The dim light began to creep into the darkened brain at last. Norton's eyes opened wider and the long arms felt their way on the floor until they touched a rug and then a chair. He tried to think what had happened and why he was lying there. It seemed a dream, half feverish, half restful. His head was aching and he was very tired.
"What's the matter?" he murmured, unable to lift his head.
He was whirling through space again and the room faded. Once before in his life had he been knocked insensible. From the trenches before Petersburg in the last days of the war he had led his little band of less than five hundred ragged, half-starved, tatterdemalions in a mad charge against the line in front. A bomb from a battery on a hilltop exploded directly before them. He had been thrown into the air and landed on a heap of dead bodies, bruised and stunned into insensibility. He had waked feeling the dead limbs and wondering if they were his own.
He rubbed his hands now, first over his head, and then over each limb, to find if all were there. He felt his body to see if a bomb had torn part of it away.
And then the light of memory suddenly flashed intothe darkened mind and he drew himself to his knees and fumbled his way to a chair.
"Married? Married already!" he gasped. "O, God, it can't be true! And he said, 'married an hour before you dragged me away in that campaign'"—it was too hideous! He laughed in sheer desperation and again his brain refused to work. He pressed his hands to his forehead and looked about the room, rose, staggered to the bell and rang for Andy.
When his black face appeared, he lifted his bloodshot eyes and said feebly:
"Whiskey——"
The negro bowed:
"Yassah!"
He pulled himself together and tried to walk. He could only reel from one piece of furniture to the next. His head was on fire. He leaned again against the mantel for support and dropped his head on his arm in utter weariness:
"I must think! I must think!"
Slowly the power to reason returned.
"What can I do? What can I do?" he kept repeating mechanically, until the only chance of escape crept slowly into his mind. He grasped it with feverish hope.
If Tom had married but an hour before leaving on that campaign, he hadn't returned until to-day. But had he? It was, of course, a physical possibility. From the nearby counties, he could have ridden a swift horse through the night, reached home and returned the next day without his knowing it. It was possible, but not probable. He wouldn't believe it until he had to.
If he had married in haste the morning he had lefttown and had only rejoined Helen to-night, it was no marriage. It was a ceremony that had no meaning. In law it was void and could be annulled immediately. But if he were really married in all that word means—his mind stopped short and refused to go on.
He would cross that bridge when he came to it. But he must find out at once and he must know before he saw Tom again.
His brain responded with its old vigor under the pressure of the new crisis. One by one his powers returned and his mind was deep in its tragic problem when Andy entered the room with a tray on which stood a decanter of whiskey, a glass of water and two small empty glasses.
The negro extended the tray. Norton was staring into space and paid no attention.
Andy took one of the empty glasses and clicked it against the other. There was still no sign of recognition until he pushed the tray against Norton's arm and cleared his throat:
"Ahem! Ahem!"
The dazed man turned slowly and looked at the tray and then at the grinning negro:
"What's this?"
Andy's face kindled with enthusiasm:
"Dat is moonshine, sah—de purest mountain dew—yassah!"
"Whiskey?"
"Yassah," was the astonished reply, "de whiskey you jis ring fer, sah!"
"Take it back!"
Andy could not believe his ears. The major was certainly in a queer mood. Was he losing his mind?
There was nothing to do but obey. He bowed and turned away:
"Yassah."
Norton watched him with a dazed look and cried suddenly:
"Where are you going?"
"Back!"
"Stop!"
Andy stopped with a sudden jerk:
"Yassah!"
"Put that tray down on the table!"
The negro obeyed but watched his master out of the corners of his eye:
"Yassah!"
Again Norton forgot Andy's existence, his eyes fixed in space, his mind in a whirl of speculation in which he felt his soul and body sinking deeper. The negro was watching him with increasing suspicion and fear as he turned his head in the direction of the table.
"What are you standing there for?" he asked sharply.
"You say stop, sah."
"Well, get away—get out!" Norton cried with sudden anger.
Andy backed rapidly:
"Yassah!"
As he reached the doorway Norton's command rang so sharply that the negro spun around on one foot:
"Wait!"
"Y—yas—sah!"
The master took a step toward the trembling figure with an imperious gesture:
"Come here!"
Andy approached gingerly, glancing from side to side for the best way of retreat in case of emergency:
"What's the matter with you?" Norton demanded.
Andy laughed feebly:
"I—I—I dunno, sah; I wuz des wonderin' what's de matter wid you, sah!"
"Tell me!"
The negro's teeth were chattering as he glanced up:
"Yassah! I tell all I know, sah!"
Norton fixed him with a stern look:
"Has Tom been back here during the past four weeks?"
"Nasah!" was the surprised answer, "he bin wid you, sah!"
The voice softened to persuasive tones:
"He hasn't slipped back here even for an hour since I've been gone?"
"I nebber seed him!"
"I didn't ask you," Norton said threateningly, "whether you'd 'seed' him"—he paused and dropped each word with deliberate emphasis—"I asked you if you knew whether he'd been here?"
Andy mopped his brow and glanced at his inquisitor with terror:
"Nasah, I don't know nuttin', sah!"
"Haven't you lied to me?"
"Yassah! yassah," the negro replied in friendly conciliation. "I has pér-var-i-cated sometimes—but I sho is tellin' you de truf dis time, sah!"
The master glared at him a moment and suddenly sprang at his throat, both hands clasping his neck witha strangling grip. Andy dropped spluttering to his knees.
"You're lying to me!" Norton growled. "Out with the truth now"—his grip tightened—"out with it, or I'll choke it out of you!"
Andy grasped the tightening fingers and drew them down:
"Fer Gawd's sake, major, doan' do dat!"
