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diff --git a/old/30291.txt b/old/30291.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0986f75 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30291.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15514 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Kildares of Storm, by Eleanor Mercein Kelly, +Illustrated by Alonzo Kimball + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Kildares of Storm + + +Author: Eleanor Mercein Kelly + + + +Release Date: October 20, 2009 [eBook #30291] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KILDARES OF STORM*** + + +E-text prepared by David Garcia, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page +images generously made available by Kentuckiana Digital Library +(http://kdl.kyvl.org/) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 30291-h.htm or 30291-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30291/30291-h/30291-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30291/30291-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Kentuckiana Digital Library. See + http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;view=toc;idno=b92-228-31183707 + + + + + +KILDARES OF STORM + +by + +ELEANOR MERCEIN KELLY + +With Frontispiece by Alonzo Kimball + + + + + + + +New York +The Century Co. +1916 + +Copyright, 1916, by +The Century Co. + +Published, October, 1916 + + + + +TO AN UNFORGOTTEN MOTHER +Who moulded for others than her daughter +the standard of great womanhood + + +[Illustration: But for once Jacqueline of the eager lips turned her +cheek, so that her mother's kiss should not disturb the memory of +certain others] + + + + +KILDARES OF STORM + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Along a pleasant Kentucky road that followed nature rather than art in +its curves and meanderings, straying beside a brook awhile before it +decided to cross, lingering in cool, leafy hollows, climbing a sudden +little hill to take a look out over the rolling countryside--along this +road a single-footing mare went steadily, carrying a woman who rode +cross-saddle, with a large china vase tucked under one arm. + +People in an approaching automobile stopped talking to stare at her. She +returned their gaze calmly, while the startled mare made some effort to +climb a tree, thought better of it, and sidled by with a tremulous +effort at self-control. A man in the machine lifted his hat with some +eagerness. The woman inclined her head as a queen might acknowledge the +plaudits of the multitude. + +After they passed, comments were audible. + +"What a stunner! Who is she, Jack?" The voice was masculine. + +"Riding cross-saddle! Jack, do you know her?" The voice was feminine. + +The answer was lower, but the woman on horseback heard it. "Of course I +know her, or used to. It is the woman I was telling you about, the +famous Mrs. Kildare of Storm." + +Mrs. Kildare's color did not change as she rode on. Perhaps her lips +tightened a little; otherwise the serenity of her face was unaltered. +Serenity, like patience, is a thing that must be won, a habit of mind +not easily to be broken. She reminded herself that since the invasion of +automobiles she must expect often to encounter people who had known her +before. + +Her eyes, keen and gray and slightly narrowed, like all eyes that are +accustomed to gaze across wide spaces, turned from side to side with +quick, observant glances. Negroes, "worming" tobacco in a field, bent to +their work as she passed with a sudden access of zeal. + +"That's right, boys," she called, smiling. "The Madam sees you!" + +The negroes guffawed sheepishly in answer. + +A certain warmth was in her gaze as she looked about, her, something +deeper than mere pride of possession. Her feeling for the land she owned +was curiously maternal. "My dear fields," she sometimes said to herself. +"My cattle, my trees"; and even, "my birds, my pretty, fleecy clouds up +there." + +When she came to a certain cornfield, acres of thrifty stalks standing +their seven feet and more, green to the roots, plumes nodding proudly in +the breeze, she faced her mare about and saluted, as an officer might +salute his regiment. + +A chuckle sounded from the other side of the road. On a bank almost +level with her head a young man lay under a beech-tree, watching her +with kindling eyes, as he had watched her ever since she rode into +sight. "Miss Kate, Miss Kate, when are you going to grow up and give +those girls of yours a chance?" + +Her surprised blush took all the maturity out of her face. She might +have been twenty. "Spying on me as usual, Philip! Well, why shouldn't I +salute this corn of mine? It certainly serves me nobly." + +He came down from the bank and stood beside her; a stalwart young man in +shabby riding-boots and a clerical collar, with eyes surprisingly blue +in a dark, aquiline, un-Anglo-Saxon face. They were filled just now with +a look that made the lady blush again. + +He was thinking (no new thought to Kentuckians) that of all the products +of his great commonwealth, nothing equalled such women as this before +him. Erect, deep-bosomed, with the warm brown flush of her cheeks, her +level gaze, her tender mouth with the deep corners that mean humor--Kate +Kildare, from girlhood to old age, would find in eyes that gazed on her +the unconscious tribute that many women never know, and for that reason +happily do not miss. But the vital quality of her beauty was not a +matter of color, or form, or feature. It was a thing that had come to +her since her first youth, a glow from within, the sort of spiritual +fire at which a friend may warm himself. If happiness is a great +beautifier, Philip Benoix believed he knew of one greater: sorrow. + +"Well, well?" she demanded, laughing. "What are you staring at, boy? Why +are you ogling me in that sentimental fashion? Have you mistaken me +for--Jacqueline, perhaps?" + +If she hoped to embarrass him in turn, she was disappointed. He shook +his head. "If I were to ogle Jacqueline sentimentally, she'd slap me. +Miss Kate," he added, "don't you know that saluting your corn was just +your pagan way of thanking God? Why not come to church and do it +properly?" + +"You may just as well give it up. I shall never go to church. I don't +like church, so there! Stop talking shop, and come home to supper with +me. What are you doing here, anyway, lolling about like a man of +leisure, as if there were no souls to be saved?" + +"I was lying in wait for yours. I knew you were out on a tour of +inspection, and bound to pass this way." + +"Did you want to see me especially?" + +"I always do." + +She flicked him with her riding-crop, "You're more Irish than French +to-day! And where's your horse?" + +"Well, old Tom seemed so comfortable and tired, munching away in his +stall, that I hadn't the heart--" + +"So you walked. Of course _you_ weren't tired! Oh, Phil, Phil, you are +your father's own son; too soft-hearted for this 'miserable and naughty +world.' It won't be able to resist taking a whack at you." + +A little silence fell between them. Both were thinking of a man who was +no longer quite of this miserable and naughty world. + +"Take my stirrup and trot along beside me, boy," she said. "We'll go +faster that way. I wish you were still small enough to climb up behind +me as you used to do--remember?" + +His face suddenly quivered. "Are you asking me if I remember!