When Norton reached his room he locked the door and began to pace the floor, facing for the hundredth time the stunning situation which the presence of Helen had created.
To reveal to such a sensitive, cultured girl just as she was budding into womanhood the fact that her blood was tainted with a negro ancestor would be an act so pitifully cruel that every instinct of his nature revolted from the thought.
He began to realize that her life was at stake as well as his boy's. That he loved this son with all the strength of his being and that he only knew the girl to fear her, made no difference in the fundamental facts. He acknowledged that she was his. He had accepted the fact and paid the penalty in the sacrifice of every ambition of a brilliant mind.
He weighed carefully the things that were certain and the things that were merely probable. The one certainty that faced him from every angle was that Cleo was in deadly earnest and that it meant a fight for the supremacy of every decent instinct of his life and character.
Apparently she had planned a tragic revenge by luring the girl to his home, figuring on his absence for three months, to precipitate a love affair before hecould know the truth or move to interfere. A strange mental telepathy had warned him and he had broken in on the scene two months before he was expected.
And yet he couldn't believe that Cleo in the wildest flight of her insane rage could have deliberately meant that such an affair should end in marriage. She knew the character of both father and son too well to doubt that such an act could only end in tragedy. She was too cautious for such madness.
What was her game?
He asked himself that question again and again, always to come back to one conclusion. She had certainly brought the girl into the house to force from his reluctant lips her recognition and thus fix her own grip on his life. Beyond a doubt the surest way to accomplish this, and the quickest, was by a love affair between the boy and girl. She knew that personally the father had rather die than lose the respect of his son by a confession of his shame. But she knew with deeper certainty that he must confess it if their wills once clashed over the choice of a wife. The boy had a mind of his own. His father knew it and respected and loved him all the more because of it.
It was improbable as yet that Tom had spoken a word of love or personally faced such an issue. Of the girl he could only form the vaguest idea. It was clear now that he had been stricken by a panic and that the case was not so desperate as he had feared.
One thing he saw with increasing clearness. He must move with the utmost caution. He must avoid Helen at first and find the boy's attitude. He must at all hazards keep the use of every power of body, mind and soul in the crisis with which he was confronted.
Two hours later when Andy cautiously approached his door and listened at the keyhole he was still pacing the floor with the nervous tread of a wounded lion suddenly torn from the forest and thrust behind the bars of an iron cage.
Andy left Norton's door and rapped softly at Tom's, tried the lock, found it unfastened, pushed his way quietly inside and called:
"Mister Tom!"
No answer came from the bed and Andy moved closer:
"Mister Tom—Mister Tom!"
"Ah—what's the matter with you—get out!" the sleeper growled.
The negro touched the boy's shoulder with a friendly shake, whispering:
"Yo' Pa's here!"
Tom sat up in bed rubbing his eyes:
"What's that?"
"Yassah, I fotch him through the country and we rid all night——"
"What's the matter?'
"Dat's what I wants ter see you 'bout, sah—an' ef you'll des slip on dem clothes an' meet me in de liberry, we'll hab a little confab an' er council er war——"
The boy picked up a pillow and hurled it at Andy:
"Well, get out, you old rascal, and I'll be down in a few minutes."
Andy dodged the pillow and at the door whispered:
"Yassah, an' don't disturb de major! I hopes ter God he sleep er month when he git started."
"All right, I won't disturb him."
Tom dressed, wondering vaguely what had brought his father home at such an unearthly hour and by such a trip across the country.
Andy, arrayed in a suit of broadcloth which he had appropriated from Norton's wardrobe in his absence, was waiting for Tom with evident impatience.
"Now, what I want to know is," the boy began, "what the devil you mean by pulling me out of bed this time of day?"
Andy chuckled:
"Well, yer see, sah, de major git home kinder sudden like en' I wuz jest er little oneasy 'bout dis here new suit er close er mine——"
"Well, that's not the first suit of his clothes you've swiped—you needn't be scared."
"Scared—who me? Man, I ain't er skeered er yo' Pa."
Minerva banged the dining-room door and Andy jumped and started to run. Tom laughed and seized his arm:
"Oh, don't be a fool! There's no danger."
"Nasah—I knows dey's no danger—but"—he glanced over his shoulder to be sure that the master hadn't come down stairs—"but yer know de ole sayin' is dat indiscretion is de better part er value——"
"I see!" Tom smiled in perfect agreement.
"An' I des has er little indiscretion——"
"Oh, you make me tired, how can I help a coward?"
Andy looked grieved:
"Lordy, Mister Tom—don't say dat, sah. I ain'tno coward—I'se des cautious. Ye know I wuz in dat fus' battle er Bull's Run wid de major. I git separated from him in a close place an' hatter move my headquarters. Dey said I wuz er coward den 'cause I run. But twan't so, sah! Twan't cause I wuz er coward. I knowed zactly what I wuz doin'. I run 'cause I didn't hab no wings! I done de very bes' I could wid what I had. An' fuddermo', sah, de fellers dat wuz whar I wuz en' didn't run—dey's all dar yit at Bull's Run! Nasah, I ain't no coward. I des got de indiscretion——"
Another door slammed and Andy dodged.
"What's the matter with you anyhow, you old fool, are you having fits?" Tom cried.
Andy looked around the room cautiously and took hold of the boy's coat:
"You listen to me, Mister Tom. I'se gwine tell yer somfin' now——"
"Well?"
"I ain't er skeered er de major—but he's dangous——"
"Bosh!"
"Dey's sumfin' de matter wid him!"
"Had a few mint juleps with a friend, no doubt."
"Mint juleps! Huh! He kin swim in 'em—dive in 'em an' stay down er whole day an' never come up ter blow his bref—licker don't faze him!"
"It's politics. He's leading this devilish campaign and he's worried over politics."