"Has Tom been back here during the past weeks to see Miss Helen?"
Andy struggled with the desperate fingers:
"Doan' do dat, major—doan' do dat! I ain't holdin' nuttin' back—I let it all out, sah!"
The grip slackened:
"Then out with the whole truth!"
"Yassah. Des tell me what ye wants me ter say, sah, an' I sho say hit!"
"Bah! You miserable liar!" Norton cried in disgust, hurling him to the floor, and striding angrily from the room. "You're all in this thing, all of you! You're all in it—all in it!"
Andy scrambled to his feet and rushed to the window in time to see him hurry down the steps and disappear in the shadows of the lawn. He stood watching with open mouth and staring eyes:
"Well, 'fore de Lawd, ef he ain't done gone plum crazy!"
So intent was Andy's watch on the lawn, so rapt his wonder and terror at the sudden assault, he failed to hear Cleo's step as she entered the room, walked to his side and laid her hand on his shoulder:
"Andy——"
With a loud groan he dropped to his knees:
"De Lawd save me!"
Cleo drew back with amazement at the prostrate figure:
"What on earth's the matter?"
"Oh—oh, Lawd," he shivered, scrambling to his feet and mopping his brow. "Lordy, I thought de major got me dat time sho!"
"You thought the major had you?" Cleo cried incredulously.
Andy ran back to the window and looked out again:
"Yassam—yassam! De major try ter kill me—he's er regular maniacker—gone wild——"
"What about?"
The black hands went to his throat:
"Bout my windpipes, 'pears like!"
"What did he do?"
"Got me in degills!"
"Why?"
"Dunno," was the whispered answer as he peered out the window. "He asked me if Mr. Tom been back here in de past fo' weeks——"
"Asked if Tom had been back here?"
"Yassam!"
"What a fool question, when he's had the boy with him every day! He must have gone crazy."
"Yassam!" Andy agreed with unction as he turned back into the room and threw both hands high above his head in wild gestures. "He say we wuz all in it! Dat what he say—we wuz all in it!Allin it!"
"In what?"
"Gawd knows!" he cried, as his hands again went to his neck to feel if anything were broken, "Gawd knows, but he sho wuz gittin' inside er me!"
Cleo spoke with stern appeal:
"Well, you're a man; you'll know how to defend yourself next time, won't you?"
"Yassam!—yas, m'am!" Andy answered boldly. "Oh, I fit 'im! Don't you think I didn't fight him! I fit des lak er wild-cat—yassam!"
The woman's eyes narrowed and her voice purred:
"You're going to stand by me now?"
"Dat I is!" was the brave response.
"You'll do anything for me?"
"Yassam!"
"Defend me with your life if the major attacks me to-night?"
"Dat I will!"
Cleo leaned close:
"You'll die for me?"
"Yassam! yassam—I'lldiefer you—I'll die fer ye;of cose I'lldiefor ye! B-b-but fer Gawd's sake what ye want wid er dead nigger?"
Andy leaped back in terror as Norton's tall figure suddenly appeared in the door, his rumpled iron-gray hair gleaming in the shadows, his eyes flashing with an unnatural light. He quickly crossed the room and lifted his index finger toward Cleo:
"Just a word with you——"
The woman's hands met nervously, and she glanced at Andy:
"Very well, but I want a witness. Andy can stay."
Norton merely glanced at the negro:
"Get out!"
"Yassah!"
"Stay where you are!" Cleo commanded.
"Y—yassam"—Andy stammered, halting.
"Get out!" Norton growled.
Andy jumped into the doorway at a single bound:
"Done out, sah!"
The major lifted his hand and the negro stopped:
"Tell Minerva I want to see her."
Andy hastened toward the hall, the whites of his eyes shining:
"Yassah, but she ain't in de kitchen, sah!"
"Find her and bring her here!" Norton thundered. His words rang like the sudden peal of a gun at close quarters:
Andy jumped:
"Yassah, yassah, I fetch her! I fetch her!" As he flew through the door he repeated humbly:
"I fetch her, right away, sah—right away, sah!"
Cleo watched his cowardly desertion with lips curled in scorn.
For a while Norton stood with folded arms gazing at Cleo, his eyes smouldering fires of wonder and loathing. The woman was trembling beneath his fierce scrutiny, but he evidently had not noted the fact. His mind was busy with a bigger problem of character and the possible depths to which a human being might fall and still retain the human form. He was wondering how a man of his birth and breeding, the heir to centuries of culture and refinement, of high thinking and noble aspirations, could ever have sunk to the level of this yellow animal—this bundle of rags and coarse flesh! It was incredible! His loathing for her was surpassed by one thing only—his hatred of himself.
He was free in this moment as never before. In the fearlessness of death soul and body stood erect and gazed calmly out on time and eternity.
There was one thing about the woman he couldn't understand. That she was without moral scruple—that she was absolutely unmoral in her fundamental being—he could easily believe. In fact, he could believe nothing else. That she would not hesitate to defy every law of God or man to gain her end, he never doubted for a moment. But that a creature of her cunning and trained intelligence could deliberately destroyherself by such an act of mad revenge was unreasonable. He began dimly to suspect that her plans had gone awry. How completely she had been crushed by her own trap he could not yet guess.
She was struggling frantically now to regain her composure but his sullen silence and his piercing eyes were telling on her nerves. She was on the verge of screaming in his face when he said in low, intense tones:
"You did get even with me—didn't you?"
"Yes!"
"I didn't thinkyouquite capable of this!"
His words were easier to bear than silence. She felt an instant relief and pulled herself together with a touch of bravado:
"And now that you see I am, what are you going to do about it?"
