her husband with Madelene Waldstricker on that pictured steamer! Now here it was before her very eyes, more stately even than her mind had portrayed it. She stared at the letter, her face going very white.
"Ye don't seem to be tickled, brat," said the squatter, grinning.
"I air, though, Jake," she replied, "awful tickled.... Come on in an' see Daddy!"
She slipped the letter into her pocket and led the way to the back room.
She bent over the bed and roused her father.
"Jake air here to see ye, Daddy," she said. "Sit down, Jake! He can't talk very loud, but ye can see he air awful glad to have ye here.... Daddy dear, Jake Brewer air tryin' to shake hands with ye."
Orn's great hand lifted slowly.
"Glad to see ye, Jake," he mumbled. "I ain't the best this mornin'!"
"Ye'll get better with the goin' of the warm weather," consoled Jake. "These days be hot now for the wellest of us."
"Yep," murmured Daddy Skinner, drowsily.
Tessibel left the two men alone, and went back to the kitchen. Her throat was filled with longing, her lips drawn a little closer together. She sat down near the door, looking out upon the lake. She dared not open the letter then, not until Jake had gone and Daddy was asleep.
Brewer came out quietly, his cheerful manner subdued somewhat.
Tess got to her feet. She tried to smile, but the serious expression on the squatter's face brought her quickly to his side.
"Jake," she murmured, quick-breathed, "ye think he air awful sick, eh?"
Brewer shifted his gaze out through the door. The sight of the girl's pleading face hurt him.
"He ain't real pert; that air a fact," was his reply.
"We air doin' everythin' we can think of," Tess told him. "Mr. Young's doctor comes awful often, an' he says Daddy air got heart trouble."
"He do seem to have a hard time breathin'," answered Jake, trying to be cheerful; "but if I was you, Tessie, I wouldn't worry. He'll be gettin' well. He air stronger'n a horse."
Tess wanted to believe her father was better. She couldn't allow her mind to take any other view of it.
"He air always been right rugged," she said, nodding, "an' if his heart'd only stop beatin' so hard—" She hesitated and touched Brewer's arm. "Thank ye fer bringin' my letter," she interrupted herself irrelevantly.
"That air all right, Tess," smiled Brewer. "Ye see when I go to the Postoffice fer our mail, I ask fer your'n an' fer Longman's, an' I most allers get some fer one or t'other.... Nice day, eh, ain't it?"
"Yep," affirmed Tess, dully. She bade the fisherman good-bye and stood watching him take his way along the lakeside until he had disappeared.
When she turned she caught sight of Andy's glistening eyes looking at her.
"Jake air a good feller, ain't he, brat?" he asked.
Tess came directly under the ceiling hole.
"Yep, he sure air," she answered. "Andy, I air a feelin' so bad today. Will ye listen for Daddy if I go out a spell?"
"Course I will, go long," he urged. "Close the door when ye go out. I'll keep my ears open."
Tess walked slowly along the lake shore path, her head drooping wearily. She knew the letter in her pocket was from Frederick. To have opened it evenbefore Andy's loving eyes, or in the presence of any other person, would have been, in her opinion, a desecration.
Against the high gray shoulder of a ragged rock, she sat down pensively. It was here she and Frederick had spent so many happy hours and, now, alone, she had come to read his letter. She took it slowly from her pocket, studied the picture of the ship in the corner, and whispered over and over the name under it. It seemed almost impossible to tear it open. What had he told her? She pressed the envelope to her lips. Her darling's hands had touched it, his fingers had written her name upon it. Ripping it slowly along the edge, she took out the contents, and there fluttered to the rock a yellow backed bill. Tess picked it up and examined it carefully. Frederick had sent her some money. Tess laid it down again and placed a small stone upon it. Then she took up the letter.
For a few seconds her eyes misted so profusely she could not read. She dashed the back of her hand across her lids, choking down hard sobs that rose insistently. When she could control her emotions enough to read, she fixed her eyes upon the first words: "My own darling:"
Crunching the paper between her fingers, she dropped her head and wept wildly for several minutes. She wanted Frederick then as she had never wanted a soul in all the living world.
"I am here alone in the writing room," Tess read on, wiping her eyes. "Oh, Tessibel, when I think of you there without me, I go almost mad! What I've done seems the very worst thing in the world, and it grows worse as the hours go by. Forgive me, my darling. I dared not come back after that night; I was afraid some one would see me and tell my mother or some of the Waldstrickers. Tessibel, if I could only jump into the sea and get back to you, I should be the happiest fellow in the world. I love you more and more, and I'm perfectly miserable without you."