"Nasah!" Andy protested with a laugh. "Dem fool niggers des well give up—dey ain't gwine ter vote no mo'. De odder feller's doin' all de worryin'. He ain't worrin'——"
"Yes, he is, too," the boy replied. "He put a revolver in his pocket when he started on that trip."
"Yassah!" Andy laughed. "I know, but yer don't understan'. Dat pistol's his flatform!"
"His platform?"
"You ain' hear what he bin er doin' wid dat pistol?"
"No—what?"
"Man erlive, yer des oughter see 'im yistiddy when I take 'im dem papers ter dat speakin', down in one er dem po' white counties full er Radicals dat vote wid niggers. Er Kermittee comes up an' say dat de Internal Constertooshion er de Nunited States give 'em free speech an' he gwine ter hear from 'em. De Lordy, man, but his bristles riz! I 'lows ter myself, folks yer sho is thumpin' de wrong watermillion dis time!"
"And what did he say to the Committee?"
"I nebber hear nary word. He des turn 'roun an' step up on dat flatform, kinder peart like, an' yer oughter see 'im open dat meetin'"—Andy paused and broke into a loud laugh.
"How did he open it?" Tom asked with indulgent interest.
Andy scratched his woolly head:
"Well, sah, hit warn't opened wid prayer—I kin tell ye dat! De fust thing he done, he reach back in his britches, kinder kereless lak, an' pull dat big pistol an' lay hit down afore him on' de table beside his pitcher er lemonade. Man, you oughter see de eyes er dat crowd er dirty-lookin' po' whites! Dey fairly popped outen der heads! I hump myself an' move out towards de outskirts——"
Tom smiled:
"I bet you did!"
"Oh, I didn't run!" Andy protested.
"Of course not—far be it from you!"
"Nasah, I des tucken drawed out——"
"I understand, just a little caution, so to speak!"
"Yassah—dat's hit! Des tucken drawed out, whar I'd have elbow room in de mergency——"
"In other words," the boy interrupted, "just used a little indiscretion!"
Andy chuckled:
"Yassah! Dat's hit! Well, sah, he pat dat pistol kinder familious like an' say: 'Ef dey's any er you lowlife po' white scoundrels here ter-day that don't want ter hear my speech—git! But ef yer stay an' yer don't feel comfortable, I got six little lead pills here in a box dat'll ease yer pain. Walk right up to de prescription counter!'"
"And they walked right up?"
"Well, sah, dey didn'tcrowd up!—nasah!" Andy paused and laughed immoderately. "An' wid dat he des folded his arms an' look at dat crowd er minute an' his eyes began to spit fire. When I see dat, I feels my very shoes commin' ontied. I sez ter myself, now folks he's gwine ter magnify——"
Tom laughed:
"Magnified, did he?"
The negro's eyes rolled and he lifted his hands in a gesture of supreme admiration:
"De Lordy, man—ef he didn't! He lit inter dem po' white trash lak er thousand er brick——"
"Give 'em what Paddy gave the drum, I suppose?"
"Now yer talkin', honey! Ef he didn't give 'em particular hell!"
"And what happened?"
"Nuttin' happened, chile—dat's what I'm tryin' ter tell ye. Nary one of 'em nebber cheeped. Dey des stood dar an' listened lak er passel er sheep-killin' dogs. Lemme tell ye, honey, politics ain't er worryin' him. De odder fellers doin' all de worrin'. Nasah, dey's sumfin else de matter wid de major——"
"What?"
Andy looked around the room furtively and whispered:
"Dar's a quare look in his eye!"
"Ah, pooh!"
"Hit's des lak I tells ye, Mister Tom. I ain't seed dat quare look in his eye before since de night I see yo' Ma's ghost come down outen dat big picture frame an' walk cross dis hall——"
The boy smiled and looked at the shining yellow canvas that seemed a living thing gleaming in its dark setting:
"I suppose, of course, Andy, you really saw her do that?"
"'Fore God, es sho's I'm talkin' ter you now, she done dat thing—yassah! Hit wus de las' year befo' you come back frum college. De moon wuz shinin' froo dem big windows right on her face, an' I seed her wid my own eyes, all of a sudden, step right down outen dat picture frame an' walk across dis room, huggin' her baby close up in her arms—an' you'se dat very baby, sah!"
The boy was interested in the negro's weird recital in spite of his amusement. He shook his head and said laughingly:
"Andy, you've got the heat——"
"Hit's des lak I tells ye, sah," Andy solemnly repeated."I stood right dar by dat table froze in my tracks, till I seed her go froo dat do' widout openin' it——"
"Bah!" Tom cried in disgust.
"Dat she did!—an' Miss Minerva she see her do dat same thing once before and tell me about it. But man erlive, when I see it, I let off one er dem yells dat wuz hark from de tomb——"
"I bet you did!"
"Yassah, I went froo dat big window dar an' carry de whole sash wid me. De major he take out atter me when he hears de commotion, an' when he kotch me down dar in de fiel' I wuz still wearin' dat sash fer a necktie!"
The boy laughed again:
"And I suppose, of course, he believed all you told him?"
The negro rolled his eyes solemnly to the ceiling and nodded his head:
"Dat he did, sah. When I fust told 'im dat I seed er ghost, he laft fit ter kill hissef——"
The boy nodded:
"I don't doubt it!"
"But mind ye," Andy solemnly continued, "when I tells him what kin' er ghost I seed, he nebber crack anudder smile. He nebber open his mouf ergin fer er whole day. An' dis here's what I come ter tell ye, honey——"
He paused and glanced over his shoulder as if momentarily fearing the major's appearance.
"I thought you'd been telling me?"
"Nasah, I ain't told ye nuttin' yit. When I say whatkineer ghost I see—dat quare look come in hiseye—de same look dat come dar yistiddy when I tells 'im dat Miss Helen wuz here."