"That's my secret," was the quiet reply. "There's just one thing that puzzles me!"
"Indeed!"
"How you could willfully and deliberately do this beastly thing?"
"For one reason only, I threw them together and brought about their love affair——"
"Revenge—yes," Norton interrupted, "but the boy—you don't hate him—you can't. You've always loved him as if he were your own——"
"Well, what of it?"
"I'm wondering——"
"What?"
His voice was low, vibrant but quiet:
"Why, if your mother instincts have always been so powerful and you've loved my boy with such devotion"—the tones quickened to sudden menace—"why youwere so willing to give up your own child that day twenty years ago?"
He held her gaze until her own fell:
"I—I—don't understand you," she said falteringly.
He seized her with violence and drew her squarely before him:
"Look at me!" he cried fiercely. "Look me in the face!" He paused until she slowly lifted her eyes to his and finally glared at him with hate. "I want to see your soul now if you've got one. There's just one chance and I'm clutching at that as a drowning man a straw."
"Well?" she asked defiantly.
Norton's words were hurled at her, each one a solid shot:
"Would you have given up that child without a struggle—if she had really been your own?"
"Why—what—do you—mean?" Cleo asked, her eyes shifting.
"You know what I mean. If Helen is really your child, why did you give her up so easily that day?"
"Why?" she repeated blankly.
"Answer my question!"
With an effort she recovered her composure:
"You know why! I was mad. I was a miserable fool. I did it because you asked it. I did it to please you, and I've cursed myself for it ever since."
Norton's grip slowly relaxed, and he turned thoughtfully away. The woman's hand went instinctively to the bruises he had left on her arms as she stepped back nearer the door and watched him furtively.
"It's possible, yes!" he cried turning again to face her suddenly. "And yet if you are human how couldyou dare defy the laws of man and God to bring about this marriage?"
"It's not a question of marriage yet," she sneered. "You've simply got to acknowledge her, that's all. That's why I brought her here. That's why I've helped their love affair. You're in my power now. You've got to tell Tom that Helen is my daughter, and yours—his half sister! Now that they're in love with one another you've got to do it!"
Norton drew back in amazement:
"You mean to tell me that you don't know that they are married?"
With a cry of surprise and terror, the woman leaped to his side, her voice a whisper:
"Married? Who says they are married?"
"Tom has just said so."
"But they are not married!" she cried hysterically. "They can't marry!"
Norton fixed her with a keen look:
"Theyaremarried!"
The woman wrung her hands nervously:
"But you can separate them if you tell them the truth. That's all you've got to do. Tell them now—tell them at once!"
Never losing the gaze with which he was piercing her soul Norton said in slow menacing tones:
"There's another way!"
He turned from her suddenly and walked toward the desk. She followed a step, trembling.
"Another way"—she repeated.
Norton turned:
"An old way brave men have always known—I'll take it if I must!"
Chilled with fear Cleo glanced in a panic about the room and spoke feebly:
"You—you—don't mean——"
Minerva and Andy entered cautiously as Norton answered:
"No matter what I mean, it's enough for you to know that I'm free—free from you—I breathe clean air at last!"
Minerva shot Cleo a look:
"Praise God!"
Cleo extended a hand in pleading:
"Major——"
"That will do now!" he said sternly. "Go!"
Cleo turned hurriedly to the door leading toward the stairs.
"Not that way!" Norton called sharply. "Tom has no further need of your advice. Go to the servants' quarters and stay there. I am the master of this house to-night!"
Cleo slowly crossed the room and left through the door leading to the kitchen, watching Norton with terror. Minerva broke into a loud laugh and Andy took refuge behind her ample form.
Minerva was still laughing at the collapse of her enemy and Andy sheltering himself behind her when a sharp call cut her laughter short:
"Minerva!"
"Yassah"—she answered soberly.
"You have been a faithful servant to me," Norton began, "you have never lied——"
"An' I ain't gwine ter begin now, sah."
He searched her black face keenly:
"Did Tom slip back here to see Miss Helen while I was away on this last trip?"
Minerva looked at Andy, fumbled with her apron, started to speak, hesitated and finally admitted feebly:
"Yassah!"
Andy's eyes fairly bulged:
"De Lordy, major, I didn't know dat, sah!"
Norton glanced at him:
"Shut up!"
"You ain't gwine ter be hard on 'em, major?" Minerva pleaded.
He ignored her interruption and went on evenly:
"How many times did he come?"
"Twice, sah."
"He sho come in de night time den!" Andy broke in. "I nebber seed 'im once!"
Norton bent close:
"How long did he stay?"
Minerva fidgeted, hesitated again and finally said:
"Once he stay about er hour——"
"And the other time?"
She looked in vain for a way of escape, the perspiration standing in beads on her shining black face:
"He stay all night, sah."
A moment of stillness followed. Norton's eyes closed, and his face became a white mask. He breathed deeply and then spoke quietly:
"You—you knew they were married?"
"Yassah!" was the quick reply. "I seed 'em married. Miss Helen axed me, sah."
Andy lifted his hands in solemn surprise and walled his eyes at Minerva:
"Well, 'fore Gawd!"
Another moment of silence and Andy's mouth was still open with wonder when a call like the crack of a revolver suddenly rang through the room:
"Andy!"
The negro dropped to his knees and lifted his hands:
"Don't do nuttin' ter me, sah! 'Fore de Lawd, major, I 'clare I nebber knowed it! Dey fool me, sah—I'd a tole you sho!"
Norton frowned:
"Shut your mouth and get up."
"Yassah!" Andy cried. "Hit's shet an' I'se up!"
He scrambled to his feet and watched his master.