Her fingers on her lips, and her eyes on the letter, Tess wept softly. Oh, how she loved him, too, her husband.
"I won't stay away very long, my dearest," the letter continued. "I'm coming back to you and shall never leave you again. I'm sending you some money which I want you to use, and I'll send more very soon. This will make you comfortable for a little while."
Tess picked up the bill and looked at it once more. Then she put it down again and went on reading the letter.
"I shall always love you better than any one else in the world, Tessibel ... when I return we shall be together most of the time. I shall, I hope, get over my fear of Ebenezer Waldstricker. I'm studying in my mind a way to make it possible for us to have a home together, of which no one shall know. Believe that I love you ... always and always, my darling.
Your
Frederick."
Tess lifted her head with a long-drawn sigh. But there was something more to read, a line or two tacked on the end of the letter.
"P. S. My darling, I want you to burn this! I fear some one might get hold of it.
F."
After reading over and over the letter, until she had almost learned it by heart, she went back to the shanty, to do as Frederick had bidden her. Kissing the pages again and again and weeping softly so as not to disturb Andy, Tess burned the letter.
That night when Daddy Skinner was sleeping, his laboring breath heard plainly through the shanty, a red-brown head bent over the kitchen table. Around the flickering light fluttered the summer moths, and once in a while one of Tessibel's beloved night things dashed in at the window, took a zig-zag course about the lamp, and flew out again into the shadowy weeping willows. A long, sobbing sigh from the girl brought the dwarf's eager face to the hole in the ceiling.
"Air ye sick, brat?" he whispered.
Tess lifted her eyes from the table.
"Nope, Andy, I were thinkin', that's all," she answered, low-toned.
And perhaps fifteen minutes later, when she had written a name on several envelopes and had torn them up in seeming disapproval, Andy ventured again.
"Ye act awful sad, brat dear. Can't ye tell me about it?"
Tessibel rose to her feet, the gleam of the night light radiating upon the red-brown of her eyes. She swallowed the lump in her throat before she could speak.
"I air a little sad, Andy dear," she murmured.
"What were ye doin', honey?" asked the dwarf.
Without answering at that moment, Tess took up the envelope she'd sealed. Two steps took her to the mantel, where she placed the letter against the clock, standing a minute to gaze at it. The next instant she explained to the little man leaning above her.
"I were writin' a little, Andy, darlin'."
Then she went softly into Daddy Skinner's room and closed the door.
CHAPTER XIXIts Answer
While Tessibel Skinner, lonely and despondent, was grieving in the squatter country, Frederick Graves arrived in Paris with his young wife. There had been for him but few hours since that last evening upon the ragged rocks, during which Tessibel's face had not haunted him, the brown eyes, sometimes smiling, more frequently shadowed with tears. Impotent remorse possessed his days and filled his wakeful nights with anguish. At such times when life seemed intolerable, the thought of the comfort he had supplied for his mother and sister was balm to his troubled soul.
He regretted, too, that he had not gone to the squatter settlement to see Tess again before his marriage to Madelene. He had thought, then, that the sight of her pleading pain would be more than he could bear. He had already vowed to himself over and over with clenched teeth that he would stay but a short time away from America. He must see Tess. He did not worry over her keeping the secret of their clandestine marriage ... he had implicit confidence in her promise.
Madelene's keen enjoyment in displaying the many sights, already familiar to her, bored him to distraction, and they had been in France but a few days before she discovered his indifference to the wonders which seemed of such importance to her. On the way over she had noticed his spells of abstraction. She had seen how quickly the shadows descended upon her husband's face when it was in repose. With an intuition characteristically feminine, she concluded rightly that Frederick's interest was not in her, that his attention was really concentrated upon something quite apart from his wife and their honeymoon. She determined to find out the reason.
One morning, breakfasting in their charming room,Madelene started a bright conversation, which Frederick met with but a chilly response.
"What's the matter with you, Fred?" she demanded curiously. "You haven't spoken a pleasant word for two days."
A faint smile sketched itself about the corners of Frederick's lips.
"Aren't you stretching that a little, my dear?" he evaded half-playfully.
