When Helen had received a brief note from Tom the night before the election that he would surely reach home the next day, she snatched his picture from the library table with a cry of joy and rushed to her room.
She placed the little gold frame on her bureau, sat down before it and poured out her heart in silly speeches of love, pausing to laugh and kiss the glass that saved the miniature from ruin. The portrait was an exquisite work of art on ivory which the father had commisioned a painter in New York to do in celebration of Tom's coming of age. The artist had caught the boy's spirit in the tender smile that played about his lips and lingered in the corners of his blue eyes, the same eyes and lips in line and color in the dainty little mother's portrait over the mantel.
"Oh, you big, handsome, brave, glorious boy!" she cried in ecstasy. "My sweetheart--so generous, so clean, so strong, so free in soul! I love you--I love you--I love you!"
She fell asleep at last with the oval frame clasped tight in one hand thrust under her pillow. A sound sleep was impossible, the busy brain was too active. Again and again she waked with a start, thinking she had heard his swift footfall on the stoop.
At daybreak she leaped to her feet and found herself in the middle of the room laughing when she came to herself, the precious picture still clasped in her hand.
"Oh, foolish heart, wake up!" she cried with another laugh. "It's dawn, and my lover is coming! It's his day! No more sleep—it's too wonderful! I'm going to count every hour until I hear his step—every minute of every hour, foolish heart!"
She looked out the window and it was raining. The overhanging boughs of the oaks were dripping on the tin roof of the bay window in which she was standing. She had dreamed of a wonderful sunrise this morning. But it didn't matter—the rain didn't matter. The slow, familiar dropping on the roof suggested the nearness of her lover. They would sit in some shadowy corner hand in hand and love all the more tenderly. The raindrops were the drum beat of a band playing the march that was bringing him nearer with each throb. The mocking-bird that had often waked her with his song was silent, hovering somewhere in a tree beneath the thick leaves. She had expected him to call her to-day with the sweetest lyric he had ever sung. Somehow it didn't matter. Her soul was singing the song that makes all other music dumb.
"My love is coming!" she murmured joyfully. "My love is coming!"
And then she stood for an hour in brooding, happy silence and watched the ghost-like trees come slowly out of the mists. To her shining eyes there were no mists. The gray film that hung over the waking world was a bridal veil hiding the blushing face of the earth fromthe sun-god lover who was on his way over the hills to clasp her in his burning arms!
For the first time in her memory she was supremely happy.
Every throb of pain that belonged to the past was lost in the sea of joy on which her soul had set sail. In the glory of his love pain was only another name for joy. All she had suffered was but the preparation for this supreme good. It was all the more wonderful, this fairy world into which she had entered, because the shadows had been so deep in her lonely childhood.
There really hadn't been any past! She couldn't remember the time she had not known and loved Tom. Love filled the universe, past, present and future. There was no task too hard for her hands, no danger she was not ready to meet. The hungry heart had found its own.
Through the long hours of the day she waited without impatience. Each tick of the tiny clock on the mantel brought him nearer. The hands couldn't turn back! She watched them with a smile as she sat in the gathering twilight.
She had placed the miniature back in its place and sat where her eye caught the smile from his lips when she lifted her head from the embroidery on her lap.
The band was playing a stirring strain in the Square. She could hear the tumult and the shouts of the crowds about the speaker's stand as they read the bulletins of the election. The darkness couldn't hold him many more minutes.
She rose with a soft laugh and turned on the lights, walked to the window, looked out and listened to the roar of the cheering when Norton made his appearance.The band struck up another stirring piece. Yes, it was "Hail to the Chief!" He had come.
She counted the minutes it would take for him to elude his father and reach the house. She pictured the smile on his face as he threaded his way through the throng and started to her on swift feet. She could see him coming with the long, quick stride he had inherited from his father.
She turned back into the room exclaiming:
"Oh, foolish heart, be still!"
She seated herself again and waited patiently, a smile about the corners of her lips and another playing hide and seek in the depths of her expressive eyes.
Tom had entered the house unobserved by any one and softly tipped into the library from the door directly behind her. He paused, removed his hat, dropped it silently into a chair and stood looking at the graceful, beautiful form bending over her work. The picture of this waiting figure he had seen in his day-dreams a thousand times and yet it was so sweet and wonderful he had to stop and drink in the glory of it for a moment.
A joyous laugh was bubbling in his heart as he tipped softly over the thick yielding rug and slipped his hands over her eyes. His voice was the gentlest whisper:
"Guess?"
The white figure slowly rose and her words came in little ripples of gasping laughter as she turned and lifted her arms:
"It's—it's—Tom!"
With a smothered cry she was on his breast. He held her long and close without a word. His voice had a queer hitch in it as he murmured:
"Helen—my darling!"
"Oh, I thought you'd never come!" she sighed, looking up through her tears.
Tom held her off and gazed into her eyes:
"It's been a century since I've seen you! I did my level best when we got into these nearby counties again, but I couldn't shake Dad once this week. He watched me like a hawk and insisted on staying out of town till the very last hour of the election to-day. Did old Andy find out I slipped in last week?"
"No!" she laughed.