"You and Minerva go down that back stairway intothe basement, fasten the windows and lock the doors."
Andy's eyes were two white moons in the shadows as he cried through chattering teeth:
"G—g—odder mighty—what—what's de matter, major?"
"Do as I tell you, quick!"
Andy dodged and leaped toward the door:
"R—right away, sah!"
"Pay no attention to anything Mr. Tom may say to you——"
"Nasah," Andy gasped. "I pay no 'tension ter nobody, sah!"
"When you've fastened everything below, do the same on this floor and come back here—I want you."
"Y-y-yas—sah! R-r-r-right a-way, sah!"
Andy backed out, beckoning frantically to Minerva. She ignored him and watched Norton as he turned toward a window and looked vaguely out. As Andy continued his frantic calls she slipped to the doorway and whispered:
"G'long! I be dar in er minute. You po' fool, you can't talk nohow. You're skeered er de major. I'm gwine do my duty now, I'm gwine ter tell him sumfin' quick——"
Norton wheeled on her with sudden fury:
"Do as I tell you! Do as I tell you!"
Minerva dodged at each explosion, backing away. She paused and extended her hand pleadingly:
"Can't I put in des one little word, sah?"
"Not another word!" he thundered, advancing on her—"Go!"
"Yassah!"
"Go! I tell you!"
Dodging again, she hurried below to join Andy. Norton turned back into the room and stood staring at something that gleamed with sinister brightness from the top of the little writing desk. An electric lamp with crimson shade seemed to focus every ray of light on the shining steel and a devil in the shadows pointed a single finger and laughed:
"It's ready—just where you laid it!"
He took a step toward the desk, stopped and gripped the back of the settee, steadied himself, and glared at the thing with fascination. He walked unsteadily to the chair in front of the desk and stared again. His hand moved to grasp the revolver and hesitated. And then, the last thought of pity strangled, he gripped the handle, lifted it with quick familiar touch, grasped the top clasp, loosed the barrel, threw the cylinder open and examined the shells, dropped them into his hand and saw that there were no blanks. One by one he slowly replaced them, snapped the cylinder in place and put the weapon in his pocket.
He glanced about the room furtively, walked to each of the tall French windows, closed the shutters and carefully drew the heavy draperies. He turned the switch of the electric lights, extinguishing all in the room save the small red one burning on the desk. He would need that in a moment.
He walked softly to the foot of the stairs and called:
"Tom!"
Waiting and receiving no answer he called again:
"Tom! Tom!"
A door opened above and the boy answered:
"Well?"
"Just a word, my son," the gentle voice called.
"I've nothing to say, sir! We're packing our trunks to leave at once."
"Yes, yes, I understand," the father answered tenderly. "You're going, of course, and it can't be helped—but just a minute, my son; we must say good-by in a decent way, you know—and—I've something to show you before you go"—the voice broke—"you—won't try to leave without seeing me?"
There was a short silence and the answer came in friendly tones:
"I'll see you. I'll be down in a few minutes."
The father murmured:
"Thank God!"
He hurried back to the library, unlocked a tiny drawer in the desk, drew out a plain envelope from which he took the piece of paper on which was scrawled the last message from the boy's mother. His hand trembled as he read and slowly placed it in a small pigeon-hole.
He took his pen and began to write rapidly on a pad of legal cap paper.
While he was still busy with his writing, in obedience to his orders, Andy and Minerva returned. They stopped at the doorway and peeped in cautiously before entering. Astonished and terrified to find the room so dimly lighted they held a whispered conference in the hall:
"Better not go in dar, chile!" Andy warned.
"Ah, come on, you fool!" Minerva insisted. "He ain't gwine ter hurt us!"
"I tell ye he's wild—he's gone crazy, sho's yer born! I kin feel dem fingers playin' on my windpipe now!"
"What's he doin' dar at dat desk?" Minerva asked.
"He's writin' good-by ter dis world, I'm tellin' ye, an' hit's time me an' you wuz makin' tracks!"
"Ah, come on!" the woman urged.
Andy hung back and shook his head:
"Nasah—I done bin in dar an' got my dose!"
"You slip up behin' him an' see what he's writin'," Minerva suggested.
"Na, you slip up!"
"You're de littlest an' makes less fuss," she argued.
"Yes, but you'se de biggest an' you las' de longest in er scrimmage——"
"Ah, go on!" she commanded, getting behind Andy and suddenly pushing him into the room.
He rushed back into her arms, but she pushed him firmly on:
"G'long, I tell ye, fool, an' see what he's doin'. I back ye up."
Andy balked and she pressed him another step:
"G'long!"
He motioned her to come closer, whispering:
"Ef yer gwine ter stan' by me, for de Lawd's sake stan' by me—don't stan' by de do'!"
Seeing that retreat was cut off and he was in for it, the negro picked his way cautiously on tip-toe until he leaned over the chair and tried to read what his master was writing.
Norton looked up suddenly:
"Andy!"
He jumped in terror:
"I—I—didn't see nuttin', major! Nasah! I nebber seed a thing, sah!"
Norton calmly lifted his head and looked into theblack face that had been his companion so many years:
"I want you to see it!"
"Oh!" Andy cried with surprised relief, "you wants me to see hit"—he glanced at Minerva and motioned her to come nearer. "Well, dat's different, sah. Yer know I wouldn't er tried ter steal er glimpse of it ef I'd knowed ye wuz gwine ter show it ter me. I allers is er gemman, sah!"
Norton handed him the paper:
"I taught you to read and write, Andy. You can do me a little service to-night—read that!"