--You have +never let me tell you how well I remember, nor what your kindness meant +to me, in those first days"--He spoke haltingly, yet with a sudden rush, +as men speak whose hearts are full. "I was the loneliest little chap in +the world, I think. Father and I had always been such friends. They +tried to be kind, there at school; but they acted as if I were something +strange; they watched me. I knew they were pitying me, remembering +father, studying me for signs of inheritance. The son of a 'killer.' It +was a dangerous time for a boy to be going through alone.... And then +you came and brought me home with you; made me play with those babies of +yours, took me with you wherever you went, read with me and discussed +things with me as if I were an equal, talked to me about father, too. Do +you think I don't know all it meant to you? Do you think I did not +realize, even then, what people were saying?" + +"I have never been much afraid," said Kate Kildare quietly, "of what +people were saying." + +"No. And because of you, I dared not be afraid, either. Because of you I +knew that I must stay and make my fight here, here where my father had +failed. Oh, Kate Kildare, whatever manhood I may have I owe--" + +"To your father," she said. + +"Perhaps. But whatever good there is in me, you kept alive." + +"Dear, dear! And that's why," she cried, with an attempt at lightness, +"you feel it your duty to strike attitudes in your pulpit and keep the +good alive in the rest of us?" + +"That's why," he said, soberly, "But not you, Miss Kate. I do not preach +to you. No man alive is good enough to preach to you." + +"Good Heavens! When you have just been doing it!" Her laugh was rather +tremulous. "What is this--a declaration? Are you making love to me, +boy?" + +He nodded without speaking. + +The flush and the laughter died out of her face, leaving it very pale. +"Look here," she said haltingly, "I'd like to accept your hero-worship, +dear--it's sweet. But--If I've not been a very good woman, at least +I've always been an honest one. You said even at that time you realized +what people were saying. Did it never occur to you that what they +said--might be true?" + +He met her gaze unfalteringly. "I know you," he answered. + +Her eyes went dim. Blindly she stooped and drew his head to her and +kissed him. + +At that moment a plaintive negro voice spoke close at hand. "Gawd sakes, +Miss Kate, whar you gwine at wif my prize? Huccom you took'n hit away +fum me?" + +Unnoticed, an old, shambling negro had approached across the field, and +was gazing in wide-eyed dismay at the china vase under her arm. + +Mrs. Kildare welcomed the interruption. She did not often encourage her +emotions. + +"Aha! Well met, Ezekiel," she said dramatically. "Search your heart, +search your black heart, I say, and tell me whether a magnificent trophy +like this deserves no better resting place than a cabin whose door-yard +looks like a pig-sty." + +"But ain't I done won it?" insisted the negro. "Ain't I done won it fa'r +and squar'? Wan't my do'-yahd de purtiest in de whole Physick League?" + +"It was, two weeks ago; and now what is it? A desert, a Sahara strewn +with tomato-cans and ashes. No, no, Ezekiel. Winning a prize isn't +enough for the Civic League--nor for God," she announced, sententiously. +"You've got to keep it won." + +She moved on, resistless, like Fate. The negro gazed after her, his +month quivering childishly. + +"She's a hard 'ooman, the Madam, a mighty hard 'ooman! Huccom she +kissin' Mr. Philip Benoix dataway? Him a preacher, too!" Suddenly his +eye gleamed with a forgotten memory. "De French doctor's boy--my Lawd! +De French doctor's own chile!" He shook his fist after the retreating +pair. "White 'ooman, white 'ooman, ain't you got no shame 't all?" he +muttered--but very low, for the Madam had good ears. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +As they jogged along, man and mare at the same easy foot-pace, Benoix +said, "Are you sure that vase doesn't really belong to old Zeke, Miss +Kate?" + +"No, I'm not," she answered frankly. "I suppose it does belong to him, +as a matter of fact. But the whole purpose of the Civic League I formed +among the village negroes was to keep their quarters decent. If it fails +of that--Well, the Madam giveth, and the Madam taketh away." She shot +him a mischievous glance. "Evidently you don't approve of me, Philip?" + +"Of you. Not of your ethics, perhaps. They 're rather--feminine." + +She shrugged. "Oh, well--feminine ethics are enough for Storm village. +They have to be," she said, succinctly. + +Before them, outlined against the red round of the low sun, stood the +rambling gray outlines of a house, topping a small hill. From one of its +huge chimneys a pennant of smoke waved hospitably. The mare whinnied, +and chafed a little against the bit. + +"Clover smells her oats," said Mrs. Kildare, "and I smell Big Liza's +ginger-bread. It makes me hungry. Let's go faster." + +He did not seem to hear her. She glanced at his preoccupied face, +wondering at this unusual indifference to Big Liza's ginger-bread. "What +is it, Philip?" + +"I have been thinking how to begin," he said slowly. "I've got to talk +to you about something disagreeable." + +"Surely you can talk to me about anything, without 'beginning'?" + +"Well--I want to ask you to do something very unpleasant. To evict a +tenant. Mag Henderson." + +"That girl? But why?" + +"Your agent says she's months behind in her rent." + +"Smith talks too much. What if she is? I can afford to be patient with +her. The girl has had a hard time. Her father seems to have deserted +her. Oh, I know they're a shiftless pair, but half the prejudice against +them is that they are strangers. I know what that is," she added +bitterly. "I've been a stranger myself in a rural community. You'll have +to give me a better reason than that, Philip." + +"I can," he said. + +She lifted her eyebrows. "There's talk then? I suppose so. There's +always talk, if a girl 's pretty enough and unprotected enough. The poor +little foolish Mag Hendersons of the world! Oh," she cried, "I wonder +that men _dare_ to speak of them!" + +"I dare," said Benoix, quietly. "I've my parish to think of. The girl's +a plague-spot. Vice is as contagious as any other disease. Besides, it +'s a question of her own safety. She's been threatened. That's why the +father left." + +"What?" cried Mrs. Kildare. "The 'Possum-Hunters'? You mean they are +trying to run my affairs again?" + +It was several years since men in masks had waged their anonymous +warfare against certain tobacco planters whose plans did not accord with +the sentiment of the community. The organization of Night Riders was +supposed to be repressed. But power without penalty is too heady a draft +to be relinquished easily, by men who have once known the taste of it. + +Benoix nodded. "She has had warning." + +Mrs. Kildare's lips set in a straight line. "Let them come! They'll try +that sort of thing once too often." + +"Yes--but it might be once too often for Mag, too. She--have you seen +her lately?" + +The other looked at him quickly. "Oh," she said, "oh! Well, she sha'n't +suffer alone. Who's the man?" + +"She will not tell." + +"Loves him--poor thing!" + +For a moment the priest showed in young Benoix' face. "Miss Kate! You +speak as if that made a difference," he said sternly. + +"And doesn't it, doesn't it? Good Lord, how young you are! You'd better +pray that the years may teach you a little human weakness. I tell you, +Mag sha'n't bear it all. Whoever's concerned in this thing shall suffer +with her." + +"I am afraid," said Benoix, reluctantly, "that would be--rather a large +order." + +"Oh! It isn't--love, then." For a moment