"Did Cleo find it out?"
"No."
"You're sure Cleo didn't find out?"
"Sure—but Aunt Minerva did."
"Oh, I'm not afraid of her—kiss me!"
With a glad cry their lips met.
He held her off.
"I'm not afraid of anything!"
With an answering laugh, she kissed him again.
"I'm not afraid of Dad!" he said in tones of mock tragedy. "Once more!"
She gently disengaged herself, asking:
"How did you get away from him so quickly?"
"Oh, he's making a speech to the crowd in the Square proclaiming victory and so"—his voice fell to a whisper—"I flew to celebrate mine!"
"Won't he miss you?"
"Not while he's talking. Dad enjoys an eloquent speech—especially one of his own——"
He stopped abruptly, took a step toward her and cried:
"Say! Do you know what the Governor of NorthCarolina said once upon a time to the Governor of South Carolina?"
Helen laughed:
"What?"
He opened his arms:
"'It strikes me,' said he, 'that it's a long time between drinks!'"
Again her arms flashed around his neck.
"Did you miss me?"
"Dreadfully!" she sighed. "But I've been happy—happy in your love—oh, so happy, dearest!"
"Well, if Dad wins this election to-night," he said with a boyish smile, "I'm going to tell him. Now's the time—no more slipping and sliding!"—he paused, rushed to the window and looked out—"come, the clouds have lifted and the moon is rising. Our old seat among the roses is waiting."
With a look of utter happiness she slipped her arm in his and they strolled across the lawn.
Cleo had heard the shouts in the square with increasing dread. The hour was rapidly approaching when she must face Norton.
She had deeply regretted the last scene with him when she had completely lost her head. For the first time in her life she had dared to say things that could not be forgiven. They had lived an armed truce for twenty years. She had endured it in the hope of a change in his attitude, but she had driven him to uncontrollable fury now by her angry outburst and spoken words that could not be unsaid.
She realized when too late that he would never forgive these insults. And she began to wonder nervously what form his revenge would take. That he had matured a definite plan of hostile action which he would put into force on his arrival, she did not doubt.
Why had she been so foolish? She asked herself the question a hundred times. And yet the clash was inevitable. She could not see Helen packed off to Europe and her hopes destroyed at a blow. She might have stopped him with something milder than a threat of exposure in his rival's paper. That was the mad thing she had done.
What effect this threat had produced on his mindshe could only guess. But she constantly came back to it with increasing fear. If he should accept her challenge, dare her to speak, and, weary of the constant strain of her presence in his house, put her out, it meant the end of the world. She had lived so long in dependence on his will, the thought of beginning life again under new conditions of humiliating service was unthinkable.
She could only wait now until the blow fell, and adjust herself to the situation as best she could. That she had the power to lay his life in ruins and break Tom's heart she had never doubted. Yet this was the one thing she did not wish to do. It meant too much to her.
She walked on the porch and listened again to the tumult in the Square. She had seen Tom enter the house on tip-toe and knew that the lovers were together and smiled in grim triumph. That much of her scheme had not failed! It only remained to be seen whether, with their love an accomplished fact, she could wring from Norton's lips the confession she had demanded and save her own skin in the crash.
Andy had entered the gate and she heard him bustling in the pantry as Tom and Helen strolled on the lawn. The band in the Square was playing their star piece of rag-time music, "A Georgia Campmeeting."
The stirring refrain echoed over the sleepy old town with a weird appeal to-night. It had the ring of martial music—of hosts shouting their victory as they marched. They were playing it with unusual swinging power.
She turned with a gesture of impatience into the house to find Andy. He was carrying a tray of mint juleps into the library.
Cleo looked at him in amazement, suppressed an angry exclamation and asked:
"What's that band playing for?"
"White folks celebratin' de victory!" he replied enthusiastically, placing the tray on the table.
"It's only seven o'clock. The election returns can't be in yet?"
"Yassam! Hit's all over but de shoutin'!"
Cleo moved a step closer:
"The major has won?"
"Yassam! Yassam!" Andy answered with loud good humor, as he began to polish a glass with a napkin. "Yassam, I des come frum dar. De news done come in. Dey hain't gwine ter 'low de niggers ter vote no mo', 'ceptin they kin read an' write—an'dendey won't let 'em!"
He held one of the shining glasses up to the light, examined it with judicial care and continued in tones of resignation:
"Don't make no diffrunce ter me, dough!—I hain't nebber got nuttin' fer my vote nohow, 'ceptin' once when er politicioner shoved er box er cigars at me"—he chuckled—"an' den, by golly, I had ter be a gemman, I couldn't grab er whole handful—I des tuck four!"
Cleo moved impatiently and glared at the tray:
"What on earth did you bring all that stuff for? The whole mob are not coming here, are they?"
"Nobum—nobum! Nobody but de major, but I 'low dat he gwine ter consume some! He's on er high hoss. Dey's 'bout ten thousand folks up dar in de Square. De boys carry de major on dere back to de flatform an' he make 'em a big speech. Dey sho is er-raisin' ermighty humbug. Dey gwine ter celebrate all night out dar, an' gwine ter serenade everybody in town. But de major comin' right home. Dey try ter git him ter stay wid 'em, but he 'low dat he got some 'portant business here at de house."