The boy looked at Andy with a sudden start:
"Ah, how could that sweet little girl upset him? He's her guardian's attorney and sent for her to come, of course——"
"I don't know 'bout dat, sah—all I know is dat he went wil' es quick es I tells 'im, an' he bin wil' ever since. Mister Tom, I ain't skeered er de major—but he's dangous!"
"Ah, Andy, you're the biggest fool in the county," the boy answered laughing. "You know my father wouldn't touch a hair of your kinky head."
Andy grinned.
"'Cose not, Mister Tom," he said with unction. "I knows dat. But all de same I gotter keep outen his way wid dis new suit er close till I see 'im smilin'——"
"Always bearing in mind that indiscretion is the better part of value!"
"Yassah—yassah—dat's hit—an' I wants you ter promise you'll stan' by me, sah, till de major's in a good humor."
"All right; if you need me, give a yell."
Tom turned with a smile to go, and Andy caught his sleeve and laughed again:
"Wait—wait er minute, Mister Tom—hold yer hosses. Dey's anodder little thing I wants ye ter help me out erbout. I kin manage de major all right ef I kin des keep outen his sight ter-day wid dis suit er clothes. But de trouble is, I got ter wear 'em, sah—I got er 'pintment wid er lady!"
The boy turned good-naturedly, threw his leg overthe corner of the table and raised his eyebrows with a gleam of mischief:
"Oh, a lady! Who is she? Aunt Minerva?"
Andy waved his hands in disgust.
"Dat's des de one hit ain't—nasah! I can't stan' her nohow, Mr. Tom. I des natchally can't stan' er fat 'oman! An' Miss Minerva weighs 'bout three hundred——"
"Oh, not so bad as that, Andy!"
"Yassah, she's er whale! Man, ef we wuz walkin' along tergedder, en she wuz ter slip an' fall she'd sqush de life outen me! I'd nebber know what hit me. An' what makes bad matters wus, I'se er strong suspicion dat she got her eyes sot on me here lately—I des feels it in my bones—she's atter me sho, sah."
Tom broke into a laugh:
"Well, she can't take you by force."
"I don't know 'bout dat, sah. When any 'oman gits her min' sot she's dangous. But when a 'oman big an' black es she make up her min'!"
"Black!" Tom cried, squaring himself and looking Andy over: "Aren't you just a little shady?"
"Who? Me?—nasah! I ain't no black nigger!"
"No?"
"Nasah! I'se what dey calls er tantalizin' brown!"
"Oh, I see!"
"Yassah, I'se er chocolate-colored gemman—an' I nebber could stan' dese here coal-black niggers. Miss Minerva's so black she kin spit ink!"
"And she's 'atter' you?"
"Yassah, an' Miss Minerva's a widder 'oman, an' ye know de Scripter says, 'Beware of widders'——"
"Of course!" Tom agreed.
"I'se er gemman, yer know, Mister Tom. I can't insult er lady, an' dat's de particular reason dat I wants ter percipitate mysef wid my true love before dat big, black 'oman gits her hands on me. She's atter me sho, an' ef she gits me in er close place, what I gwine do, sah?"
Tom assumed a judicial attitude, folded his arms and asked:
"Well, who's the other one?—who's your true love?"
Andy put his hand over his mouth to suppress a snicker:
"Now dat's whar I kinder hesitates, sah. I bin er beatin' de debbil roun' de stump fur de pas' week tryin' ter screw up my courage ter ax ye ter help me. But Mister Tom, you gettin' so big an' dignified I kinder skeered. You got ter puttin' on more airs dan de major——"
"Ah, who is she?" the boy asked brusquely.
Andy glanced at him out of the corners of his rolling eyes:
"Yer ain't gwine laugh at me—is yer?"
With an effort Tom kept his face straight:
"No, I may be just as big a fool some day myself—who is she?"
Andy stepped close and whispered:
"Miss Cleo!"
"Cleo——"
"Yassah."
"Well, you are a fool!" the boy exclaimed indignantly.
"Yassah, I spec I is," Andy answered, crestfallen, "but I des can't hep it, sah."
"Cleo, my nurse, my mammy—why, she wouldn't wipeher foot on you if you were a door-mat. She's almost as white as I am."
"Yassah, I know, an' dat's what make me want her so. She's mine ef I kin git her! Hit des takes one drap er black blood to make er nigger, sah."
"Bah—she wouldn't look at you!"
"I know she holds er high head, sah. She's been eddicated an' all dat—but you listen ter me, honey—she gwine look at me all de same, when I say de word."
"Yes, long enough to laugh."
Andy disregarded the shot, and prinked himself before the mirror:
"Don't yer think my complexion's gettin' little better, sah?"
Tom picked up a book with a smile:
"You do look a little pale to-day, but I think that's your liver!"
Andy broke into a laugh:
"Nasah. Dat ain't my liver!"
"Must be!"
"Nasah! I got er patent bleacher frum New York dat's gwine ter make me white ef I kin des buy enough of it."
"How much have you used?"
"Hain't used but six bottles yit. Hit costs three dollars a bottle"—he paused and rubbed his hands smoothingly over his head. "Don't yer think my hair's gittin' straighter, sah?"
Tom turned another page of the book without looking up:
"Not so that you could notice it."
"Yassah, 'tis!" Andy laughed, eyeing it sideways inthe mirror and making a vain effort to see the back of his head. "I'se er usin' er concoction called 'Not-a-Kink.' Hit costs five dollars a bottle—but man, hit sho is doin' de work! I kin des feel dem kinks slippin' right out."
"There's nothing much the matter with your hair, Andy," Tom said, looking up with a smile, "that's the straightest thing about you. The trouble's inside."
"What de matter wid me inside?"
"You're crooked."