Mrs. Kildare stared straight in +front of her. Then she wheeled her horse, the pity in her face hardened +into disgust. "Go on, will you? And tell the girls to save me some of +that ginger-bread." + +"Where are you going?" + +"To evict Mag Henderson." + +He protested. "But why to-night? Surely one night more! It will be very +hard. Why not let Smith attend to it?" + +She gave him a bleak little smile. "My dear boy, if I had left all the +hard things to my manager to do, Storm to-day would be just where Basil +Kildare left it." + +She cantered back along the road and turned up a weed-grown lane, her +face set and frowning. Despite her words to Benoix, at times like this +she felt a very feminine need of a man, and scorned herself for the +feeling. + +Coming to a whitewashed log-cabin overgrown with morning-glories--the +only crop the shiftless Hendersons had been able to raise--she pounded +on the closed door with the butt of her crop. She heard a faint sound +within, but nobody came to answer. + +"I hear you in there. Don't keep me waiting, Mag." + +Still no answer. But once again the faint sound came. It might have been +the whining of an animal. + +Mrs. Kildare jumped impatiently from her horse, and a few well-aimed +blows of fist and knee sent the frail lock flying. The door was +barricaded within by a bureau and a table and chairs--Mag's poor little +defense, evidently, against the "Possum-Hunters." + +"Where are you, my girl?" demanded Mrs. Kildare less impatiently, +pushing her way to the back room. "It's not night-riders. It's the +Madam." + +A little slim creature, hardly more than a child, writhed on a cot in +the corner, her eyes bright and fixed like the eyes of a rabbit Kate had +once seen caught in a trap, both fists stuffed into her mouth to stifle +the groans that burst out in spite of them. + +"Git out!" the girl panted fiercely. "Lemme be! I don' want none of ye +'round, not none of ye. You go way from here!" + +The change in Mrs. Kildare's face was wonderful. "Why, child, what's the +matter?" she said gently, even as she stripped off her gauntlets. For +she knew very well what was the matter. In a widely separated rural +community where doctors and nurses are scarce, the word "neighbor" +becomes more than a mere honorary title. + +In a few moments she had a fire going, water boiling, what few clean +rags she could find sterilized. While she worked she talked, quietly and +cheerfully, watching the girl with experienced eyes. She did not like +her pulse nor her color. She saw that she was going to need help. + +"I'll be back in ten minutes," she said presently. "I'm going to the +nearest telephone to get the doctor. Keep up your courage, Mag. Only ten +minutes!" + +But the girl was clinging to her, by this time, moaning, begging, +praying as if to God. "No, no--you cain't leave me, you cain't! I been +alone so long. _Don'_ leave me alone! I know I'm bad, but O Gawd, I'm +skeert! Don' leave me to die all alone. You wouldn't leave a dawg die +all alone!" + +Mrs. Kildare soothed her with touch and word, wondering what was to be +done. Through the open door she sent her strong voice ringing out across +the twilight fields, again and again. There was nobody to hear. All the +world had gone indoors to supper. Her waiting horse pawed the earth with +a soft, reproachful nicker, to remind her that horses, too, have their +time for supper. It gave her an idea. + +"The children will be frightened, but I can't help that. I must have +somebody here," she murmured, and slapped the mare sharply on the flank. +"Home, Clover. Oats! Branmash! Hurry, pet!" + +Obediently the startled creature broke into a trot, which presently, as +she realized that she was riderless, became a panic-stricken gallop. +Mrs. Kildare went back to her vigil. + +It is a terrible experience to watch, helpless, the agony of a fellow +creature. She knelt beside the dirty pallet, her face as white as the +girl's, beads of sweat on her brow, paralyzed by her utter inability to +render aid--a new sensation to Mrs. Kildare. Maternity as she had known +it was a thing of awe, of dread, a great brooding shadow that had for +its reverse the most exquisite happiness God allows to the earth-born. +But maternity as it came to Mag Henderson! None of the preparations here +that women love to make, no little white-hung cradle, no piles of snowy +flannel, none of the precious small garments sewn with dreams; only +squalor, and shame, and fear unutterable. + +Never a religious woman, Mrs. Kildare found herself presently engaged in +one of her rare conversations with the Almighty, explaining to Him how +young, how ignorant was this child to suffer so; how unfair that she +should be suffering alone; how wicked it was to send souls into the +world unwanted. + +"You could do something about it, and You ought to," she urged, aloud. +"Oh, God, what a pity You are not a woman!" + +Even in her agony, it seemed a queer sort of prayer to Mag Henderson. +But strong hands held hers close, a strong heart pounded courage into +hers; and who shall say that the helpless tears on Kate Kildare's face +were of no help to a girl who had known nothing in all her life of the +sisterhood of women? + +At last came the sound of thudding hoofs in the lane, and a clear voice, +the echo of Kate's own, calling, "Mother! Where are you? _Mother!_ +Answer me. I'm coming--" + +Mrs. Kildare made a trumpet of her hands and shouted, "Here, Jack. Here +in Mag's cabin." + +"Safe?" + +"All safe." + +"Phil, Phil!" called back the voice, breaking. "Come on. It's all right! +We've found her! She's safe!" + +In a moment a whirlwind of pink muslin burst in at the door, and +enveloped Mrs. Kildare in an embrace which bade fair to suffocate, while +anxious hands felt and prodded her to be sure nothing was broken. + +"Oh, Mummy darling," crooned the beautiful voice, "_how_ you frightened +us! You're sure no bones are smashed--nothing sprained? Poor Clover had +worked herself into a perfect panic, galloping home all alone. And the +servants screaming, and Jemima fearing the worst, as she always does. +And we didn't even know where to hunt for you, till Philip came--Oh, +_Mother_!" + +"There, there, baby--it 's all right. No time for pettings now. There 's +work to be done. Why didn't Jemima come? This is no place for a madcap +like you." + +Jacqueline chuckled and shivered. "The Apple Blossom"--she referred to +her elder sister, Jemima--"was turning your room into a hospital-ward +when I left, against the arrival of your mangled corpse. She had also +ordered the wagon prepared like an ambulance, mattresses, chloroform, +bandages--every gruesome detail complete. Our Jemima," she said, "is +having the time of her life--isn't she, Reverend Flip?" + +Mrs. Kildare smiled in spite of herself. The description of her eldest +daughter was apt. But she said reprovingly, "Yon sound as if you were +making fun of your sister, dear. And don't call Philip 'the Reverend +Flip.' It is rude." + +"Pooh! Rudeness is good for that elderly young man," murmured +Jacqueline, with an engaging smile in his direction. + +But the elderly young man, standing at the door, did not notice. He was +gazing at Mrs. Kildare questioningly. + +There had come a groan from the inner room. + +"What's that?" cried Jacqueline. She ran to investigate. "Oh! The _poor_ +thing! What's the matter with her?" + +Benoix would have stopped her, but Kate said shortly, "Nonsense, Phil. +My girls were born women. You ride for the doctor." + +At dawn a faint, fierce whisper came from the inner room. + +"Whar's my babby? What you-all