"Important business here?" she asked anxiously.
"Yassam, I spec him any minute."
Cleo turned quickly toward the door and Andy called:
"Miss Cleo!"
She continued to go without paying any attention and he repeated his call:
"Miss Cleo!"
She paused indifferently, while Andy touched his lips smiling:
"I got my mouf shet!"
"Does it pain you?"
"Nobum!" he laughed.
"Keep it shut!" she replied contemptuously as she again moved toward the door.
"Yassam—yassam—but ain't yer got nuttin' mo' dan dat ter say ter me?"
He asked this question with a rising inflection that might mean a threat.
The woman walked back to him:
"Prove your love by a year's silence——"
"De Lawd er mussy!" Andy gasped. "A whole year?"
"Am I not worth waiting for?" she asked with a smile.
"Yassam—yassam," he replied slowly, "Jacob he wait seben years an' den, by golly, de ole man cheat him outen his gal! But ef yer say so, I'se er-waitin', honey——"
Andy placated, her mind returned in a flash to the fear that haunted her:
"He said important business here at once?"
The gate closed with a vigorous slam and the echo of Norton's step was heard on the gravel walk.
"Yassam, dar he is now."
Cleo trembled and hurried to the opposite door:
"If the major asks for me, tell him I've gone to the meeting in the Square."
She passed quickly from the room in a panic of fear. She couldn't meet him in this condition. She must wait a better moment.
Andy, arranging his tray, began to mix three mint juleps, humming a favorite song:
"Dis time er-nudder year,Oh, Lawd, how long!In some lonesome graveyard—Woh, Lawd, how long!"
"Dis time er-nudder year,Oh, Lawd, how long!In some lonesome graveyard—Woh, Lawd, how long!"
Norton paused on the threshold with a smile and listened to the foolish melody. His whole being was quivering with the power that thrilled from a great act of will. He had just made a momentous decision. His work in hand was done. He had lived for years in an atmosphere poisoned by a yellow venomous presence. He had resolved to be free!—no matter what the cost.
His mind flew to the boy he had grown to love with deeper tenderness the past weeks. The only thing he really dreaded was his humiliation before those blue eyes. But, if the worst came to worst, he must speak. There were things darker than death—the consciousness to a proud and sensitive man that he was the slave to an inferior was one of them. He had to be free—freeat any cost. The thought was an inspiration.
With brisk step he entered the library and glanced with surprise at the empty room.
"Tom not come?" he asked briskly.
"Nasah, I ain't seed 'im," Andy replied.
Norton threw his linen coat on a chair, and a dreamy look came into his deep-set eyes:
"Well, Andy, we've made a clean sweep to-day—the old state's white again!"
The negro, bustling over his tray, replied with unction:
"Yassah, dat's what I done tole 'em, sah!"
"All government rests on force, Andy! The ballot is force—physical force. Back of every ballot is a gun——"
He paused, drew the revolver slowly from his pocket and held it in his hand.
Andy glanced up from his tray and jumped in alarm:
"Yassah, dat's so, sah—in dese parts sho, sah!" he ended his speech by a good-natured laugh at the expense of the country that allowed itself to be thus intimidated.
Norton lifted the gleaming piece of steel and looked at it thoughtfully:
"Back of every ballot a gun and the red blood of the man who holds it! No freeman ever yet voted away his right to a revolution——"
"Yassah—dat's what I tells dem niggers—you gwine ter giv 'em er dose er de revolution——"
"Well, it's done now and I've no more use for this thing—thank God!"
He crossed to the writing desk, laid the revolver onits top and walked to the lounge his face set with a look of brooding intensity:
"Bah! The big battles are all fought inside, Andy! There's where the brave die and cowards run—inside——"
"Yassah!—I got de stuff right here fer deinside, sah!" he held up the decanter with a grin.
"From to-night my work outside is done," Norton went on moodily. "And I'm going to be free—free! I'm no longer afraid of one of my servants——"
He dropped into a seat and closed his fists with a gesture of intense emotion.
Andy looked at him in astonishment and asked incredulously:
"Who de debbil say you'se er scared of any nigger? Show dat man ter me—who say dat?"
"I say it!" was the bitter answer. He had been thinking aloud, but now that the negro had heard he didn't care. His soul was sick of subterfuge and lies.
Andy laughed apologetically:
"Yassah! Cose, sah, ef you say dat hit's so, why I say hit's so—but all de same, 'twixt you an' me, I knows tain't so!"
"But from to-night!" Norton cried, ignoring Andy as he sprang to his feet and looked sharply about the room:
"Tell Cleo I wish to see her at once!"
"She gone out in de Squar ter hear de news, sah."
"The moment she comes let me know!" he said with sharp emphasis and turned quickly to the door.
"Yassah," Andy answered watching him go with amazement. "De Lawdy, major, you ain't gwine off an' leave dese mint juleps lak dat, is ye?"
Norton retraced a step:
"Yes, from to-night I'm the master of my house and myself!"