"Yassah—yassah," he answered, pompously, adjusting his coat and vest. He held the paper up before him, struck it lightly with the back of his hand and cleared his throat:
"Me an' you has bin writin' fer de newspapers now 'bout fifteen years—yassah"—he paused and hurriedly read the document. "Dis yo' will, sah? An' de Lawd er mussy, 'tain't more'n ten lines. An' dey hain't nary one er dem whereases an' haremditaments aforesaids, like de lawyers puts in dem in de Cote House—hit's des plain writin"—he paused again—"ye gives de house, an' ten thousand dollars ter Miss Helen an' all yer got ter de Columnerzation Society ter move de niggers ter er place er dey own!"—he paused again and walled his eyes at Minerva. "What gwine come er Mr. Tom?"
Norton's head sank:
"He'll be rich without this! Sign your name here as a witness," he said shortly, picking up the pen.
Andy took the pen, rolled up his sleeve carefully, bent over the desk, paused and scratched his head:
"Don't yer think, major, dat's er terrible pile er money ter fling loose 'mongst er lot er niggers?"
Norton's eyes were dreaming again and Andy went on insinuatingly: "Now, wouldn't hit be better, sah, des ter pick out one goodreliablenigger dat yer knows pussonally—an' move him?"
Norton looked up impatiently:
"Sign it!"
"Yassah! Cose, sah, you knows bes', sah, but 'pears ter me lak er powerful waste er good money des flingin' it broadcast!"
Norton lifted his finger warningly and Andy hastened to sign his name with a flourish of the pen. He looked at it admiringly:
"Dar now! Dey sho know dat's me! I practise on dat quereque two whole mont's——"
Norton folded the will, placed it in an envelope, addressed it and lifted his drawn face:
"Tell the Clerk of the Court that I executed this will to-night and placed it in this desk"—his voice became inaudible a moment and went on—"Ask him to call for it to-morrow and record it for me."
Minerva, who had been listening and watching with the keenest interest, pressed forward and asked in a whisper:
"Yassah, but whar's you gwine ter be? You sho ain't gwine ter die ter-night?"
Norton quietly recovered himself and replied angrily:
"Do I look as if I were dying?"
"Nasah!—But ain't dey no way dat I kin help ye, major? De young folks is gwine ter leave, sah——"
"They are not going until I'm ready!" was the grim answer.
"Nasah, but dey's gwine," the black woman replied tenderly. "Ye can't stop 'em long. Lemme plead fur'em, sah! You wuz young an' wild once, major"—the silvery gray head sank low and the white lips quivered—"you take all yer money frum Mister Tom—what he care fer dat now wid love singin' in his heart? Young folks is young folks——"
Norton lifted his head and stared as in a dream.
"Won't ye hear me, sah? Can't I go upstairs an' speak de good word ter Mister Tom now an' tell him hit's all right?"
A sudden idea flashed into Norton's mind.
The ruse would be the surest and quickest way to get Tom into the room alone.
"Yes, yes," he answered, glancing at her. "You can say that to him now——"
Minerva laughed:
"I kin go right up dar to his room now an' tell 'im dat you're er waitin' here wid yer arms open an' yer heart full er love an' fergiveness?"
"Yes, go at once"—he paused—"and keep Miss Helen there a few minutes. I want to see him first—you understand——"
"Yassah! yassah!" Minerva cried, hastening to the door followed by Andy. "I understands, I understands"—she turned on Andy. "Ye hear dat, you fool nigger? Ain't I done tole you dat hit would all come out right ef I could des say de good word? Gloree! We gwine ter hab dat weddin' all over agin! You des wait till yer seen dat cake I gwine ter bake——"
With a quick turn she was about to pass through the door when Andy caught her sleeve:
"Miss Minerva!"
"Yas, honey!"
"Miss Minerva," he repeated, nervously glancing atNorton, "fer Gawd's sake don't you leave me now! You'se de only restful pusson in dis house!"
With a triumphant laugh Minerva whispered:
"I'll be right back in a minute, honey!"
Norton had watched with apparent carelessness until Minerva had gone. He sprang quickly to his feet, crossed the room and spoke in an excited whisper:
"Andy!"
"Yassah!"
"Go down to that front gate and stay there. Turn back anybody who tries to come in. Don't you allow a soul to enter the lawn."
"I'll do de best I kin, sah," he replied hastening toward the door.
Norton took an angry step toward him:
"You do exactly as I tell you, sir!"
Andy jumped and replied quickly:
"Yassah, but ef dem serenaders come back here you know dey ain't gwine pay no 'tensun ter no nigger talkin' to 'em—dat's what dey er celebratin' erbout——"
Norton frowned and was silent a moment:
"Say that I ask them not to come in."
"I'll tell 'em, sah, but I spec I'll hatter climb er tree 'fore I explains hit to 'em—but I tell 'em, sah—yassah."
As Andy slowly backed out, Norton said sternly:
"I'll call you when I want you. Stay until I do!"
"Yassah," Andy breathed softly as he disappeared trembling and wondering.
Norton walked quickly to the window, drew back the draperies, opened the casement and looked out to see if Andy were eavesdropping. He watched the lazy figure cross the lawn, glancing back at the house. The full moon, at its zenith, was shining in a quiet glory, uncanny in its dazzling brilliance.
He stood drinking in for the last time the perfumed sweetness and languor of the Southern night. His senses seemed supernaturally acute. He could distinctly note the odors of the different flowers that were in bloom on the lawn. A gentle breeze was blowing from the path across the old rose garden. The faint, sweet odor of the little white carnations his mother had planted along the walks stole over his aching soul and he was a child again watching her delicate hands plant them, while grumbling slaves protested at the soiling of her fingers. She was looking up with a smile saying:
"I love to plant them. I feel that they are my children then, and I'm making the world sweet and beautiful through them!"