"Who—me?" Andy cried. "Ah, go long, Mister Tom, wid yer projectin'—yer des foolin' wid me"—he came close and busied himself brushing the boy's coat and continued with insinuating unction—"now ef yer des put in one little word fer me wid Miss Cleo——"
"Take my advice, Andy," the boy said seriously, "keep away from her—she'll kill you."
"Not ef you help me out, sah," Andy urged eagerly. "She'll do anything fer you, Mister Tom—she lubs de very ground you walks on—des put in one little word fer me, sah——"
Tom shook his head emphatically:
"Can't do it, Andy!"
"Don't say dat, Mister Tom!"
"Can't do it."
Andy flicked imaginary lint from both sleeves of Tom's coat:
"Now look here, Mister Tom——"
The boy turned away protesting:
"No, I can't do it."
"Lordy, Mister Tom," Andy cried in grieved tones. "You ain't gwine back on me like dat des 'cose yer went ter college up dar in de Norf an' git mixed up widYankee notions! Why, you an' me's always been good friends an' partners. What ye got agin me?"
A gleam of mischief slipped into the boy's eyes again as he folded his arms with mock severity:
"To begin with, you're the biggest old liar in the United States——"
"Lordy, Mister Tom, I nebber tell a lie in my life, sah!"
"Andy—Andy!"
The negro held his face straight for a moment and then broke into a laugh:
"Well, sah, I may haspré-var-i-catedsome times, but dat ain't lyin'—why, all gemmens do dat."
"And look at this suit of clothes," Tom said severely, "that you've just swiped from Dad. You'd steal anything you can get your hands on!"
Andy turned away and spoke with deep grief
"Mister Tom, you sho do hurt my feelin's, sah—I nebber steal nuttin' in my life."
"I've known you to steal a palm-leaf fan in the dead of winter with snow on the ground."
Andy laughed uproariously:
"Why, man, dat ain't stealin! Who gwine ter want er palm-leaf fan wid snow on de groun'?—dat's des findin' things. You know dey calls me Hones' Andy. When dey ketch me wid de goods I nebber try ter lie outen it lak some fool niggers. I des laugh, 'fess right up, an' hit's all right. Dat's what make 'em call me Hones' Andy, cose I always knows dat honesty's de bes' policy—an' here you comes callin' me a thief—Lordee, Mister Tom, yer sho do hurt my feelin's!"
The boy shook his head again and frowned:
"You're a hopeless old sinner——"
"Who, me, er sinner? Why, man erlive, I'se er pillar in de church!"
"God save the church!"
"I mebbe backslide a little, sah, in de winter time," Andy hastened to admit. "But I'se always de fus' man to de mourners' bench in de spring. I mos' generally leads de mourners, sah, an' when I comes froo an' gits religion over again, yer kin hear me shout er mile——"
"And I bet when the chickens hear it they roost higher the next night!"
Andy ignored the thrust and went on enthusiastically:
"Nasah, de church folks don't call me no sinner. I always stands up fer religion. Don't yer min' de time dat big yaller nigger cum down here from de Norf er castin' circumflexions on our church? I wuz de man dat stood right up in de meetin' an' defends de cause er de Lawd. I haul off an' biff 'im right in the jaw——"
"And you're going to ask Cleo to marry you?"
"I sho' is, sah."
"Haven't you a wife living, Andy?" the boy asked carelessly.
The whites of the negro's eyes suddenly shone as he rolled them in the opposite direction. He scratched his head and turned back to his friendly tormentor with unction:
"Mr. Tom, I'm gwine ter be hones'—cose honesty is de bes' policy. I did marry a lady, sah, but dat wuz er long time ergo. She run away an' lef me an' git married ergin an' I divorced her, sah. She don't pester me no mo' an' I don't pester her. Hit warn't my fault, sah, an' I des put her away ez de Bible sez. Ain't dat all right, sah?"
"Well, it's hardly legal to-day, though it may have been a Biblical custom."
"Yassah, but dat's nuttin' ter do wid niggers. De white folks make de laws an' dey hatter go by 'em. But niggers is niggers, yer know dat yosef, sah."
Tom broke into a laugh:
"Andy, you certainly are a bird!"
The negro joined in the laugh with a joyous chuckle at its close:
"Yassah, yassah—one er dese here great big brown blackbirds! But, Lordy, Mister Tom, yer des foolin' wid me—yer ain't got nuttin' 'gin yer ole partner, barrin' dem few little things?"
"No, barring the few things I've mentioned, that you're a lazy, lying, impudent old rascal—barring these few little things—why—otherwise you're all right, Andy, you're all right!"
The negro chuckled joyfully:
"Yassah—yassah! I knowed yer warn't gwine back on me, Mister Tom." He edged close and dropped his voice to the oiliest whisper: "You'll say dat good word now to Miss Cleo right away, sah?"
The boy shook his head:
"The only thing I'll agree to do, Andy, is to stand by and see you commit suicide. If it's any comfort to you, I'll tell you that she'll kill you."
"Nasah! Don't yer believe it. Ef I kin des escape dat fat 'oman wid my life before she gits me—now dat you'se on my side I kin read my titles clar——"
"Oh, you can get rid of Minerva all right!"
"For de Lord sake, des tell me how!"
Tom bent toward him and spoke in low tones:
"All you've got to do if Minerva gets you in a tightplace is to confess your real love and ask her to help you out as a friend."
Andy looked puzzled a moment and then a light broke over his dusky face:
"Dat's a fine plan, Mister Tom. You saved er nigger's life—I'll do dat sho!"
"As for Cleo, I can't do anything for you, but I won't do anything against you."
"Thankee, sah! Thankee, sah!"
When Tom reached the door he paused and said:
"I might consent to consult with the undertaker about the funeral and act as one of your pall-bearers."
Andy waved him away with a suppressed laugh:
"G'way frum here, Mister Tom! G'way frum here!"