Andy looked at the tray and then at Norton:
"Well, sah, yer ain't got no objections to me pizinin' mysef, is ye?"
The master surveyed the grinning servant, glanced at the tray, smiled and said:
"No—you'll do it anyhow, so go as far as you like!"
"Yassah!" the negro laughed as Norton turned again. "An' please, sah, won't yer gimme jes a little advice befo' you go?"
Norton turned a puzzled face on the grinning black one:
"Advice?"
"Yassah. What I wants ter know, major, is dis. Sposen, sah, dat a gemman got ter take his choice twixt marryin' er lady dat's forcin' herself on 'im, er kill hissef?"
"Kill her!"
Andy broke into a loud laugh:
"Yassah! but she's er dangous 'oman, sah! She's a fighter from Fightersville—an' fuddermo', sah, I'se engaged to annudder lady at the same time—an' I'se in lub wid dat one an' skeered er de fust one."
"Face it, then. Confess your love and fight it out! Fight it out and let them fight it out. You like to see a fight, don't you?"
"Yassah! Oh, yassah," Andy declared bravely. "I likes ter see a fight—I likes ter see de fur fly—but I don't care 'bout furnishin' none er de fur!"
Norton had reached the door when he suddenly turned, the momentary humor of his play with thenegro gone from his sombre face, the tragedy of a life speaking in every tone as he slowly said:
"Fight it out! It's the only thing to do—fight it out!"
Andy stared at the retreating figure dazed by the violence of passion with which his master had answered, wondering vaguely what could be the meaning of the threat behind his last words.
When Andy had recovered from his surprise at the violence of Norton's parting advice his eye suddenly rested on the tray of untouched mint juleps.
A broad smile broke over his black countenance:
"Fight it out! Fight it out!" he exclaimed with a quick movement toward the table. "Yassah, I'm gwine do it, too, I is!"
He paused before the array of filled glasses of the iced beverage, saluted silently, and raised one high over his head to all imaginary friends who might be present. His eye rested on the portrait of General Lee. He bowed and saluted again. Further on hung Stonewall Jackson. He lifted his glass to him, and last to Norton's grandfather in his blue and yellow colonial regimentals. He pressed the glass to his thirsty lips and waved the julep a jovial farewell with the palm of his left hand as he poured it gently but firmly down to the last drop.
He smacked his lips, drew a long breath and sighed:
"Put ernuff er dat stuff inside er me, I kin fight er wil'cat! Yassah, an' I gwine do it. I gwine ter be rough wid her, too! Rough wid her, I is!"
He seized another glass and drained half of it, drewhimself up with determination, walked to the door leading to the hall toward the kitchen and called:
"Miss Minerva!"
Receiving no answer, he returned quickly to the tray and took another drink:
"Rough wid her—dat's de way—rough wid her!"
He pulled his vest down with a vicious jerk, bravely took one step, paused, reached back, picked up his glass again, drained it, and walked to the door.
"Miss Minerva!" he called loudly and fiercely.
From the kitchen came the answer in tender tones:
"Yas—honey!"
Andy retreated hastily to the table and took another drink before the huge but smiling figure appeared in the doorway.
"Did my true love call?" she asked softly.
Andy groaned, grasped a glass and quickly poured another drink of Dutch courage down. "Yassam, Miss Minerva, I thought I hear yer out dar——"
Minerva giggled as lightly as she could considering her two hundred and fifty pounds:
"Yas, honey, hit's little me!"
Andy had begun to feel the bracing effects of the two full glasses of mint juleps. He put his hands in his pockets, walked with springing strides to the other end of the room, returned and squared himself impressively before Minerva. Before he could speak his courage began to fail and he stuttered:
"M-M-M-Miss Minerva!"
The good-humored, shining black face was raised in sharp surprise:
"What de matter wid you, man, er hoppin' roun' over de flo' lak er flea in er hot skillet?"
Andy saw that the time had come when he must speak unless he meant to again ignominiously surrender. He began boldly:
"Miss Minerva! I got somethin' scandalous ter say ter you!"
She glared at him, the whites of her eyes shining ominously, crossed the room quickly and confronted Andy:
"Don't yer dar' say nuttin' scandalizin' ter me, sah!"
His eyes fell and he moved as if to retreat. She nudged him gently:
"G'long, man, what is it?"
He took courage:
"I got ter 'fess ter you, m'am, dat I'se tangled up wid annuder 'oman!"
The black face suddenly flashed with wrath, and her figure was electric with battle. The very pores of her dusky skin seemed to radiate war.
"Who bin tryin' ter steal you?" she cried. "Des sho' her ter me, an' we see who's who!"
Andy waved his hands in a conciliatory self-accusing gesture:
"Yassam—yassam! But I make er fool outen myse'f about her—hit's Miss Cleo!"
"Cleo!" Minerva gasped, staggering back until her form collided with the table and rattled the glasses on the tray. At the sound of the tinkling glass, she turned, grasped a mint julep, and drank the whole of it at a single effort.
Andy, who had been working on a figure in the rug with the toe of his shoe during his confession, looked up, saw that she had captured his inspiration, and sprang back in alarm.