doin' with my babby? You ain't goin' to +take her away from me? No, _no_! She's mine, I tell you!" + +Jacqueline hurried in to her with the tiny, whimpering bundle. "Of +course she's yours, and the sweetest, fattest darling. Oh, Mag, how I +envy you!" She kissed the other's cheek. + +There was a third girl in the room, a dainty, pink and white little +person who well deserved her pet-name of the "Apple Blossom." She looked +up in quick distaste from the bandages her capable hands were preparing, +and went out to her mother. + +"Isn't it like Jacqueline? To sit outside all night with her fingers +stuffed in her ears, because she couldn't stand the groaning, and then +to--kiss the creature!" + +Jemima was nineteen, a most sophisticated young woman. + +Her mother smiled a little. "Yes," she admitted, "it is like Jacqueline, +and that's why she's going to do poor Mag more good than either of us. +The doctor says we shall be able to take Mag and the baby home +presently." + +"Home!" Philip Benoix looked at her in amaze. Like the others, his face +was drawn and pale with that strange vigil. Death does not come so close +without leaving its mark on the watchers. "Miss Kate, surely you're not +going to take Mag Henderson into your own home?" + +"Where else? You wanted me to evict her. I can't evict her into space." + +"But, the responsibility!" + +"Yes, there is a responsibility," said Kate Kildare, musing. "I don't +know whether it's mine or God's, or whose--and I can't afford to take +any chances." + +"It will be easier to look after them at home," commented the practical +Jemima. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +On the rare occasions when the mistress of Storm sat idle in her eyrie, +her household--children, negroes, even the motley assortment of dogs +that claimed her for their own--had learned to go their ways softly. The +morning after Mag's affair, three collies, a hound or so, and several +curs waited in a respectful row, tentative tails astir, with eyes fixed +patiently upon a certain great juniper-tree at the edge of Storm garden. +On the other side of it sat a very weary woman, cradled between its +hospitable roots, with her back turned on the workaday world and her +face to the open country. This was her eyrie; and here, when another +woman would have been shut into a darkened chamber courting sleep, came +Kate Kildare on occasion to rest her soul. + +To the left and right of her rose taller hills, of which Storm was the +forerunner, the first small ripple of the Cumberlands as they broke upon +the plain. At her feet stretched mile after rolling mile of summer +green, and gold, and brown. There were dappled pastures of bluegrass, +clover-fields, beech-woods, great golden reaches of corn; there was the +rich black-green of tobacco--not much of that, for Kate Kildare loved +her land too well to ruin it. Here and there the farm of some neighbor +showed larger patches of the parasite that soon or late must sap +Kentucky of its vigor, even while it fills her coffers with gold; but +these were few. The greater part of the land in sight was Kildare land. +Storms, like some feudal keep of the Old World, brooded its chickens +under its wings, watchfully. + +Far away, perhaps five miles or so, the roof of another mansion showed +among the trees; a new house. Kate rarely looked in that direction. It +made her feel crowded. It was not the only direction from which she kept +her eyes averted. On the edge of the distant horizon rested always a low +gray cloud, never lifting, nor shifting. It seemed to her an aureole of +shadow crowning some evil thing, even as the saints in old paintings are +crowned with light. It was the smoke of the little city of Frankfort, +where there is a penitentiary. + +The plateau at her feet was crossed by many a slender thread of road, to +one of which her eyes came presently, as wandering feet stray naturally +into a path they often use. It was rather a famous road, with a name of +its own in history. Wild creatures had made it centuries ago, on their +way from the hills to the river. The silent moccasins of Indians had +widened it; later, pioneers, Kildares and their hardy kindred, flintlock +on shoulder, ear alert for the crackling of a twig in the primeval +forest, seeking a place of safety for their women and children in the +new world they had come to conquer. Now it was become a thoroughfare for +prosperous loaded wains, for world-famed horses, for their supplanter, +the automobile, which in ever-increasing numbers has come to enjoy and +kill the peace of distant countrysides. + +But to Kate Kildare the early history of that road meant nothing. It was +for her the road that led back, a two days' journey, into her girlhood. + +In the house Jacqueline was singing, her voice drowning the mellow tones +of the old piano, ringing out singularly pure and clear, like a child's, +lacking as yet the modulations to be learned of one teacher alone; life. +It was a new song that Philip Benoix had brought for her to try: + + "A little winding road + Goes over the hill to the plain-- + A little road that crosses the plain + And comes to the hill again. + I sought for Love on that road--" + +sang Jacqueline, cheerfully. + +The eyes of the listener filled with sharp tears. She too had sought for +Love on that road. + +She saw herself riding down it into her great adventure, so young, so +laughing and brave, Basil Kildare on his great horse beside her, all the +world a misty golden green. She saw--even with closed eyes, she saw--the +turn of the road where Jacques Benoix, Philip's father, had come to meet +them on their wedding journey. + +So far her memories often led her before she stopped them. But the +experience of the night had left her oddly stirred and weakened, not +quite herself. To-day the memories had their way with her. + +She lived again through the whirlwind courtship that was still +remembered in a community where sudden marriages are not unusual; saw +again, as she had first seen it, the arresting, great figure of Basil +Kildare framed in a ballroom door, with smoldering black eyes upon her, +that spoke so much more eloquently than his tongue. Yet his tongue had +done well enough, too, that night. Before their first dance was over he +had said to her: "I have been watching you grow up, Kate. Now I think +you are old enough to marry me." + +Two weeks later they went to her mother, hand in hand. + +"But, my dearest!" fluttered the startled lady, "Mr. Kildare is a man of +forty, and you only seventeen, only a child! Besides--" + +"Mr. Kildare," answered the girl, with a proud glance at her lover, +"will help me to become a woman, Mother dear." + +What was she, newly widowed, who had depended in all things upon her +husband, to oppose such a pair of wills? Rumors of the wild doings at +Storm were not lacking in that gentler community, nor was the Kildare +blood what she would have chosen to mix with her own. But there is among +this type of women always the rather touching belief that it needs only +matrimony to tame the wildest of eagles into a cooing dove. Kildare, +moreover, was one of the great landowners of the State, a man of +singular force and determination, and, when he chose to exert it, of a +certain virile charm. When Mrs. Leigh realized that, ever since her +daughter had been old enough to exhibit promise of the beauty she +afterwards attained, this man had marked her for his own, a feeling of +utter helplessness came over her. + +They were a magnificent pair to look at, as they stood before her, tall, +vivid, vital. Beside Basil