The negro returned to the mirror, adjusted his suit and after much effort succeeded in fixing a new scarfpin of a horseshoe design in the centre of the bow of one of Norton's old-fashioned black string ties. He dusted his shoes, smoothed as many of the kinks out of his hair as a vigorous rubbing could accomplish, and put the last touches on his elaborate preparations for a meeting with Cleo that was destined to be a memorable one in her life.
Andy's plans for a speedy conquest of Cleo were destined to an interruption. Minerva had decided that he was the best man in sight for a husband, and made up her mind to claim her own. She had noticed of late a disposition on his part to dally with Cleo, and determined to act immediately. Breakfast was well under way and she had heard Andy's unctous laugh in the library with Tom.
She put on her sweeping apron, took up a broom and entered under the pretense of cleaning the room.
Andy was still chuckling with joy over the brilliant plan of escape suggested by Tom. He had just put the finishing touches on his necktie, and was trying on an old silk hat when Minerva's voice caused him to suddenly collapse.
"Say, man, is dat a hat er a bee-gum?" she cried, with a laugh so jolly it would have been contagious but for Andy's terror.
He looked at her, dropped the hat, picked it up and stammered:
"W-w-why—Miss Minerva, is dat you?"
Minerva beamed on him tenderly, placed her broom in the corner and advanced quickly to meet him:
"I knowed ye wuz 'spectin me frum de way yer wuzgettin' ready." She laughed and chuckled with obvious coquetry, adding coyly:
"I knows how yer feel——"
Andy looked for a way of escape. But Minerva was too quick for him. She was a woman of enormous size, fat, jolly and extremely agile for her weight. She carried her two hundred and fifty pounds without apparent effort. She walked with a nervous, snappy energy and could waltz with the grace of a girl of sixteen.
She had reached Andy's side before his dull brain could think of an excuse for going. Her shining coal-black face was aglow with tenderness and the determination to make things easy for him in the declaration of love she had planned that he should make.
"I know how yer feels, Brer Andy," she repeated.
The victim mopped his perspiring brow and stammered:
"Yassam—yassam."
"Yer needn't be so 'barrassed, Mr. Andy," Minerva went on in the most insinuating tones. "Yer kin say what's on yer mind."
"Yassam."
"Come right here and set down er minute."
She seized his hand and drew him with a kittenish skip toward a settee, tripped on a bear rug and would have fallen had not Andy grabbed her.
"De Lord save us!" he gasped. He was trying desperately in his new suit to play the gentleman under difficulties.
Minerva was in ecstasy over his gallantry:
"Yer sho wuz terrified less I git hurt, Mr. Andy," she laughed. "I thought dat bar had me sho."
Andy mopped his brow again and glanced longingly at the door:
"Yassam, I sho wuz terrified—I'm sorry m'am, you'll hatter 'scuse me. Mister Tom's out dar waitin' fer me, an' I hatter go——"
Minerva smilingly but firmly pulled him down on the seat beside her:
"Set right down, Mr. Andy, an' make yoself at home. We got er whole half hour yet 'fore de odder folks come down stairs. Man, don't be so 'barrassed! I knows 'zactly how yer feels. I understand what's de matter wid yer"—she paused, glanced at him out of the corners of her eye, touched him slyly with her elbow, and whispered:
"Why don't yer say what's on yer mind?"
Andy cleared his throat and began to stammer. He had the habit of stammering under excitement, and Tom's plan of escape had just popped into his benumbed brain. He saw the way out:
"Y-y-yas'm—cose, m'am. I got sumfin ter tell ye, Miss M-m-Minerva."
Minerva moved a little closer.
"Yas, honey, I knows what 'tis, but I'se jes' waitin' ter hear it."
He cleared his throat and tried to begin his speech in a friendly business-like way:
"Yassam, I gwine tell yer sho——"
He turned to face her and to his horror found her lips so close she had evidently placed them in position for the first kiss.
He stopped appalled, fidgeted, looked the other way and stammered:
"H-hit sho is powful warm ter-day, m'am!"
"Tain't so much de heat, Brer Andy," she responded tenderly, "as 'tis de humility dat's in de air!"
Andy turned, looked into her smiling face for a moment and they both broke into a loud laugh while he repeated:
"Yassam, de humility—dat's hit! De humility dat's in de air!"
The expression had caught his fancy enormously.
"Yassir, de humility—dat's hit!" Minerva murmured.
When the laughter had slowly died down she moved a little closer and said reassuringly:
"And now, Brer Andy, ez dey's des you an' me here tergedder—ef hits suits yo' circumstantial convenience, hab no reprehenshun, sah, des say what's on yo' min'."
Andy glanced at her quickly, bowed grandiloquently and catching the spirit of her high-flown language decided to spring his confession and ask her help to win Cleo.
"Yassam, Miss Minerva, dat's so. An' ez I allays sez dat honesty is de bes' policy, I'se gwine ter ré-cede ter yo' invitation!"
Minerva laughed with joyous admiration:
"Des listen at dat nigger now! You sho is er talkin' man when yer gits started——"
"Yassam, I bin er tryin' ter tell ye fer de longest kind er time an' ax ye ter help me——"
Minerva moved her massive figure close against him:
"Cose I help you."
Andy edged as far away as possible, but the arm of the settee had caught him and he couldn't get far. He smiled wanly and tried to assume a purely platonic tone:
"Wuz yer ebber in love, Miss Minerva?"
Minerva nudged him slyly:
"Wuz I?"
Andy tried to ignore the hint, lifted his eyes to the ceiling and in far-away tones put the hypothetical case of the friend who needed help:
"Well, des 'spose m'am dat a po' man wuz ter fall in love wid er beautiful lady, fur above him, wid eyes dat shine lak de stars——"
"Oh, g'way frum here, man!" Minerva cried entranced as she broke into a peal of joyous laughter, nudging him again.