"Well, perhaps a wee bit," laughed Madelene, ruefully. "But honestly, dear, you look as if you'd lost your last friend instead of being on your—honeymoon."
She sprang up, rounded the table and perched daintily on the arm of his chair.
"I do want to make you happy, darling," she urged. "What's the trouble?"
Frederick made a slightly impatient gesture with one shoulder.
"I'm happy enough, Madelene! But it's this beastly weather! I suppose that's the reason I feel so lackadaisical. If you don't mind, I don't believe I'll go out today."
Madelene uttered a little cry of disappointment.
"Now, Iamvexed!" she pouted prettily.
"Oh, then I'll go with you, of course," Frederick hastily cut in. "It doesn't make any difference to me."
The young wife felt an impulse to anger.
"But it ought to make a difference, Fred dear," she pointed out to him. "Why, you make me feel so small ... so insignificant.... I don't want to drag you about if you don't want to go."
Absorbed in his self-centered meditations his wife's sightseeing excursions seemed to him a perfect nuisance.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, dear," he apologized hurriedly.
Madelene got up and went to the window and gazed down upon the street.
"I know what we'll do," she stated, dancing back to the table. "Let's go to some quiet, cool place for a week or two. I hate Paris in the hot weather, anyway. And it'll be fun to be by ourselves ... andwe'll have long walks.... Would you like that?"
The dark wave of blood surging into Frederick's temples made her look curiously at him. Why should he be embarrassed at such a suggestion?
"As you please, my dear," he interrupted her thought.
Madelene sighed. He did look ill. It might be the hot weather, but he had such a strange, detached manner most of the time ... as if he were far away ... or she was. Her mind was busy with the problem. She could not eat.
Frederick, too, was but toying with his breakfast. He was wondering just what Madelene was planning to do in the country. It would be even harder for him there than in the city. With Tessibel's face always between them, he could not make a lover's love to her anywhere.
An hour or so later, while Frederick had gone to smoke under the trees, his wife stood critically studying her reflection in the glass ... with but few misgivings. She was pretty, surely so, and very rich! What more could a man want? In the coolness of the country, Frederick would be better. He would lose his moroseness and give his undivided attention to her. She would make all the arrangements for the change without disturbing him. He should not be bothered a little bit; and Madelene grew quite happy again with the thought of having Frederick all to herself in some romantic country spot.
She summoned her maid, and for a while with the aid of the hotel officials, she sought for a place near Paris, yet far enough away to escape its harassing heat and noises. By night Madelene had decided upon a farm near the village of Epernon.
"We can get in to the city to shop, Marie," she told her maid. "But Mr. Graves simply can't stand the hot weather in town."
"He does look sick and worried, ma'am, doesn't he?" agreed the maid.
Twenty-four hours later Frederick and Madelene were settled in a pretty villa nestled at the edge of theforest. Nature in its noblest expression surrounded them. At the going down of the sun, Madelene stood beside her husband on the porch, and pressed her cheek fondly against his shoulder.
"It's so beautiful, isn't it, dear?" she whispered coaxingly.
Out of his wife's words and the gentle gloaming, came a deadly sense of loneliness. A shiver shook Frederick from head to foot. His only answer was an ejaculated affirmative in a hoarse voice. The weird sighing of the trees took him back to Ithaca, back to the ragged rocks ... to Tessibel. For a moment he was so agonized that tears stung his lids to a deep hurt.
If in noisy Paris he had been carried in spirit to the squatter country, where a girl stood and gazed at him with red-brown eyes, how much more did she haunt him in the quiet spot where the leaves sang the same old tunes they sang in her world, where the wind played among them as it did in the Silent City! Now and then from yonder clump of trees a bird twittered; an owl screeched from the tall tree at the right, and farther on a brook chanted its purling song like Tessibel's brook under the mudcellar. Oh, his dear little girl! His Tess of the Storm Country! If in those olden days he had desired her, now that desire was a hundred times more poignant. In all his willful life he had never suffered like this. Tess with her clinging arms, her sweet, winning ways! He sighed a deep, long sigh. Yet soon he would hear something from her. He had written her, ... had sent her money for the necessities of her simple life ... his heart throbbed at the thought of a letter from her.
Madelene's conversation he had not heard, and it was not until she spoke directly to him that he remembered her presence.
"Don't you think so, Fred?" she was asking.
He heaved another sigh as he left Ithaca and came back to France after that flight of fancy.