Kildare the youths who had hitherto courted +Kate, young as she was, seemed callow and insignificant, even to the +mother. It would need a man to rule such a woman as Kate was to become, +not an adoring boy; and Mrs. Leigh was of the type and generation that +believed firmly in the mastery of husbands. + +She could not make up her mind to consent to the marriage, but she did +not forbid it. And it is probable that her forbidding would have had as +much effect upon that pair of lovers as the sighing of the southwind. +Perhaps less effect; for, in a Kentucky May, the sighing of the +southwind is very persuasive. + +Bridesmaids and their escorts rode part way on the wedding journey; a +gay cavalcade, some of the youths a little white and quiet, all of the +girls with envious, sentimental eyes upon Kate where she rode beside the +handsomest of the wild Kildares, with the romantic, whispered reputation +of his race upon him. + +When these had turned back, the bridegroom, chafing a little under their +surveillance, swore a great oath of relief and spurred his horse close. +In a sudden panic Kate bolted away from him, galloped up a lane, leaped +a fence into a field, where he caught her and seized her, laughing +aloud: "That's my girl! That's my pretty wild hawk! The spirit for a +mother of Kildare men, by God!" + +After that she met his kisses unafraid. Girl as she was, it seemed to +her a beautiful saying--"a mother of Kildare men." Only three things she +was bringing with her from the old home to the new--her piano, her +father's books, and the oaken cradle that had come with the first Leigh +from overseas, and followed other Leighs across the mountains along the +old Wilderness Trail, into Kentucky. + +Toward the end of their two days' journey through the May woods and +meadows, a little barking dog sprung out at them, frightening Kate's +thoroughbred until it almost threw her. Kildare struck furiously at the +dog, and missed; struck again, leaped from his horse, and pursued it, +striking and kicking, so that the terrified creature ran for its life, +and Kate cried out, "Stop, Basil, stop. What are you doing? Stop, I +say!" + +He came back to her, cursing, an ugly line between his brows. "Got away, +damn the luck! I almost--Why, Kate! Tears? Oh, good Lord," he laughed, +still frowning. "You're as soft as Jacques Benoix!" + +She mastered the tears; mastered, too, a strange little fear at her +heart, thinking proudly, "He came when I called! He stopped when I +called!" + +Aloud she said, "It was the sun that made my eyes water. Who is Jacques +Benoix?" + +He told her about his neighbor, a stranger--"the only gentleman within +ten miles of us, so you'll have to be friends with him"--a man so +soft-hearted that he would not hunt foxes or rabbits; a man who broke +his colts without the whip, and was trying to break a son the same way. + +"More fool he, coming up here out of a city and trying to teach _us_ to +break colts!" + +"Has he a wife?" + +Kildare gave his great laugh. "You don't suppose a man as soft as that +would have escaped? The woman's sickly--of course! That's why he married +her, and that's why he has come up here. Gave up a big practice in New +Orleans, they say, because he thought it would be healthier here. So it +is! Too damned healthy for him, I reckon! We don't need more than one +doctor around Storm, and old Doc Jones has got a corner on the births +and deaths already. Yes, Benoix is rather a fool. But he's got his uses. +He'll play poker for twenty-four hours at a stretch, and drink--Lord!" +said Kildare, admiringly. "I don't know where the little fellow puts it +all!" + +It was at the next crossroads that they found Benoix waiting; a slender, +rather foreign-looking man, very carefully dressed, with a stiff little +bouquet of geraniums in his hands. For the first time Kate's direct +young gaze met the eyes whose blueness, in their dark setting, was a +never-failing surprise to her. They held hers steadily for a moment; it +seemed to her that they had already talked together before he spoke. + +"I bring to Mrs. Kildare the first fruits from her kingdom," he said, +offering the little bouquet. + +"Flowers from Storm?" laughed Basil, incredulously. "Where'd you get +them? You're a wizard, Jacques! I never saw any flowers at Storm." + +"You were not looking for them, my friend. Now you will look!" Benoix' +smile was a gleam of white teeth. + +Kate tucked the flowers into her habit, and held out her hand to him. +"I've been ordered to be friends with you. I do not think it will be +hard," she said. + +Kildare laughed again as the other bent formally over her hand. "Thank +Heaven, I'm no Frenchman! A woman's hand, in a glove, must be about as +thrilling to kiss as a mare's hoof. Try her lips, man! You'll find them +better," he urged; and roared with laughter to see them both blushing. + +Benoix rode with them the rest of the way, pointing out to the girl the +beauties of her kingdom; mares nuzzling their new-born foals; the tender +green of young crops; cloud shadows drifting over the rolling miles that +darkled like ocean beneath a wind; a pair of mocking-birds at play, +their gray wings flashing circles of white. For some time the hills had +been marching toward them, and at last they reached the first. It was +low, and covered with juniper-bushes. On the crest of it stood a house, +grim and stanch as when the pioneer Kildare built it, facing undaunted +through the years the brunt of every storm that swept the plateau. Its +trees were bent and twisted by the giant grasp of many winds. + +"You see why they call it 'Storm,'" said Benoix. + +Kildare had left them, spurring forward with sudden eagerness, +whistling. Crashing down through the underbrush came two enormous +bloodhounds, baying like mad things. Kildare flung himself from his +horse and met them with a shout, seizing them in his arms, romping and +tumbling about with the great, frantic beasts until all three were +covered with mud and slaver. It was a rather terrific spectacle. Kate +thought of a bas-relief she had seen somewhere of a satyr playing with +leopards. + +"The only things in the world Basil loves!" murmured the Creole; adding +quickly, "or did love. Do not be startled, Mrs. Kildare. Bloodhounds are +greatly maligned. Jove and Juno, there, are as kind as kittens, despite +their rough ways. Here you will find many rough ways," he spoke as if in +warning. "It is a man's place. But you will change it!" + +He was mistaken. After all her years there, Storm was still "a man's +place." Kate had never found the time, nor the heart, to make a home of +it. + +Benoix left them, and Kate and Basil mounted to their house alone. Seen +close at hand, it proved to be not without a certain charm, despite its +weather-beaten grimness. No house can lack personality that has grown +generation by generation with the race it shelters. The older part was +of rough-hewn logs, whitewashed. To this had been added later a wing of +boulders; later still, one of brick. Across the long front ran a +brick-paved gallery, where a disused carriage had been drawn for +shelter, and taken possession of by a flock of turkeys. + +Negroes, big and little, came running from the quarters at the back. A +huge, beaming black woman waddled out and lifted Kate bodily from the +saddle, loudly praising God. + +"My Lawdy, ain't she des' a _beauty_? Ain't Mr. Bas' done picked him a +beauty-bright?" + +In the open door waited another house-servant; a handsome young mulatto +girl, who curtseyed respectfully and stared at her new mistress with +hostile, curious eyes. + +Remembering, Kate shuddered, as she had shuddered then with the +bewilderment, the sense of unreality, that took possession of her at +that moment. It was all so unlike what she had expected, so appallingly +unlike the gracious, well-ordered life of the stately Bluegrass homes +she had known. + +Rank weeds grew to the very door-sill. Within she saw a huge, raftered +hall hung with antlers and guns and saddles, pelts, fox-brushes. There +was a stuffed bloodhound, the ancestor perhaps of Jove and Juno. A +horse's head protruded from the wall, nostrils dilated, glassy eyes +starting from the sockets, as if the poor creature were still running +his last race with Death. + +"Welcome home, wife!" cried Basil Kildare, kissing her lips with a loud +smack. + +The negroes guffawed in delight, the hounds bayed again till the hills +echoed. + +Then beside the house she saw a few squares and circles of fresh-turned +earth, planted with limp coleas, and dusty-millers, and all the other +unlovely specimens of horticulture favored by men when they go +a-gardening. Her eyes filled with sudden tears. + +"Why, Basil!" She slipped a hand into his. "You dear! How sweet of you +to try to make me the little garden!" + +"Eh? What garden?" His eyes followed hers. "Oh! That must be some of +Benoix' doings. He's the only man 'round here who has time to fool with +posies." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +There was never a stranger honeymoon than that of Kate and Basil +Kildare. It began with a view-halloa. It ended ... how should happy +hunting end except with the death of something? + +That first year was not without its heady charm for a girl with the +facile, the almost tragic, adaptability of seventeen years. True, it was +not married life as she had dreamed it; but it was her husband's life. +She made it hers. + +Kildare's boon companions found to their relief that a young wife was no +restraint upon their pleasures; was indeed an addition to them. No sport +was too rough for her to share, no riding too hard, no gambling too +heavy. Despite her town breeding, this was no hothouse plant, this +daughter of a horse-racing, whisky-drinking, card-playing gentry. +Kildare took a vast delight in her prowess, particularly at the +card-table; swearing joyously when she won, paying her losses, which +were considerable, with an amused indifference equal to her own. One +quality, and one alone, had power to move him in man, woman, or beast. +It was the quality he called Spirit. + +In that Kate was not lacking. Rumors of the wild Kildares, always rife +in a countryside they had made famous for generations with their +amusements, did not abate after the coming of a new mistress to Storm. +Of the society of her own sex, she had little or nothing. The few women +of her class within driving distance were careful to call once--Kildare +was not a man to antagonize. But they did not come again. Kate was not +sorry. She found them less interesting than their men-folk. Their +manners were provincial, their outlook narrow, and--they did not fall in +love with her. In this they were unlike their husbands, their brothers, +their sons, and fathers. + +The guest-house was rarely empty. The bride and groom were never alone. +Storm had long been a gathering place for sportsmen of every type, from +the neighboring towns, from the city, from other States. Nor were their +guests always gentlemen. Kate, indeed, grew to prefer certain of the +rough and simple farmers who came there to the more polished visitors. +Their admiration was humbler, less troublesome. + +Gentlemen or not, Kate numbered her admirers among her husband's friends +by the score. She grew as adept in handling them as in handling colts; +and her prowess in this, too, amused Basil Kildare enormously. He +rallied her on each new victim with chuckles of delight. Too confident +of himself for jealousy, he knew, if he thought of it at all, that his +honor was safer in her hands than it had ever been in his own. + +That the girl came to no harm in that wild year was owing to no +watchfulness of her husband's. The Kildare motto was "Liberty For All." +Nor was it owing to any love of her husband's, Kate soon knew this. + +Her beauty was a matter of great pride to him. He flaunted it, his +property, before other envious men; took her often upon his knee when +any were about; pulled the pins out of her hair to reveal the full +flowing splendor of it; hung her with jewels, sent away for velvets and +silks and laces, so that she went about the rough place clad like a +young queen at court. But despite various episodes in his career, +Kildare was never a woman's man. He had married for one reason, and one +alone. He made no concealment of it. "People say we Kildares are doomed, +that the stock is dying out. We'll show 'em!" he often said. "Meanwhile, +let the girl have her fling." + +Nevertheless, there was watchfulness. No matter how far she went, no +matter to what lengths her reckless gaiety led her, Kate was aware of +the quiet, understanding scrutiny of Jacques Benoix. Their nearest +neighbor, and by the strange attraction of opposites, Kildare's chosen +intimate, it was inevitable that she should be thrown constantly into +the company of the Creole. Despite his very evident admiration, he did +not join the ranks of her more or less avowed lovers; a fact that in +turn piqued and oddly comforted Kate. For at times this new life of hers +seemed a strange dream, in which Benoix, with his gentleness, his +punctilious courtesy, his rather formal friendliness of aspect, was the +only fixed reality. She felt, vaguely, that she was safe with him; safer +than with her husband. She thought of him more as a friend than as a +man. + +He reminded her somewhat of her father and his companions, courtly, +scholarly gentlemen who belonged to that period of the South when men +not only gambled and rode and drank, but found leisure to cultivate +poetry, and Greek, and music, all the fine things of life. He talked to +her about such matters as had interested them, large impersonal matters, +taking for granted her intelligent understanding. This flattered the +girl, though she had no ambition to be thought a scholar. + +Often he borrowed books from her small store, to the impatient amusement +of Basil Kildare, who looked upon the reading of books as a pastime +suitable for invalids and old women. Kate, too, found no room in her +exciting, absorbing life for books, at that time. Still, there was an +atmosphere about the Creole far less foreign to her than to her +companions. It reminded her of a sheltered, exquisite, finely ordered +childhood, of certain standards that she might otherwise have been in +danger of forgetting. She never joined a group of her husband's boon +companions, whether in the gaming-room or the hunting-field, without +first making sure unconsciously that Benoix was there. And he was +usually there. + +At length Benoix, in his professional capacity, spoke to Kildare. + +"What the devil, Jacques! Stop her riding and late hours, and all? What +d'ye mean?" + +The doctor told him. + +The husband swore a pleased oath. "Good little girl! I told you we'd +show 'em. But what of it? Child-bearing's no disease, man! Good Gad, the +girl ain't goin' to turn out sickly, is she?" Kildare had a queer horror +of "sickliness." + +"Not if I can help it," said the other. He added, in the language Basil +best understood, "You do not race a brood-mare, my friend. You turn her +out to pasture." + +Kildare admitted the point. Thereafter, though the usual life at