Had he made the world sweeter and more beautiful?
He asked himself the question sternly.
"God knows I've tried for twenty years—and it has come to this!"
The breeze softened, the odor of the pinks grew; fainter and the strange penetrating smell of the hedge of tuberoses swept in from the other direction with the chill of Death in its breath.
His heart rose in rebellion. It was too horrible, such an end of life! He was scarcely forty-nine years old. Never had the blood pulsed through his veins with stronger throb and never had his vision of life seemed clearer and stronger than to-day when he had faced those thousands of cheering men and hinted for the first time his greater plans for uplifting the Nation's life.
The sense of utter loneliness overwhelmed his soul. The nearest being in the universe whose presence he could feel was the dead wife and mother.
His eye rested on the portrait tenderly:
"We're coming, dearest, to-night!"
For the first time his spirit faced the mystery of eternity at close range. He had long speculated in theories of immortality and brooded over the problem of the world that lies but a moment beyond the senses.
He had clasped hands with Death now and stood face to face, calm and unafraid. His mind quickened with the thought of the strange world into which he would be ushered within an hour. Would he know and understand? Or would the waves of oblivion roll over the prostrate body without a sign? It couldn't be! The hunger of immortality was too keen for doubt. He would see and know! The cry rose triumphant within. He refused to perish with the moth and worm. The baser parts of his being might die—the nobler must live. There could be no other meaning to this sublimely cruel and mad decision to kill the body ratherthan see it dishonored. His eye caught the twinkle of a star through the branches of a tree-top. His feet would find the pathway among those shining worlds! There could be no other meaning to the big thing that throbbed and ached within and refused to be content to whelp and stable here as a beast of the field. Pride, Honor, Aspiration, Prayer, meant this or nothing!
"I've made blunders here," he cried, "but I'm searching for the light and I'll find the face of God!"
The distant shouts of cheering hosts still celebrating in the Square brought his mind to earth with a sickening shock. He closed the windows, and drew the curtains. His hands clutched the velvet hangings in a moment of physical weakness and he steadied himself before turning to call Tom.
Recovering his composure in a measure, his hand touched the revolver in his pocket, the tall figure instinctively straightened and he walked rapidly toward the hall. He had barely passed the centre of the room when the boy's voice distinctly echoed from the head of the stairs:
"I'll be back in a minute, dear!"
He heard the door of Helen's room close softly and the firm step descend the stairs. The library door opened and closed quickly, and Tom stood before him, his proud young head lifted and his shoulders squared. The dignity and reserve of conscious manhood shone in every line of his stalwart body and spoke in every movement of face and form.
"Well, sir," he said quietly. "It's done now and it can't be helped, you know."
Norton was stunned by the sudden appearance of the dear familiar form. His eyes were dim with unshedtears. It was too hideous, this awful thing he had to do! He stared at him piteously and with an effort walked to his side, speaking in faltering tones that choked between the words:
"Yes, it's done now—and it can't be helped"—he strangled and couldn't go on—"I—I—have realized that, my son—but I—I have an old letter from your mother—that I wanted to show you before you go—you'll find it on the desk there."
He pointed to the desk on which burned the only light in the room.
The boy hesitated, pained by the signs of deep anguish in his father's face, turned and rapidly crossed the room.
The moment his back was turned, Norton swiftly and silently locked the door, and with studied carelessness followed.
The boy began to search for the letter:
"I don't see it, sir."
The father, watching him with feverish eyes, started at his voice, raised his hand to his forehead and walked quickly to his side:
"Yes, I—I—forgot—I put it away!"
He dropped limply into the chair before the desk, fumbled among the papers and drew the letter from the pigeon-hole in which he had placed it.
He held it in his hand, shaking now like a leaf, and read again the scrawl that he had blurred with tears and kisses. He placed his hand on the top of the desk, rose with difficulty and looked for Tom. The boy had moved quietly toward the table. The act was painfully significant of their new relations. The sense of alienation cut the broken man to the quick. He could scarcelysee as he felt his way to the boy's side and extended the open sheet of paper without a word.
Tom took the letter, turned his back on his father and read it in silence.
"How queer her handwriting!" he said at length.
Norton spoke in strained muffled tones:
"Yes—she—she was dying when she scrawled that. The mists of the other world were gathering about her. I don't think she could see the paper"—the voice broke, he fought for self-control and then went on—"but every tiny slip of her pencil, each little weak hesitating mark etched itself in fire on my heart"—the voice stopped and then went on—"you can read them?"
"Yes."
The father's long trembling finger traced slowly each word:
"'Remember that I love you and have forgiven——'"
"Forgiven what?" Tom interrupted.
Norton turned deadly pale, recovered himself and began in a low voice:
"You see, boy, I grew up under the old régime. Like a lot of other fellows with whom I ran, I drank, gambled and played the devil—you know what that meant in those days——"
"No, I don't," the boy interrupted. "That's just what I don't know. I belong to a new generation. And you've made a sort of exception of me even among the men of to-day. You taught me to keep away from women. I learned the lesson. I formed clean habits, and so I don't know just what you mean by that. Tell me plainly."
"It's hard to say it to you, my boy!" the older man faltered.
"I want to know it."
"I—I mean that twenty years ago it was more common than now for youngsters to get mixed up with girls of negroid blood——"
The boy shrank back:
"You!—great God!"