"Don't I think what? I really didn't hear what you said, Madelene," he admitted guiltily.
Madelene experienced a hot flash of indignation.
"Do you mean to say you've allowed me to talk allthis time and you haven't heard a word I've said?" she demanded in a thin, rasping voice.
"I'm sorry," murmured Frederick. "Pardon."
Then the girl lapsed into a sulky silence, and Frederick, too sick at heart, too indifferent to her likes and dislikes to care, did not encourage her to repeat what she had said.
It was perhaps a week later when young Mrs. Graves felt her first real jealousy. In the happiness of her hasty marriage, she had almost forgotten the story told her by the gossips of Ithaca. It was only when her husband's eyes were encircled and darkened by a far-away expression that Tess entered her mind. But even then, after a glance in the mirror, she dismissed the little singer contemptuously.
One morning just before breakfast, they were standing under the trees. On Frederick's face was that dreary look of discontent. Madelene contemplated him steadily. She had watched and studied, but had not yet solved the problem that occupied her mind. Was the squatter girl the obstacle? she wondered. It didn't seem possible. Frederick was so fastidious. Why, the girl could scarcely speak a word of good English! But it would do no harm to make sure. She decided to speak to her husband of Tessibel Skinner. But how?
Frederick owed her some consideration, and Madelene deeply desired he should be more attentive to her. Suddenly she laughed aloud. Frederick turned, the cloud partially lifting from his eyes.
"A happy thought, I dare say?" he inquired.
"Not very," answered Madelene flippantly. "I was wondering how long it would take that Skinner girl to earn enough money to pay for a trip like this."
Had a bomb gone off in his face, Frederick couldn't have been more appalled. His brows drew together in a dark frown; his face grew livid and tensely lined. Madelene noted the effect of her words. Her suspicion was confirmed,—the problem solved! It was the squatter girl who stood between her and her husband!
"I forbid you," said Frederick in a low, angry voice, "ever to mention that name again."
Then he whirled about and walked away through the trees. In alarm, Madelene sped after him.
"Frederick!" she implored. "I'm awfully sorry I said that.... I didn't mean to hurt you."
He shook her from his arm.
"Very well," he replied savagely, "but just please don't speak of her again."
Tears blinded the girl's vision.... An enraged feeling rose in her heart. Never in all her spoiled life had any one spoken to her in such a way. If Ebenezer had been there, Frederick would never have dared!
By this time, having stood mute for several seconds, she was thoroughly indignant. This was her first real conflict with Frederick, and she began to feel ill as well as incensed.
"It's dreadfully disagreeable of you to get angry over a little thing like that," she said impetuously. "One would think you loved that girl and not me. I was told lots of times you were crazy about her, but of course,—"
She hesitated now. She wanted to say cruel things about the squatter girl back in Ithaca, but she dared not. She was overwrought with anger, but her husband's threatening face forced her to silence.
"Are you determined to keep harping on a subject I wish to forget?" His words carried an ominous meaning, which quickened her already awakened jealousy. Determined to probe the matter to the bottom she demanded.
"Why should you wish to forget her? Does she disturb your memory as much as that?"
"Perhaps," replied Frederick gloomily.
He saw the danger involved in the discussion and curbed his tongue. Then he left her and walked quickly into the house. Madelene followed, angry and rebellious, and found him seated at the table, white-faced, with the morning mail unnoticed before him. Still enraged, she glanced over the letters indifferently.
"They're all for me with the exception of one," she said sulkily, "and it's an Ithaca letter.... May I open it?"
Frederick took it from her and looked at the envelope.His name was staring back at him as if every cramped letter were an accusing eye, and the writing was in the hand of Tessibel Skinner! He studied it a minute....
"You have mail of your own to read, my dear," he said quite kindly. "Let's have breakfast."
When during the morning Frederick found a moment to himself, he took from his pocket the letter that had been searing through his clothing to his heart. Gazing upon it, he shook as if he had the ague. Trembling hands held it up to the light. Several times he turned it over. What had Tess written to him? Had she told him, as he had her, that she loved him better than all the rest of the world? He uttered a desperate ejaculation and stretched out his arms. If he could have spanned the world that separated them, he would have dragged her to him by the terrible force of his desire. Again he turned the letter over.