Minerva paused but a moment for breath and rushed for him:
"Dat yaller Jezebel!—tryin' ter fling er spell over you—but I gwine ter save ye, honey!"
Andy retreated behind the lounge, his ample protector hot on his heels:
"Yassam!" he cried, "but I don't want ter be saved!"
Before he had finished the plea, she had pinned him in a corner and cut off retreat.
"Of course yer don't!" she answered generously. "No po' sinner ever does. But don't yer fret, honey, I'se gwine ter save ye in spite er yosef! Yer needn't ter kick, yer needn't ter scramble, now's de time ye needs me, an I'se gwine ter stan' by ye. Nuttin' kin shake me loose now!"
She took a step toward him and he vainly tried to dodge. It was useless. She hurled her ample form straight on him and lifted her arms for a generous embrace:
"Lordy, man, dat make me lub yer er hundred times mo!"
Andy made up his mind in a sudden burst of courage to fight for his life. If she once got those arms about him he was gone. He grasped them roughly and stayed the onset:
"Yassam!" he answered warningly. "But I got ter 'fess up ter you now de whole truf. I bin er deceivin' you 'bout myself. I'se er bad nigger, Miss Minerva, an' I hain't worthy ter be you' husban'!"
"G'long, chile, I done know dat all de time!" she laughed.
Andy walled his eyes at her uneasily, and she continued:
"But I likes ter hear ye talk humble dat a way—hit's a good sign."
He shook his head impatiently:
"But ye don't know what I means!"
"Why, of cose, I does!" she replied genially. "I always knowed dat I wuz high above ye. I'se black, but I'se pure ez de drivellin' snow. I always knowed, honey, dat ye wern't my equal. But ye can't help dat. I'se er born 'ristocrat. My mudder was er African princess. My grandmudder wuz er queen—an' I'se er cook!"
Andy stamped his foot with angry impatience;
"Yassam—but ye git dat all wrong!"
"Cose, you' Minerva understan's when ye comes along side er yo' true love dat ye feels humble——"
"Nobum! Nobum!" he broke in emphatically—"ye got dat all wrong—all wrong!" He paused, drew a chair to the table and motioned her to a seat opposite.
"Des lemme tell ye now," he continued with determined kindness. "Ye see I got ter 'fess de whole truf ter you. Tain't right ter fool ye."
Minerva seated herself, complacently murmuring:
"Yassah, dat's so, Brer Andy."
He leaned over the table and looked at her a moment solemnly:
"I gotter 'fess ter you now, Miss Minerva, dat I'se always bin a bad nigger—what dey calls er pizen bad nigger—I'se er wife beater!"
Minerva's eyes walled in amazement:
"No?"
"Yassam," he went on seriously. "When I wuz married afore I got de habit er beatin' my wife!"
"Beat her?"
Andy shook his head dolefully:
"Yassam. Hit's des lak I tell ye. I hates ter 'fess hit ter you, m'am, but I formed de habit, same ez drinkin' licker—I beat her! I des couldn't keep my hands offen her. I beat her scandalous! I pay no tenshun to her hollerin!—huh!—de louder she holler, 'pears lak de harder I beat her!"
"My, my, ain't dat terrible!" she gasped.
"Yassam——"
"Scandalous!"
"Dat it is——"
"Sinful!"
"Jes so!" he agreed sorrowfully.
"But man!" she cried ecstatically, "dat's what I calls er husband!"
"Hey?"
"Dat's de man fer me!"
He looked at her in dismay, snatched the decanter, poured himself a straight drink of whiskey, gulped it down, leaned over the table and returned to his task with renewed vigor:
"But I kin see, m'am, dat yer don't know what I means! I didn't des switch 'er wid er cowhide er de buggy whip! I got in er regular habit er lammin' her wid anything I git hold of—wid er axe handle or wid er fire shovel——"
"Well, dat's all right," Minerva interrupted admiringly. "She had de same chance ez you! I takes my chances. What I wants is er husban'—a husban' dat's got de sand in his gizzard! Dat fust husban' er mine weren't no good 'tall—nebber hit me in his life but once—slap me in de face one day, lak dat!"
She gave a contemptuous imitation of the trivial blow with the palms of her hands.
"An' what'd you do, m'am?" Andy asked with sudden suspicion.
"Nuttin' 'tall!" she said with a smile. "I des laf, haul off, kinder playful lak, an' knock 'im down wid de flatiron——"
Andy leaped to his feet and walked around the table toward the door:
"Wid de flatiron!" he repeated incredulously.
"Didn't hit 'im hard!" Minerva laughed. "But he tumble on de flo' lak er ten-pin in er bowlin' alley. I stan' dar waitin' fer 'im ter git up an' come ergin, an' what ye reckon he done?"
"I dunno, m'am," Andy sighed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
Minerva laughed joyously at the memory of the scene:
"He jump up an' run des lak er turkey! He run all de way down town, an' bless God ef he didn't buy me a new calico dress an' fotch hit home ter me. He warn't no man at all! I wuz dat sorry fer 'im an' dat ershamed er him I couldn't look 'im in de face ergin. I gits er divorce frum him——"
She paused, rose, and looked at Andy with tender admiration:
"But, Lordy, honey, you an' me's gwine ter have joyful times!"