"Yes, she came into my life at last—a sensuous young animal with wide, bold eyes that knew everything and was not afraid. That sentence means the shame from which I've guarded you with such infinite care——"
He paused and pointed again to the letter, tracing its words:
"'Rear our boy free from the curse!'—you—you—see why I have been so desperately in earnest?"—Norton bent close with pleading eagerness: "And that next sentence, there, you can read it? 'I had rather a thousand times that he should die than this—My brooding spirit will watch and guard'"—he paused and repeated—"'that he should die'—you—you—see that?"
The boy looked at his father's trembling hand and into his glittering eyes with a start:
"Yes, yes, but, of course, that was only a moment's despair—no mother could mean such a thing."
Norton's eyes fell, he moved uneasily, tried to speak again and was silent. When he began his words were scarcely audible:
"We must part now in tenderness, my boy, as father and son—we—we—must do that you know. You—you forgive me for striking you to-night?"
Tom turned away, struggled and finally answered:
"No."
The father followed eagerly:
"Tell me that it's all right!"
The boy's hand nervously fumbled at the cloth on the table:
"I—I—am glad I didn't do something worse!"
"Say that you forgive me! Why is it so hard?"
Tom turned his back:
"I don't know, Dad, I try, but—I—just can't!"
The father's hand touched the boy's arm timidly:
"You can never understand, my son, how my whole life has been bound up in you! For years I've lived, worked, and dreamed and planned for you alone. In your young manhood I've seen all I once hoped to be and have never been. In your love I've found the healing of a broken heart. Many a night I've gone out there alone in that old cemetery, knelt beside your mother's grave and prayed her spirit to guide me that I might at least lead your little feet aright——"
The boy moved slightly and the father's hand slipped limply from his, he staggered back with a cry of despair, and fell prostrate on the lounge:
"I can endure anything on this earth but your hate, my boy! I can't endure that—I can't—even for a moment!"
His form shook with incontrollable grief as he lay with his face buried in his outstretched arms.
The boy struggled with conflicting pride and love, looked at the scrawled, tear-stained letter he still held in his hand and then at the bowed figure, hesitated a moment, and rushed to his father's side, knelt and slipped his arm around the trembling figure:
"It's all right, Dad! I'll not remember—a single tear from your eyes blots it all out!"
The father's hand felt blindly for the boy's and grasped it desperately:
"You won't remember a single harsh word that I've said?"
"No—no—it's all right," was the soothing answer, as he returned the pressure.
Norton looked at him long and tenderly:
"How you remind me ofherto-night! The deep blue of your eyes, the trembling of your lips when moved, your little tricks of speech, the tear that quivers on your lash and never falls and the soul that's mirrored there"—he paused and stroked the boy's head—"and her hair, the beaten gold of honeycomb!"
His head sank and he was silent.
The boy again pressed his hand tenderly and rose, drawing his father to his feet:
"I'm sorry to have hurt you, Dad. I'm sorry that we have to go—good-by!"
He turned and slowly moved toward the door. Norton slipped his right hand quickly to the revolver, hesitated, his fingers relaxed and the deadly thing dropped back into his pocket as he sank to his seat with a groan:
"Wait! Wait, Tom!"
The boy stopped.
"I—I've got to tell it to you now!" he went on hoarsely. "I—I tried to save you this horror—but I couldn't—the way was too hard and cruel."
Tom took a step and looked up in surprise:
"The way—what way?"
"I couldn't do it," the father cried. "I just couldn't—and so I have to tell you."
The boy spoke with sharp eagerness:
"Tell me what?"
"Now that I know you are married in all that word means and I have failed to save you from it—I must give you the proofs that you demand. I must prove to you that Helenisa negress——"
A sudden terror crept into the young eyes:
"You—you have the proofs?"
"Yes!" the father nodded, placing his hand on his throat and fighting for breath. He took a step toward the boy, and whispered:
"Cleo—is—her mother!"
Tom flinched as if struck a blow. The red blood rushed to his head and he blanched with a death-like pallor:
"And you have been afraid of Cleo?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The father's head was slowly lowered and his hands moved in the slightest gesture of dumb confession.
A half-articulate, maniac cry and the boy grasped him with trembling hands, screaming in his face:
"God in Heaven, let me keep my reason for just a moment!—So—you—are—Helen's——"
The bowed head sank lower.
"Father!"
Tom reeled, and fell into a chair with a groan:
"Lord have mercy on my lost soul!"
Norton solemnly lifted his eyes:
"God's full vengeance has fallen at last! You have married your own——"
The boy sprang to his feet covering his face:
"Don't! Don't! Helen doesn't know?"
"No."
"She mustn't!" he shivered, looking wildly at his father. "But why, why—oh, dear God, why didn't you kill me before I knew!"
He sank back into the chair, his arms outstretched across the table, his face hidden in voiceless shame.
The father slowly approached the prostrate figure, bent low and tenderly placed his cheek against the blonde head, soothing it with trembling touch. For a long while he remained thus, with no sound breaking the stillness save the sobs that came from the limp form.
And then Norton said brokenly:
"I tried, my boy, to end it for us both without your knowing just now when your back was turned, but I couldn't. It seemed too cowardly and cruel! I just couldn't"—he paused, slowly drew the revolver from his pocket and laid it on the table.
The boy felt the dull weight of the steel strike the velvet cover and knew what had been done without lifting his head.
"Now you know," the father added, "what we both must do."
Tom rose staring at the thing on the dark red cloth, and lifted his eyes to his father's.
"Yes, and hurry! Helen may come at any moment."
He had barely spoken when the knob of the door turned. A quick knock was heard at the same instant and Helen's voice rang through the hall:
"Tom! Tom!"
Norton grasped the pistol, thrust it under the table-cover and pressed the boy toward the door:
"Quick! Open it, at once!"
Tom stared in a stupor, unable to move until his father shook his arm:
"Quick—open it—let her in a moment—it's best."