Something kept him from ripping it open. He longed to delay the happiness of reading it, and while he waited, he lifted it to his lips and passionately kissed the crude writing. It ran up hill a little, but that only made him smile and love it the more. It brought memories of past joys, memories of Tessibel's endeavor to learn. Poor little child! Suddenly he slipped the paper knife into the envelope and slowly dragged it across the top.... Then he inserted his fingers and pulled out—the bill he had sent her. In a sudden passion he looked frantically into the empty envelope.... Nothing!... Absolute emptiness!
The money fluttered from his hand to the floor, where it lay like a sentient thing, staring back as if mocking him. He stood half-blindly gazing upon it. When he looked more closely, he stooped and picked it up. There written across its yellow back was the one little line,
"Darlin', I air a prayin' for you every day. Tessibel."
In a storm of remorse, he collapsed to the floor with his face in his hands.
CHAPTER XXMadelene Complains to Ebenezer
"Read that letter; then you'll see why I'm angry," said Ebenezer Waldstricker to Helen one morning after he had frowningly perused a letter from Madelene. "Her last two have had a touch of this thing in them, too. If I find—"
He stopped because his wife had dropped her eyes and begun to read.
"Dear Eb:—
"Your letters have come along one after another, but they haven't made me feel happier. I do dislike to act as if I were telling tales; but I'm so miserable, and you're the only one in the world I can call on in my distress. You will forgive me, I know, dear Ebenezer. We've been here now such a long time, that I really feel as if we ought to come home, but I simply dread it more and more I think of it.
"You can't imagine how doleful Fred is, and I know it's the Skinner girl who's causing it."
Helen uttered an anxious exclamation. She knew her husband's dislike of the squatters. Her quick glance at his face called from his stern lips the cold question.
"Have you finished?"
"No."
"Then do!" he snarled, opening and closing his hands impatiently.
"You may ask me what proof I have," Helen read on, a slight pucker between her brows, "and I will say this: Fred has two or three times called me by her name, nearly dying of embarrassment when I asked him to account for it. Then once in his sleep he called out quite sharply, 'Tessibel!' He flies into all kinds of rages when I ask him questions about her. He won't admit he's ever cared anything for her—"
Helen looked up again and paused momentarily.
"Well, Ebenezer, he used to like Tessibel!"
Waldstricker waved his hand angrily.
"What's past is past!" he roared. "And now he's got to treat my sister decently, or I'll know the reason why.... The young pup! Why, here I've given him the chance of his life!... But finish the letter!"
Helen sighed as she again allowed her eyes to rest on the page in her hand.
"But I feel sure his interest in her isn't because of what she did for his sister," Madelene's letter continued. "Will you take some pains to find out all you can for me, Eb dear? It might be well for you to see her yourself, and perhaps you could make her admit something. I don't want you to worry about me, though. If I can make Fred act like a human being, I'll be happy enough. Tell Helen I shall bring her a lot of pretties from Paris, and will be awfully glad to see you both. Love to all.
Madelene."
"P. S. Perhaps you can make that girl tell you whether she's had a letter from Fred or not, and make her give it to you if you can. I think he's written her, but he says not."
"I'm very sorry about it," Helen murmured. She laid the letter on the table and looked across at the dark-faced man opposite, "but really I don't think Tess cares for him at all now. Deforrest has repeatedly said she never speaks of him, and that as far as he can make out, she has quite forgotten him."
"I'll make it my business to find out," muttered Waldstricker. "If I discover she has any hold on that young—"
"They may just've been romantic," excused Helen. "Why don't you ask Deforrest to find out for you?"
Ebenezer shook his head.
"I'm going down first myself," said he.
Helen rose and went to her husband's side. Her eyes were misty with unshed tears. She so desired Ebenezer to be himself again. She felt a little rebellious when she considered Madelene's turning her peaceful home into such a turmoil.
"You won't be stern with her, dear?" she pleaded.
"I'll treat her as she deserves," snapped Waldstricker.... "If Deforrest weren't so stubborn and hadn't rented Graves' place for the next four years, I'd do my best to oust the Skinners from that property.... One thing is certain, the old witch has got to go."
Helen sighed, exasperated. Her husband's face was crimson and the cords in his neck as rigid as taut ropes.
"Ebenezer dear, why will you get yourself into such a state of excitement over a set of people who'll never come into your life at all?" she begged of him.
There was gentle reproof in her tones. Ebenezer glanced at her sharply.