The insinuating touch of her elbow brought Andy to a sharp realization that his plan had not only failed to work, but was about to compromise him beyond hope. He hurried to correct her mistake.
"But listen, Miss Minerva—yer don't understand. Would yer be his friend an' help him to win her?"
With a cry of joy she threw her huge arms around his neck:
"Would I—Lordy—man!"
Andy tried to dodge her strangle hold, but was too slow and she had him.
He struggled and grasped her arms, but she laughed and held on.
"B-b-but—yer—yer," he stammered.
"Yer needn't say annudder word——"
"Yassam, but wait des er minute," he pleaded, struggling to lower her arms.
"Hush, man," Minerva said good-naturedly. "Cose I knows yer bin er bad nigger—but ye needn't tell me 'bout it now——"
"For Gawd's sake!" Andy gasped, wrenching herarms away at last, "will yer des lemme say one word?"
"Nasah!" she said generously. "I ain't gwine ter let ye say no harsh words ergin yoself. I sho do admire de indelicate way dat yer tells me of yo' love!"
"B-but yer don't understand——"
"Cose I does, chile!" Minerva exclaimed with a tender smile.
Andy made a gesture of despair:
"B-b-but I tries ter 'splain——"
"Yer don't hatter 'splain nuttin' ter me, man—I ain't no spring chicken—I knowed what ye means befo' ye opens yer mouf. Yer tells me dat ye lubs me an' I done say dat I lubs you—an' dat's all dey is to it."
Minerva enfolded him in her ample arms and he collapsed with feeble assent:
"Yassam—yassam."
Norton slept at last from sheer physical exhaustion and waked at eleven o'clock refreshed and alert, his faculties again strung for action.
He wondered in the clear light of noon at the folly of his panic the night before. The fighting instinct in him had always been the dominant one. He smiled now at his silly collapse and his quick brain began to plan his line of defense.
The girl was in his house, yes. But she had been here in spirit, a living, breathing threat over his life, every moment the past twenty years. No scene of pain or struggle could come but that he had already lived it a thousand times. There was a kind of relief in facing these phantoms for the first time in flesh and blood. They couldn't be more formidable than the ghosts he had fought.
He shaved and dressed with deliberation—dressed with unusual care—his brain on fire now with the determination to fight and win. The instincts of the soldier were again in command. And the first thing a true soldier did when driven to desperation and surrounded by an overwhelming foe was to reconnoitre, find the strength of his enemy, and strike at their weakest spot.
He must avoid Cleo and find the exact situation ofTom and Helen. His safest way was again to cultivate Andy's knowledge of the house in his absence.
He rang for him and waited in vain for his appearance. He rang again and, getting no response, walked down stairs to the door and searched the lawn. He saw Cleo beside a flower bed talking to Helen. He caught a glimpse of the lovely young face as she lifted her eyes and saw him. He turned back quickly into the house to avoid her, and hurried to the library.
Andy had been watching carefully until Norton went through the front door. Sure that he had strolled out on the lawn to see Helen, with a sigh of relief the negro hurried back to the mirror to take another admiring glance at his fine appearance in the new suit.
Norton's sudden entrance completely upset him. He tried to laugh and the effort froze on his lips. He saw that Norton had recognized the stolen suit, but was too excited to see the amusement lurking behind his frown:
"Where were you a while ago, when I was calling?"
"I been right here all mornin', sah," Andy answered with forced surprise.
"You didn't hear that bell?"
"Nasah, nebber hear a thing, sah."
Norton looked at him severely:
"There's a bigger bell going to ring for you one of these days. You like to go to funerals, don't you?"
Andy laughed:
"Yassah—odder folk's funerals—but dey's one I ain't in no hurry to git to——"
"That's the one—where were you when I rang just now?"
The negro looked at his master, hesitated, and abroad grin overspread his black face. He bowed and chuckled and walked straight up to Norton:
"Yassah, major, I gwine tell yer de honest truf now, cose honesty is de bes' policy. I wuz des embellishin' mysef wid dis here ole suit er close dat ye gimme, sah, an' I wants ter specify my 'preciation, sah, at de generosity wid which yer always treats me, sah. I had a mos' particular reason fer puttin' dis suit on dis mornin'——"
Norton examined the lapel of the coat, his lips twitching to suppress a smile:
"My suit of broadcloth——"
Andy rubbed his hands over the coat in profound amazement:
"Is dis de broadcloth? De Lawd er mussy!"
Norton shook his head:
"You old black hound——"
Andy broke into a loud laugh:
"Yassah, yassah! Dat's me. But, major, I couldn't find the vest!"
"Too bad—shall I get it for you?"
"Nasah—des tell me whar yer put it!"
Norton smiled:
"Did you look in my big cedar box?"
"Thankee, sah—thankee, sah. Yer sho is good ter me, major, an' yer can always 'pend on me, sah."
"Yes, I'm going to send you to the penitentiary for this——"
Andy roared with laughter:
"Yassah—yassah—cose, sah! I kin see myse'f in dat suit er stripes now, but I sho is gwine ter blossom out in dat double-breasted vest fust!"
When the laughter had died away Norton asked in good-natured tones:
"You say I can depend on you, Andy?"
"Dat yer kin, sah—every day in the year—you'se de bes frien' I ebber had in de world, sah."
"Then I want to ask you a question."
"Yassah, I tells yer anything I know, sah."
"I'm just a little worried about Tom. He's too young to get married. Do you think he's been really making love to Miss Helen?"
Norton watched the negro keenly. He knew that a boy would easily trust his secrets to such a servant, and that his sense of loyalty to the young would be strong. He was relieved at the quick reply which came without guile:
"Lawdy, major, he ain't got dat far, sah. I bin er watchin' 'em putty close. He des kinder skimmin' 'round de edges."