Storm +went on unchanged, Kate was no longer a part of it. + +She was rather glad. It was restful to be turned out to pasture. She +liked to hear them start off with the hounds in the cold dawn, knowing +that she might turn over and sleep again. Sometimes she was awakened at +night by swearing and quarrels and loud laughter from the guest-wing. +Sometimes there was singing, one rich baritone leading the rest; and to +this Kate listened eagerly. Dr. Benoix sang very beautifully when he was +drunk. + +One night she started up out of a dream to hear tipsy voices at her very +door. It opened, and Basil Kildare stood on the threshold, holding a +lamp above his head, saying over his shoulder: "Come on in, boys! That's +all right--Kit's a good sport. Come and look at her, if you like. +Prettiest thing in a nightgown you ever saw!" + +An anger possessed Kate of which she had never dreamed herself capable. +She knew then that there would never be any defender for her and her +children except herself. She saw that what her inexperience had mistaken +for strength in her husband was only violence. She reached for the +pistol at her bedside. + +"Basil," she said quietly--too quietly--"if you bring those men into my +room, I shall shoot." + +Her voice sobered him; shocked him into an anger as hot as hers was +cold. "Your room? _Your_ room? By God, I do what I choose in this house! +D'ye know who I am? By God--" + +But her voice had sobered the others as well. They got him away by main +force. Not one of them had glanced at her. + +In the morning, for the first time in her life, Kate was ill, and +Kildare in alarm sent for Benoix. Before her, he told the doctor what +had occurred; ashamed, but brazening it out with a laugh. The doctor +said nothing; merely looked at him. After a moment, the big man turned +and went from the room. + +Kate was oddly sorry for her husband. "He did not know what he was +doing," she murmured. "But oh, Jacques, if _you_ had been there, it +would not have happened!" + +"No. Hereafter, I shall be there." + +"Please, please," whispered the girl, and she began to cry. She was +quite unnerved. "Oh, I am afraid sometimes, Jacques! It's such a comfort +to know you are near, to hear your voice--even when you are as drunk as +the others!" + +He went rather white about the lips. "Hereafter I shall be there," he +repeated steadily. "And I shall not be as drunk as the others. I shall +not be drunk at all." + +After that night there was less company at Storm, and Kildare began to +make frequent absences from home, lasting sometimes over several days. +Kate was grateful, realizing that it was his way of showing her +consideration. But she was also lonely. For the first time, she missed +the companionship of women. + +She made shy overtures to the tenants' wives, to the women in the +village. But the barrier of caste was very evident, and there were other +barriers. No virtue is so quick to take up arms as that of the middle +classes. Kildare as a landlord was not popular. Beauty, charm, did not +help her with them as it had with their husbands. There was the further +barrier, which all aliens in a rural community reach soon or late: the +well-nigh impassable barrier of strangeness. They would have none of +her. They looked askance at her winning sweetness; they accepted her +bounty with stony, ungrateful thanks. + +She thought of asking friends to visit her, only to be brought up +sharply by the realization that hers was not a home to which such women +as she had known would care to come. Once she spoke to her husband +tentatively of sending for her mother. + +"Oh, by all means, if you want her," he agreed, yawning a little. "But +what will that genteel female do with herself at Storm? There isn't a +tea-party nor an Episcopal Church within half a day's drive of us." + +Kate knew that he spoke truly. Her mother would be both shocked and +unhappy at Storm. Let her keep what illusions she had a while longer. +The girl was young to be guarding other women's illusions. + +And so she was thrown for company upon Jacques Benoix and his wife; the +latter a personality so colorless, so fragile, that strain as she might +she could not now recall a feature of her face, nor a tone of her voice. +Yet when Kate's time came, this helpless invalid had herself carried up +the hill to Storm, so that the girl might not be without a woman's hand +to hold during the ordeal. + +At this memory, the older Kate flushed a little. She wondered how much +the invalid had seen with her dim and weary eyes, before she closed +them. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The day came when Basil, summoned from the field to his wife's bedside, +foundered his best hunter in his haste to see his son. The doctor met +him at the door. + +"It is over, and well over," he said, gravely smiling. + +Mrs. Benoix added, "She never whimpered!" + +"Of course not, ma'am!" said Kildare. "Neither does my dog, Juno." + +He tiptoed to the bed, quietly for him, and stood gazing down at the +little wrinkled head on Kate's breast, with a queer, sheepish pride on +his face; somewhat the look of a schoolboy who receives a prize for good +behavior. + +Kate smiled tremulously up at him, "Isn't she sweet?" + +His face fell. "Gad, a she-child, is it? Well, can't be helped. We'll +name her for my rich Aunt Jemima. Better luck next time, Kit." + +But there was not better luck next time; there was worse luck. + +Less than a year later, Kildare inspected his second daughter. Kate was +sleeping, the baby beside her covered to its chin. The nurse in +attendance was the young mulatto woman who had looked so strangely at +her new mistress when she came to Storm. Now her hostility to Kate +seemed to have lost itself in devotion to Kate's child; the almost +passionate devotion that makes of colored women such invaluable nurses. + +As Kildare approached, he was aware of this girl's eyes fixed upon him. +Stealthily her hand went out, and drew away the sheet that covered the +new baby. + +He ripped out a startled oath. "Good God! What's the matter with it, +Mahaly? It's--it's damaged, ain't it?" + +Kate awoke with a gasping cry, and put her hands out to hide the little +twisted body from his gaze. + +Fortunately the child died. "Fortunately," repeated the mother to +herself now, without a quiver. To the end of her days she would carry in +her heart the memory of its faint, unbabyish moaning. It opened to her +the door of a new world, the world of suffering. She learned the agony +of love that cannot help. The little Katherine lived long enough to make +a woman of her; and strangely enough it reached the one soft spot in the +heart of Basil Kildare. During its brief and piteous life, husband and +wife came almost close to each other. + +To the man with his passion for physical perfection, the breeder of +thoroughbred horses and cattle and dogs, the fact that a child of his +should have been born without this precious heritage was a thing +incredible, a humiliation beyond words. Whenever he looked at the tiny, +whimpering creature, he asked pardon of her with his eyes for so +monstrous an injustice. He never tired of carrying her about in his +powerful arms, of rubbing the poor twisted limbs in an effort to ease +the pain away. + +"The stock's sound enough," he would say again and again. "I'm all +right, and you're all right, Kit. What's the matter with her?" + +Once he whispered in sudden horror, "I've been a pretty bad lot, Kate. +God! Do you suppose _I'm_ to blame for this?" + +She comforted him with her arms about his neck. + +When the child