"Never come into my life at all!" he repeated. "Does this look as if they never came into my life, eh?" He leaned over and tapped Madelene's letter. "Am I going to see my sister—"
"Madelene is probably mistaken," interjected Helen, hopefully.
"It'll be better for the squatter girl if she is," answered Ebenezer, whirling and going out.
Now it happened that Tessibel was standing outside the cottage clipping her hedge when she heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming down the lane. She stepped to the shanty door, gave the sound which warned Andy of a stranger's approach, and was back again when Waldstricker's great black horse came in sight. Opposite her, he drew his steed to a standstill and bowed curtly. Tess had never seen his lips so sternly set, not even when he had dragged her from Mother Moll's hut. She made no move to go to him.
"I came to speak to you, Miss Skinner," he called. "Come here?"
Then Tessibel went a few steps nearer, without laying down her shears. Looking up into his face, she asked,
"What do ye want, Mr. Waldstricker?"
It was hard for Waldstricker to tell just what he did want when that pair of red-brown eyes were gazing at him.
"I think I'll dismount," he said suddenly.
Throwing one leg over the broad back of the horse, he slipped to the ground. The bridle over his arm, hewalked toward the girl until she was standing but a step away.
"You haven't any news of Bishop for me, I suppose?" he asked.
Tess grew suddenly intuitive. Immediately she knew he had not come to ask her about Andy. She shook her head, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth.
"Have you done anything to locate him?" persisted Waldstricker.
He was feeling his way to bring in the other matter, and looking more closely at the girl, he reluctantly admitted to himself she was beautiful.
"My daddy's been awful sick," said Tess quickly. "I ain't much time to do anything but take care of 'im an' sing in the church."
Waldstricker was not interested in the sick squatter, so he gave no sign of sympathy. Rather, he wanted to come to the crucial point immediately, but Tess was so unapproachable that he remained quiet a few embarrassing moments to think of the right thing to say.
"You must be a little lonely now Mr. Graves is married," he stated presently.
Tessibel grew deathly pale, and took one backward step. Had he come to talk of Frederick? Had he found out the secret she had kept religiously so many weeks?
"Mr. Graves?" she repeated, and then again in almost a whisper, "Mr. Graves?"
It was the first time in ever so long she'd pronounced that loved name aloud.
"Yes," said Waldstricker, darkly, "and I came down today to see the letters you've received from him."
Tess lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. Did he know she had had that one precious letter? Who'd told him about it? But she couldn't give it to him,—it was burned. Neither would she admit receiving it.
"What letters?" she asked, when she could speak.
"Those Mr. Graves sent you from France!" responded Waldstricker, in very decided tones.
Tess thought quickly. Frederick had told her he was afraid of Waldstricker. So was she! He was the man who had been instrumental in taking her husbandaway from her. She felt a cold rage growing into active life within her. How dared he come here.
She was looking at him so steadily that the powerful churchman lowered his eyes, and for a moment pretended to be arranging the horse's bridle. Then, he centered his bold, black eyes upon her until her nerves tingled.
"I wish to see what he's written you," he repeated, this time rather lamely.
"I ain't got any letters," Tess told him.
"Haven't you received any from him?" demanded Waldstricker.
The girl shook her head so decidedly that her curls vibrated to the very ends. It was as though every bit of her loving body would shield the dear one way off in France from this compelling, mesmeric man.
Waldstricker felt she was not telling the truth. He grew enraged, the blood flying purple to his face.
"I said I wanted you to give them to me," he repeated emphatically, going nearer her.
"An' I says as how I didn't have none," evaded Tess, growing angrier by the minute. "An' if I did, I wouldn't give 'em to you. 'Tain't none of yer business if I get letters, I'll have ye know!" She took several backward steps toward the shanty. Her rising temper stirred up the impudence she used in her conflicts with the rude fishermen. "Jump on yer horse an' trot home," she finished tauntingly.
Waldstricker's mingled surprise and anger showed in his exclamation. What an impertinent little huzzy she was! In his heart he believed Madelene was right, but the defiant squatter girl baffled him. He would go home more than ever satisfied Tess Skinner was keeping from him something about his young brother-in-law. He mounted his horse, his muscles working with rage.
"I'll make you confess sooner or later," he muttered ominously, "or I'll know the reason why."
"Scoot!" was all Tess said, and she waved her hand and snapped the pruning shears together derisively.
Waldstricker whirled his horse up the lane, and striking the animal with a spur, bounded away.