"You think so?"
"Yassah!" was the confident reply. "He 'minds me er one er dese here minnows when ye go fishin'. He ain't swallowed de hook yit—he des nibblin'."
Norton smiled, lighted a cigar, and quietly said:
"Go down to the office and tell Mr. Tom that I'm up and wish to see him."
"Yassah—yassah—right away, sah."
Andy bowed and grinned and hurried from the house.
Norton seated himself in an armchair facing the portrait of the little mother. His memory lingered tenderly over the last beautiful days they had spent together. He recalled every smile with which she had looked her forgiveness and her love. He felt the presence of her spirit and took courage.
He lifted his eyes to the sweet, tender face bending over her baby and breathed a prayer for guidance. He wondered if she could see and know in the dim world beyond. Without trying to reason about it, he had grown to believe that she did, and that her soul was near in this hour of his trial.
How like this mother the boy had grown the past year—just her age when he was born. The color of his blonde hair was almost an exact reproduction of hers. And this beautiful hair lent a peculiar distinction to the boy's fine face. He had developed, too, a lot of little ways strikingly like the mother's when a laughing school girl. He smiled in the same flashing way, like a sudden burst of sunlight from behind a cloud. His temper was quick like hers, and his voice more and more seemed to develop the peculiar tones he had loved.
That this boy, around whose form every desire of life had centered, should be in peril was a thought that set his heart to beating with new energy.
He heard his quick step in the hall, rose and laid down his cigar. With a rush Tom was in the room grasping the outstretched hand:
"Glad to see you back, Dad!" he cried, "but we had no idea you were coming so soon."
"I got a little homesick," the father replied, "and decided to come in for a day or two."
"I was awfully surprised at Miss Helen's popping in on us so unexpectedly—I suppose you forgot to tell me about it in the rush of getting away."
"I really didn't expect her to come before my return," was the vague answer.
"But you wrote her to come at once."
"Did I?" he replied carelessly.
"Why, yes, she showed me your letter. I didn't write you about her arrival because you told me under no circumstances, except of life or death, to tell you of anything here and I obeyed orders."
"I'm glad you've made that a principle of your life—stick to it."
"I'm sorry you're away in this dangerous campaign so much, Dad," the boy said with feeling. "It may end your career."
The father smiled and a far-away look stole into his eyes:
"I have no career, my boy! I gave that up years ago and I had to lead this campaign."
"Why?"
The look in the brown eyes deepened:
"Because I am the man to whom our danger has been revealed. I am the man to whom God has given a message—I who have been tried in the fires of hell and fought my way up and out of the pit—only the man who has no ambitions can tell the truth!"
The boy nodded and smiled:
"Yes, I know your hobby——"
"The big tragic truth, that the physical contact of the black race with the white is a menace to our life"—his voice had dropped to a passionate whisper as if he were talking to himself.
A laugh from Tom roused him to the consciousness of time and place:
"But that isn't a speech you meant for me, Dad!"
The father caught his bantering tone with a light reply:
"No."
And then his tall form confronted the boy with a look of deep seriousness:
"To-morrow I enter on the last phase of this campaign. At any moment a fool or a madman may blow my brains out."
Tom gave a start:
"Dad——"
"Over every mile of that long drive home last night, I was brooding and thinking of you——"
"Of me?"
"Wondering if I had done my level best to carry out the dying commands of your mother——"
He paused, drew a deep breath, looked up tenderly and continued:
"I wish you were settled in life."
The boy turned slightly away and the father watched him keenly and furtively for a moment, and took a step toward him:
"You have never been in love?"
With a shrug and a laugh, Tom dropped carelessly on the settee and crossed his legs:
"Love—hardly!"
The father held his breath until the light answer brought relief and then smiled:
"It will come some day, my boy, and when it hits you, I think it's going to hit hard."
The handsome young head was poised on one side with a serious judicial expression:
"Yes, I think it will—but I guess my ideal's too high, though."
The father spoke with deep emotion:
"A man's ideal can't be too high, my boy!"
Tom didn't hear. His mind was busy with his ideal.
"But if I ever find her," he went on dreamily, "do you know what I'll want?"
"No."
"The strength of Samson!"
"What for?"
He shook his head with a smile:
"To reach over in California, tear one of those big trees up by the roots, dip it in the crater of Vesuvius and write her name in letters of fire across the sky!"
He ended with a wide, sweeping gesture, showing just how he would inscribe it.
"Really!" the father laughed.
"That's how I feel!" he cried, springing to his feet with an emphatic gesture, a smile playing about his firm mouth.
The father slipped his arm around him:
"Well, if you should happen to do it, be sure to stand in the ocean, because otherwise, you know, if the grass should be dry you might set the world on fire."
The boy broke into a hearty laugh, crossed to the table, and threw his leg carelessly over the corner, a habit he had gotten from his father. When the laugh had died away, he picked up a magazine and said carelessly:
"I guess there's no danger, after all. I'm afraid that the big thing poets sing about is only a myth after all"—he paused, raised his eyes and they rested on his mother's portrait, and his voice became a reverent whisper—"except your love for my mother, Dad—that was the real thing!"
He was looking the other way and couldn't see thecloud of anguish that suddenly darkened his father's face.
"You'll know its meaning some day, my son," was the even reply that came after a pause, "and I only demand of you one thing——"
He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder:
"That the woman you ask to be your wife bear a name without shadow. Good blood is the noblest inheritance that any father or mother ever gave to a child."
"I'm proud of mine, sir!" the boy said, drawing his form erect.
The father's arm stole around the young shoulders and his voice was very low:
"Fools sometimes say, my son, that a man can sow his wild oats and be all the better for it. It's a lie. The smallest deed takes hold on eternity for it may start a train of events that even God can't stop——"
He paused and fought back a cry from the depths of his soul.