He opened the door and Helen sprang in breathlessly.
Norton had dropped into a seat with apparent carelessness, while Tom stood immovable, his face a mask.
The girl looked quickly from one to the other, her breath coming in quick gasps.
She turned to Tom:
"Why did you lock the door—what does it mean?"
Norton hastened to answer, his tones reassuringly simple:
"Why, only that we wished to be alone for a few moments——"
"Yes, we understand each other now," Tom added.
Helen's eyes flashed cautiously from one to the other:
"I heard a strange noise"—she turned to the boy—"and, oh, Tom, darling, I was so frightened! I thought I heard a struggle and then everything became so still. I was wild—I couldn't wait any longer!"
"Why, it was really nothing," Tom answered her bravely smiling. "We—we did have a little scene, and lost our temper for a moment, but you can see for yourself it's all right now. We've thrashed the whole thing out and have come to a perfect understanding!"
His words were convincing but not his manner. He hadn't dared to look her in the face. His eyes were on the rug and his foot moved nervously.
"You are not deceiving me?" she asked trembling.
The boy appealed to his father:
"Haven't we come to a perfect understanding, Dad?"
Norton rose:
"Perfect, my son. It's all right, now, Helen."
"Just wait for me five minutes, dear," Tom pleaded.
"Can't I hear what you have to say?"
"We prefer to be alone," the father said gravely.
Again her eyes flashed from one to the other and rested on Tom. She rushed to him and laid her hand appealingly on his arm:
"Oh, Tom, dear, am I not your wife?" the boy's head drooped—"must you have a secret from me now?"
"Just a few minutes," Norton pleaded, "that's a good girl!"
"Only a few minutes, Helen," Tom urged.
"Please let me stay. Why were you both so pale when I came in?"
Father and son glanced at each other over her head. Norton hesitated and said:
"You see we are perfectly calm now. All bitterness is gone from our hearts. We are father and son again."
"Why do you look so queerly at me? Why do you look so strangely at each other?"
"It's only your imagination, dear," Tom said.
"No, there's something wrong," Helen declared desperately. "I feel it in the air of this room—in the strange silence between you. For God's sake tell me what it means! Surely, I have the right to know"—she turned suddenly to Norton—"You don't hate me now, do you, major?"
The somber brown eyes rested on her in a moment of intense silence and he slowly said:
"I have never hated you, my child!"
"Then what is it?" she cried in anguish, turning again to Tom. "Tell me what I can do to help you! I'll obey you, dearest, even if it's to lay my life down. Don't send me away. Don't keep this secret from me. I feel its chill in my heart. My place is by your side—tell me how I can help you!"
Tom looked at her intently:
"You say that you will obey me?"
"Yes—you are my lord and master!"
He seized her hand and led her to the door
"Then wait for me just five minutes."
She lifted her head pleadingly:
"You will let me come to you then?"
"Yes."
"You won't lock the door again?"
"Not now."
While Tom stood immovable, with a lingering look of tenderness she turned and passed quickly from the room.
He closed the door softly, steadied himself before loosing the knob and turned to his father in a burst of sudden rebellion:
"Oh, Dad! It can't be true! It can't be true! I can't believe it. Did you look at her closely again?"
Norton drew himself wearily to his feet and spoke with despairing certainty:
"Yes, yes, as I've looked at her a hundred times with growing wonder."
"She's not like you——"
"No more than you, my boy, and yet you're bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh—it can't be helped——"
He paused and pointed to the revolver:
"Give it to me!"
The boy started to lift the cloth and the father caught his arm:
"But first—before you do," he faltered. "I want you to tell me now with your own lips that you forgive me for what I must do—and then I think, perhaps, I can—say it!"
Their eyes met in a long, tender, searching gaze:
"I forgive you," he softly murmured.
"Now give it to me!" the father firmly said, stepping back and lifting his form erect.
The boy felt for the table, fumbled at the cloth, caught the weapon and slowly lifted it toward his father's extended hand. He opened his eyes, caught the expression of agony in the drawn face, the fingers relaxed and the pistol fell to the floor. He threw himself blindly on his father, his arms about his neck:
"Oh, Dad, it's too hard! Wait—wait—just a moment!"
The father held him close for a long while. His voice was very low when he spoke at last:
"There's no appeal, my boy! The sin of your father is full grown and has brought forth death. Yet I was not all to blame. We are caught to-night in the grip of the sins of centuries. I tried to give my life to the people to save the children of the future. My shame showed me the way as few men could have seen it, and I have set in motion forces that can never be stopped. Others will complete the work that I have begun. But our time has come——"
"Yes, yes, I understand!"
The father's arms pressed the son in a last long embrace:
"What an end to all my hopes! Oh, my boy, heart of my heart!"
Tom's hand slowly slipped down and caught his father's:
"Good-by, Dad!"
Norton held the clasp with lingering tenderness as the boy slowly drew away, measured four steps and calmly folded his arms, his head erect, his broad young shoulders squared and thrown far back.
Cleo, who had crept into the hall, stood behind the curtains of the inner door watching the scene with blanched face.
The father walked quickly to the revolver, picked it up, turned and lifted it above his head.
With a smothered cry Cleo sprang into the room—but she was too late. Norton had quickly dropped the pistol to the level of the eye and fired.
A tiny red spot flamed on the white skin of the boy's forehead, the straight figure swayed, and pitched forward face down on the rug.
The woman staggered back, cowering in the shadows.
The father knelt beside the quivering form, clasped his left hand in Tom's, placed the revolver to his temple and fired. The silver-gray head sank slowly against the breast of the boy as a piercing scream from Helen's lips rang through the silent hall.