CHAPTER XXIThe End of the Honeymoon
Helen Waldstricker walked nervously up and down the library. Many times during the past hour she had gone to the window and stared out into the night. It was almost impossible to read or work with her mind in such a state of perturbation. Every sound caused her to lay aside her book. She was waiting for Ebenezer to return from the station with Madelene and Frederick.
Helen dreaded the home-coming of the newly married pair. Ebenezer was all upset over the letters his sister had written him from abroad, and as Deforrest was obliged to be away so much, she had spent many hours of mental worry by herself.
The sound of a carriage took her into the hall, where she stood until Ebenezer threw open the door.
The first sight of her young sister-in-law showed Mrs. Waldstricker that the girl was not at all contented and happy. Madelene's face was pale, but not more so than Frederick's. Ebenezer looked like a thunder cloud. Helen, with her usual tact and sweetness greeted the young people in a sisterly manner.
"I'm so glad to have you both back," she purred, kissing first one, then the other. "Now, dear,"—to Madelene, "come along up with me and get off your wraps and then we'll have dinner."
The two women went upstairs together in silence, and it was not until Helen had closed the door and Madelene had removed her wraps that Mrs. Graves turned upon her brother's wife.
"I suppose you noticed from Ebbie's letters that I've been awfully unhappy?"
"Yes," admitted Helen, "but I was in hopes it had passed over."
"It's worse now than it was before," answeredMadelene, "I'm perfectly certain he doesn't care for me—"
"Then why did he marry you?" interrupted Helen.
"For my money! That's why!"
Helen's answering ejaculation brought a short, bitter laugh from the girl.
"Oh, no, dear," protested Mrs. Waldstricker. "You must be mistaken. I'm positive, he's an honorable young man."
Madelene flung herself impatiently into a chair.
"Sit down," she said. "Don't stand up!... Oh, I'm so tired! It seems years since we left France. And Fred's been like a death's house all the time. I can't for the life of me see why he should act the way he does. Why, Helen, he goes days without as much as ever starting to speak to me. If he talks at all, I simply have to drag the words from him."
"That's dreadful," sympathized Helen, "but perhaps he isn't well, dear. Why don't you get him to see a doctor?"
Madelene shrugged her shoulders disdainfully.
"It's not a doctor he wants, it's that Skinner girl, I can see that plainly enough."
Helen dropped on the arm of the girl's chair and slipped her arm around her neck.
"Well, now you're home," she soothed. "Ebenezer'll help you if he can, and I know Deforrest will. I'm perfectly certain though, Tessibel Skinner would do nothing to make Frederick swerve from his loyalty to you."
"Do you know whether Eb went down there to see her?" asked the girl, wearily.
"I think he did. He asked Tess for Frederick's letters, but she said she hadn't received any from him. And really, I don't believe she did, for she tells everything to Deforrest and she'd tell him that, I'm sure."
Madelene shook her head incredulously.
"I feel perfectly positive he wrote her," she asserted.
"Well, perhaps!—" said Helen.
Then they were silent a few moments.
"I suppose you haven't guessed something I have to tell you," stammered Helen, presently.
Madelene turned her eyes upon her sister-in-law. Then she smiled.
"Helen, dearest, aren't you glad about it?"
Helen blushed and radiated a smile.
"Yes, very, and so is Ebenezer! We both feel as if we have much to be thankful for—and now if you were only happy—"
"Oh, Helen, I know I've upset Ebbie a whole lot,—but who else could I go to?... Do tell me when—"
"In May, dear," whispered Helen. "I wish you were as happy as I.... But there's the dinner bell. Let's go down."
When they entered the dining room, Ebenezer was standing alone, his back to the grate.
"Did you say anything to him, Eb?" demanded Madelene.
"Certainly, child, but he insists he scarcely knows her. He rehearsed the trouble his sister had before she died—"
"Oh, he's told me that, too," interjected Madelene, tartly, "but that wouldn't make him mix her name up with mine, would it, and make him get mad every time I mention her?"
"He seems to be very much incensed that any one should accuse him of caring for her," observed Ebenezer. "And Madelene—"
Helen went quickly to her sister-in-law.
"Dear," she interrupted her husband, "if I were you, I wouldn't say anything more about it to Frederick until you're certain.... Here he comes, now. Do be pleasant to him, both of you."
But in spite of Helen's good offices, the first dinner at home was anything but a happy one for the young couple.