Andy made a break for the door but she was too quick for him. With a swift swinging movement, astonishing in its rapidity for her size, she threw herself on him and her arms encircled his neck:
"I'se yo' woman an' you'se my man!" she cried with a finality that left her victim without a ray of hope. He was muttering incoherent protests when Helen's laughing voice came to his rescue:
"Oho!" she cried, with finger uplifted in a teasing gesture.
Minerva loosed her grip on Andy overwhelmed with embarrassment, while he crouched behind her figure crying:
"'Twa'n't me, Miss Helen—'twa'n't me!"
Helen continued to laugh while Andy grasped the tray and beat a hasty retreat.
Helen approached Minerva teasingly:
"Why, Aunt Minerva!"
The big, jovial black woman glanced at her:
"G'way, chile—g'way frum here!"
"Aunt Minerva, I wouldn't have thought such a thing of you!" Helen said demurely.
Minerva broke into a jolly laugh and faced her tormentor:
"Yassum, honey, I spec hit wuz all my fault. Love's such foolishness—yer knows how dat is yosef!"
A look of rapture overspread Helen's face:
"Such a sweet, wonderful foolishness, Aunt Minerva!"—she paused and her voice was trembling when she added—"It makes us all akin, doesn't it?"
"Yassam, an' I sho' is glad ter see you so happy!"
"Oh, I'm too happy, Aunt Minerva, it frightens me"—she stopped, glanced at the door, drew nearer and continued in low tones: "I've just left Tom out there on the lawn, to ask you to do something for me."
"Yassam."
"I want you to tell the major our secret to-night. He'll be proud and happy in his victory and I want him to know at once."
The black woman shook her head dubiously:
"Tell him yosef, honey!"
"But I'm afraid. The major frightens me. When I look into his deep eyes I feel that he has the power to crush the soul out of my body and that he will do it if I make him very angry."
"Dat's 'cause yer deceives him, child."
"Please tell him for us, Aunt Minerva! Oh, you've been so good to me! For the past weeks I've been in heaven. It seems only a day instead of a month since he told me his love and then it seems I've lived through all eternity since I first felt his arms about me. Sitting out there in the moonlight by his side I forget that I'm on earth, forget that there's a pain or a secret in it. I'm just in heaven. I have to pinch myself to see if it's real"—she smiled and pinched her arm—"I'm afraid I'll wake up and find it only a dream!"
"Well, yer better wake up just er minute an' tell de major—Mister Tom got ter have it out wid him."
"Yes, I know, and that's what scares me. Won't you tell him for us right away? Get him in a good humor, make him laugh, say a good word for us and then tell him. Tell him how useless it will be to oppose us. He can't hold out long against Tom, he loves him so."
"Mr. Tom want me ter tell de major ter-night? He ax yer ter see me?"
"No. He doesn't know what I came for. I just decided all of a sudden to come. I want to surprise him. He is going to tell his father himself to-night. But somehow I'm afraid, Aunt Minerva. I want you to help us. You will, won't you?"
The black woman shook her head emphatically:
"Nasah, I ain't gwine ter git mixed up in dis thing!"
"Aunt Minerva!"
"Nasah—I'se skeered!"
"Ah, please?"
"Nasah!"
"Please——"
"Na, na, na!"
"Aunt Minerva——"
"Na———"
The girl's pleading eyes were resistless and the black lips smiled:
"Cose I will, chile! Cose I will—I'll see 'im right away. I'll tell him de minute I lays my eyes on 'im."
She turned to go and ran squarely into Norton as he strode into the room. She stopped and stammered:
"Why—why—wuz yer lookin' fer me, major?"
Norton gazed at her a moment and couldn't call his mind from its painful train of thought. He spoke finally with sharp accent:
"No. I want to see Cleo."
Helen slipped behind Minerva:
"Stay and tell him now. I'll go."
"No, better wait," was her low reply, as she watched Norton furtively. "I don't like de way his eyes er spittin' fire."
Norton turned to Minerva sharply:
"Find Cleo and tell her I wish to see her immediately!"
"Yassah—yassah!" Minerva answered, nervously, whispering to Helen: "Come on, honey—git outen here—come on!"
Helen followed mechanically, glancing timidly back over her shoulder at Norton's drawn face.
Norton could scarcely control his eagerness to face the woman he loathed. Every nerve of his body tingled with the agony of his desire to be free.
He was ready for the end, no matter what she might do. The time had come in the strong man's life when compromise, conciliation, and delay were alike impossible. He cursed himself and his folly to-night that he had delayed so long. He had tried to be fair to the woman he hated. His sense of justice, personal honor, and loyalty to his pledged word, had given her the opportunity to strike him the blow she had delivered through the girl. He had been more than fair and he would settle it now for all time.
That she was afraid to meet him was only too evident from her leaving the house on his return. He smiled grimly when he recalled the effrontery with which she had defied him at their last meeting.
Her voice, sharp and angry, rang out to Andy at the back door.