"I did something that hurt your mother once"—his voice dropped—"and for twenty years my soul in anguish has begged for forgiveness——"
The boy looked at him in startled sympathy and his own arm instinctively slipped around his father's form as he lifted his face to the shining figure over the mantel:
"But you believe that she sees and understands now?"
Norton turned his head away to hide the mists that clouded his eyes. His answer was uttered with the reverence of a prayer:
"Yes! I've seen her in dreams sometimes so vividly and heard her voice so plainly, I couldn't believe thatI was asleep"—his voice stopped before it broke, his arm tightening its hold—"and I know that her spirit broods and watches over you——"
And then he suddenly decided to do the most cruel thing to which his mind had ever given assent. But he believed it necessary and did not hesitate. Only the vague intensity of his eyes showed his deep feeling as he said evenly:
"Ask Miss Helen to come here. You'll find her on the lawn with Cleo."
The boy left the room to summon Helen, and Norton seated himself with grim determination.
When Tom reached the lawn Helen was nowhere to be seen. He searched every nook and corner which they had been accustomed to haunt, looked through the rose garden and finally knocked timidly on the door of her room. He was sure at first that he heard a sound within. He dared not open her door and so hurried down town to see if he could find her in one of the stores.
Helen shivering inside had held her breath until his his footsteps died away on the stairs.
With heavy heart but swift hands she was packing her trunk. In spite of Cleo's assurances she had been startled and frightened beyond measure by the certainty that Norton had purposely avoided her. She had expected the most hearty welcome. Her keen intuition had scented his hostility though not a word had been spoken.
Cleo, who had avoided Tom, again rapped on her door:
"Just a minute, Miss Helen!"
There was no answer and the woman strained her ear to hear what was happening inside. It couldn't be possible that the girl was really going to leave! Such an act of madness would upset her plans just as they were coming out exactly as she had hoped.
"She can't mean it!" Cleo muttered under her breath. "It's only a fit of petulance!" She didn't dare to give Helen a hint of her clouded birth. That might send her flying. Yet if necessary she must excite her curiosity by a whisper about her parentage. She had already guessed from hints the girl had dropped that her one passionate desire was to know the names of her father and mother. She would be careful, but it was necessary to hold her at all hazards.
She rapped again:
"Please, Miss Helen, may I come in just a minute?"
Her voice was full of pleading. A step was heard, a pause and the door opened. Cleo quickly entered, turned the key and in earnest tones, her eyes dancing excitedly, asked:
"You are really packing your trunk?"
"It's already packed," was the firm answer.
"But you can't mean this——"
"I do."
"I tell you, child, the major didn't see you——"
"He did see me. I caught his eye in a straight, clear look. And he turned quickly to avoid me."
"You have his letter of invitation. You can't think it a forgery?" she asked with impatience.
The girl's color deepened:
"He has evidently changed his mind for some reason."
"Nonsense!"
"I was just ready to rush to meet him and thank him with the deepest gratitude for his invitation. The look on his face when he turned was like a blow."
"It's only your imagination!" Cleo urged eagerly. "He's worried over politics."
"I'm not in politics. No, it's something else—I must go."
Cleo put her hand appealingly on Helen's arm:
"Don't be foolish, child!"
The girl drew away suddenly with instinctive aversion. The act was slight and quick, but not too slight or quick for the woman's sharp eye. She threw Helen a look of resentment:
"Why do you draw away from me like that?"
The girl flushed with embarrassment and stammered:
"Why—you see, I've lived up North all my life, shut up in a convent most of the time and I'm not used—to—colored people——"
"Well, I'm not a negro, please remember that. I'm a nurse and housekeeper, if you please, and there happens to be a trace of negro blood in my veins, but a white soul throbs beneath this yellow skin. I'd strip it off inch by inch if I could change its color"—her voice broke with assumed emotion—it was a pose for the moment, but its apparent genuineness deceived the girl and roused her sympathy.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she said contritely.
"Oh, it's no matter."
Helen snapped the lid of her trunk:
"I'm leaving on the first train."
"Oh, come now," Cleo urged impatiently. "You'll do nothing of the kind—the major will be himself to-morrow."
"I am going at once——"
"You're not going!" the woman declared firmly, laying her hand again on the girl's arm.
With a shudder Helen drew quickly away.
"Please—please don't touch me again!" she cried with anger. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it."
With an effort Cleo suppressed her rage:
"Well, I won't. I understand—but you can't go like this. The major will be furious."
"I'm going," the girl replied, picking up the odds and ends she had left and placing them in her travelling bag.
Cleo watched her furtively:
"I—I—ought to tell you something that I know about your life—"
Helen dropped a brush from her hand and quickly crossed the room, a bright color rushing to her cheeks:
"About my birth?"
"You believe," Cleo began cautiously, "that the major is the agent of your guardian who lives abroad. Well, he's not the agent—he is your guardian."
"Why should he deceive me?"
"He had reasons, no doubt," Cleo replied with a smile.
"You mean that he knows the truth? That he knows the full history of my birth and the names of my father and mother?"
"Yes."
"He has assured me again and again that he does not—"
"I know that he has deceived you."
Helen looked at her with a queer expression of angry repulsion that she should possess this secret of her unhappy life.
"You know?" she asked faintly.
"No," was the quick reply, "not about your birth;but I assure you the major does. Demand that he tell you."
"He'll refuse—"
"Ask him again, and stay until he does."
"But I'm intruding!" Helen cried, brushing a tear from her eyes.
"No matter, you're here, you're of age, you have the right to know the truth—stay until you learn it. If he slights you, pay no attention to it—stay until you know."
The girl's form suddenly stiffened and her eyes flashed:
"Yes, I will—I'll know at any cost."
With a soft laugh which Helen couldn't hear Cleo hurried from the room.