Norton's strong jaw closed with a snap, and he felt his whole being quiver at the rasping sound of her familiar tones. She had evidently recovered her composure and was ready with her usual insolence.
She walked quickly into the room, and threw her head up with defiance:
"Well?"
"Why have you avoided me to-night?"
"Have I?"
"I think so."
Cleo laughed sneeringly:
"You'll think again before I'm done with you!"
She shook her head with the old bravado, but the keen eyes of the man watching saw that she was not sure of her ground.
He folded his arms and quietly began:
"For twenty years I have breathed the air poisoned by your presence. I have seen your insolence grow until you have announced yourself the mistress of my house. You knew that I was afraid of your tongue, and thought that a coward would submit in the end. Well, it's over. I've held my hand for the past four weeks until my duty to the people was done. I've been a coward when I saw the tangled web of lies and shame in which I floundered. But the past is past. I face life to-night as it is"—his voice dropped—"and I'm going to take what comes. Your rule in my house is at an end——"
"Indeed!"
"Helen leaves here to-morrow morning andyougo."
"Really?"
"I've made a decent provision for your future—which is more than you deserve. Pack your things!"
The woman threw him a look of hate and her lips curved with scorn:
"So—you have kindly allowed me to stay until your campaign was ended. Well, I've understood you. I knew that you were getting ready for me. I'm ready for you."
"And you think that I will allow you to remain in my house after what has passed between us?"
"Yes, you will," she answered smiling. "I'm not going to leave. You'll have to throw me into the street. And if you do, God may pity you, I'll not. There's one thing you fear more than a public scandal!"
Norton advanced and glared at her:
"What?"
"The hatred of the boy you idolize. I dare you to lay your hands on me to put me out of this house! And if you do, Tom will hear from my lips the story of the affair that ended in the death of his mother. I'll tell him the truth, the whole truth, and then a great deal more than the truth——"
"No doubt!" he interrupted.
"But there'll be enough truth in all I say to convince him beyond a doubt. I promise you now"—she dropped her voice to a whisper—"to lie to him with a skill so sure, so cunning, so perfect, no denial you can ever make will shake his faith in my words. He loves me and I'll make him believe me. When I finish my story he ought to kill you. There's one thing you can depend on with his high-strung and sensitive nature and the training you have given him in racial purity—when he hears my story, he'll curse you to your face and turn from you as if you were a leper. I'll see that he does this if it's the last and only thing I do on this earth!"
"And if you do——"
"Oh, I'm not afraid!" she sneered, holding his eye with the calm assurance of power. "I've thought it all over and I know exactly what to say."
He leaned close:
"Now listen! I don't want to hurt you but you'regoing out of my life. Every day while I've sheltered you in this house you have schemed and planned to drag me down again to your level. You have failed. I am not going to risk that girl's presence here another day—andyougo!"
As he spoke the last words he turned from her with a gesture of final dismissal. She tossed her head in a light laugh and calmly said:
"You're too late!"
He stopped in his tracks, his heart chilled by the queer note of triumph in her voice. Without turning or moving a muscle he asked:
"What do you mean?"
"Tom is already in love with Helen!"
He wheeled and hurled himself at her:
"What?"
"And she is desperately in love with him"—she stopped and deliberately laughed again in his face—"and I have known it for weeks!"
Another step brought his trembling figure towering over her:
"I don't believe you!" he hissed.
Cleo walked leisurely to the door and smiled:
"Ask the servants if you doubt my word." She finished with a sneer. "I begged you not to fight, major!"
He stood rooted to the spot and watched her slowly walk backward into the hall. It was a lie, of course. And yet the calm certainty with which she spoke chilled his soul as he recalled his own suspicions. He must know now without a moment's delay and he must know the whole truth without reservation.
Before he approached either Tom or Helen therewas one on whom he had always relied to tell the truth. Her honest black face had been the one comfort of his life through the years of shadow and deceit. If Minerva knew she would tell him.
He rushed to the door that led to the kitchen and called:
"Minerva!"
The answer came feebly:
"Yassah."
"Come here!"
He had controlled his emotions sufficiently to speak his last command with some degree of dignity.
He walked back to the table and waited for her coming. His brain was in a whirl of conflicting, stunning emotion. He simply couldn't face at once the appalling possibilities such a statement involved. His mind refused to accept it. As yet it was a lie of Cleo's fertile invention, and still his reason told him that such a lie could serve no sane purpose in such a crisis. He felt that he was choking. His hand involuntarily went to his neck and fumbled at his collar.
Minerva's heavy footstep was heard and he turned sharply:
"Minerva!"
"Yassah"—she answered, glancing at him timidly. Never had she seen his face so ghastly or the look in his eye so desperate. She saw that he was making an effort at self-control and knew instinctively that the happiness of the lovers was at stake. It was too solemn a moment for anything save the naked truth and her heart sank in pity and sympathy for the girl she had promised to help.
"Minerva," he began evenly, "you are the only servantin this house who has never lied to me"—he took a step closer. "Are Tom and Miss Helen lovers?"
Minerva fumbled her apron, glanced at his drawn face, looked down on the floor and stammered:
"De Lordy, major——"
"Yes or no!" he thundered.
The black woman moistened her lips, hesitated, turned her honest face on his and said tremblingly:
"Yassah, dey is!"
His eyes burned into hers:
"And you, too, have known this for weeks?"
"Yassah. Mister Tom ax me not ter tell ye——"
Norton staggered to a seat and sank with a groan of despair, repeating over and over again in low gasps the exclamation that was a sob and a prayer:
"Great God!—Great God!"
Minerva drew near with tender sympathy. Her voice was full of simple, earnest pleading:
"De Lordy, major, what's de use? Young folks is young folks, an' love's love. What ye want ter break 'em up fer—dey's so happy! Yer know, sah, ye can't mend er butterfly's wing er put er egg back in de shell. Miss Helen's young, beautiful, sweet and good—won't ye let me plead fer 'em, sah?"
With a groan of anguish Norton sprang to his feet:
"Silence—silence!"
"Yassah!"
"Go—find Miss Helen—send her to me quickly. I don't want to see Mr. Tom. I want to see her alone first."
Minerva had backed out of his way and answered plaintively:
"Yassah."
She paused and extended her hand pleadingly:
"You'll be easy wid 'em, sah?"
He hadn't heard. The tall figure slowly sank into the chair and his shoulders drooped in mortal weariness.
Minerva shook her head sadly and turned to do his bidding.
Norton's eyes were set in agony, his face white, his breast scarcely moving to breathe, as he waited Helen's coming. The nerves suddenly snapped—he bowed his face in his hands and sobbed aloud:
"Oh, dear God, give me strength! I can't—I can't confess to my boy!"
Norton made a desperate effort to pull himself together for his appeal to Helen. On its outcome hung the possibility of saving himself from the terror that haunted him. If he could tell the girl the truth and make her see that a marriage with Tom was utterly out of the question because her blood was stained with that of a negro, it might be possible to save himself the humiliation of the full confession of their relationship and of his bitter shame.
He had made a fearful mistake in not telling her this at their first interview, and a still more frightful mistake in rearing her in ignorance of the truth. No life built on a lie could endure. He was still trying desperately to hold his own on its shifting sands, but in his soul of souls he had begun to despair of the end. He was clutching at straws. In moments of sanity he realized it, but there was nothing else to do. The act was instinctive.
The girl's sensitive mind was the key to a possible solution. He had felt instinctively on the day he told her the first fact about the disgrace of her birth, vague and shadowy as he had left it, that she could never adjust herself to the certainty that negro blood flowed in her veins. He had observed that her aversion to negroes was peculiarly acute. If her love for the boywere genuine, if it belonged to the big things of the soul, and were not the mere animal impulse she had inherited from her mother, he would have a ground of most powerful appeal. Love seeks not its own. If she really loved she would sink her own life to save his.
It was a big divine thing to demand of her and his heart sank at the thought of her possible inheritance from Cleo. Yet he knew by an instinct deeper and truer than reason, that the ruling power in this sensitive, lonely creature was in the spirit, not the flesh. He recalled in vivid flashes the moments he had felt this so keenly in their first pitiful meeting. If he could win her consent to an immediate flight and the sacrifice of her own desires to save the boy! It was only a hope—it was a desperate one—but he clung to it with painful eagerness.
Why didn't she come? The minutes seemed hours and there were minutes in which he lived a life.
He rose nervously and walked toward the mantel, lifted his eyes and they rested on the portrait of his wife.
"'My brooding spirit will watch and guard!'"
He repeated the promise of her last scrawled message. He leaned heavily against the mantel, his eyes burning with an unusual brightness.
"Oh, Jean, darling," he groaned, "if you see and hear and know, let me feel your presence! Your dear eyes are softer and kinder than the world's to-night. Help me, I'm alone, heartsick and broken!"
He choked down a sob, walked back to the chair and sank in silence. His eyes were staring into space, his imagination on fire, passing in stern review the eventsof his life. How futile, childish and absurd it all seemed! What a vain and foolish thing its hope and struggles, its dreams and ambitions! What a failure for all its surface brilliance! He was standing again at the window behind the dais of the President of the Senate, watching the little drooping figure of the Governor staggering away into oblivion, and his heart went out to him in a great tenderness and pity. He longed to roll back the years that he might follow the impulse he had felt to hurry down the steps of the Capitol, draw the broken man into a sheltered spot, slip his arms about him and say:
"Who am I to judge? You're my brother—I'm sorry! Come, we'll try it again and help one another!"
The dream ended in a sudden start. He had heard the rustle of a dress at the door and knew without lifting his head that she was in the room.
Only the slightest sound had come from her dry throat, a little muffled attempt to clear it of the tightening bands. It was scarcely audible, yet his keen ear had caught it instantly, not only caught the excitement under which she was struggling, but in it the painful consciousness of his hostility and her pathetic desire to be friends.
He rose trembling and turned his dark eyes on her white uplifted face.
A feeling of terror suddenly weakened her knees. He was evidently not angry as she had feared. There was something bigger and more terrible than anger behind the mask he was struggling to draw over his mobile features.
"What has happened, major?" she asked in a subdued voice.