died, Kildare himself made its grave, and carried the +coffin in his arms across the fields to the little pasture burying-lot +where lay all the Kildares of Storm. It was a queer funeral; none the +less pitiful for its queerness. First Basil with the coffin, the two +great hounds gamboling and baying around him in their delight at going +for a walk with the family; then Kate, alone and quite tearless; then a +dozen wailing, hysterical negroes. Benoix and a few others met them at +the grave, but there was no clergyman. Kate herself spoke what she could +of the burial service, till her memory and her voice failed her. Then +Kildare picked his wife up in his arms, and carried her home as tenderly +as he had carried his child's coffin. + +But that night he was so drunk that Kate kept the woman Mahaly in her +room for safety. + +It was during this time, with maternity, and sorrow, and womanhood, that +love came to her. She did not know it. She knew only that things could +be borne so long as Benoix was there to help her, guarding, +understanding; Benoix with his steady eyes, and his gentle strength to +share with her weakness. + +They needed little excuse for their constant companionship; mere +neighborliness; small Jemima's health; presents of flower-seeds and +baby-patterns from his wife; books to be lent or borrowed, for Kate had +turned to books at last. Kate's strength was slow in returning, and she +spent much of the day sitting in the garden with her baby. It came to be +Benoix' habit to stop there for a while coming or going from his house +beyond. The baby knew the pit-a-patter of his racking horse, and had +learned to clap her hands and crow when she heard it. The Creole had the +same grave simplicity for children, as for his equals. It never failed +to win them. + +Often Kate drove with him on his rounds, the child on her knees, because +she needed air and was not yet strong enough for riding; and in this way +she saw a side of her friend which had hitherto been unknown to her. It +was true, as Basil Kildare had said, that Dr. Jones "had a corner on the +births and deaths in the neighborhood," but between the two extremes +there were various physical disabilities which "the French doctor," as +he was called, was allowed to treat, especially when there was no money +for payment. With increasing frequency he was called in by the older +physician to cases which proved baffling; and it became known that when +the French doctor prescribed expensive medicines and nourishing +luxuries, they were invariably forthcoming, whether they could be paid +for or not. + +With this the young mistress of Storm had much to do; and while this +fact did not apparently lessen the neighborhood's attitude of critical +animosity toward her, it gave the girl a keen pleasure to know that she +was helping her friend. She began to understand the secret of the strong +hold his profession has upon those who follow it truly--that warmly +personal relation between the sufferer and his physician which is almost +filial in its intensity. Jacques loved his patients, and they loved him. +But it was not a lucrative practice. + +She was witness to one little scene that came often to her memory in +after days. He had stopped to visit a young farm laborer whom he had +recently relieved of a stomach-trouble that was literally starving him +to death. An old woman had followed him to the door of the cabin, her +work-worn hands twisting together, her lips too tremulous for speech. + +"But your troubles are over, Mrs. Higgs!" he smiled, lifting his hat +with the punctilious courtesy he showed all women. "Live? Certainly he +will live, and in a few weeks we shall have him walking about, eating +you out of house and home." + +Still the old creature was unable to speak; but she seized the hand he +held out to her, and carried it to her lips. When he withdrew it, in +laughing embarrassment, there were tears upon it. + +At last her voice came, hoarsely: "I don' know what it's goin' to cost, +an' I don't, keer! It's wuth every cent, an' I'll wuk my fingers to the +bone to pay ye. God bless ye, Doc!" + +He looked down at the hard-wrung tears on his hand. "You have paid me +already," he said; and Kate knew that he meant it. + +Afterwards she questioned him a little about the case. + +"It was a gastro-enterostomy, without complications," he explained. "A +very simple thing, done every day." + +He described the operation in some detail, Kate watching him in amaze. + +"You can't tell me that a thing like that is done every day! Jacques, be +honest--isn't it a very remarkable operation for a country doctor to +perform?" + +"Oh--for a country doctor, perhaps. For a surgeon who has had some +experience, no." + +"You are a surgeon, then, not a doctor?" + +He smiled, that warm, flashing smile which always fell like a gleam of +sunlight across her heart. "I am--whatever people need me to be." + +It was true--physician, nurse, companion, guardian, friend--Jacques +Benoix was always whatever people needed him to be. + +In that moment, Kate realized that he had given up a great career to +bring his sick wife into the country. + +One of the closest bonds between them was a love for music. Kate's +singing, untrained and faulty though it was, gave keen pleasure to his +starved ears, and often he brought his little son to hear her; a boy of +ten, rather grave and shy, but with his father's beautiful smile. +Sometimes there were duets to be tried out together; Kildare, when he +was at home, listening tolerantly and beating time out of time to the +pleasant sounds they made. + +But he was not often at home in those days. He sought his pleasure +elsewhere. The guest-house had been empty for months. + +Kate and Benoix found his frequent absences rather a relief. They were +freer to discuss the things that did not interest him, to read aloud to +each other, to play games with the exacting Apple-Blossom, an executive +from her cradle. It was at last the sort of domestic life of which every +girl dreams in her secret heart; and Kate grew lovelier than her +loveliest. + +Meanwhile the countryside watched, and whispered, and waited. The +countryside was wise in the ways of Nature, if these two were not. + +Once Kildare asked (she missed the wistfulness of his voice), "Ain't it +time you were riding again, Kit, and playing cards with the boys? They +like to have you 'round. They're getting jealous of that kid of yours." + +Kate smiled at him, absently. She was sitting on the floor, building a +house of blocks under instruction from young Jemima. The amusements of +men seemed to her futile things, just then, and childish. + +"Benoix has given us the go-by, too. Won't touch a card or drink a drop +nowadays. I don't know what's come over him. Good gad--" Kildare gave +himself an impatient shake,--"sometimes I think the little Frenchman's a +female in disguise!" + +Kate smiled again. She knew very well what had come over Jacques. That +much at least she had done in return for the precious thing his +friendship was. + +At last her eyes were opened. One day she saw her husband striding +toward the house from the stables, pale, frowning, splashed with blood. + +She cried out, and ran to him, "Basil! What's happened? Are you hurt?" + +"Nonsense! I've just had to kill Juno, that's all." + +"Kill Juno?" she gasped. "Good Heavens! Was she mad? Did she attack +you?" She gathered up her child with an instinctive, fierce gesture of +protection. + +He grinned at her. "What an imagination! Bitches don't go mad, my dear. +She littered yesterday, and her pups were all curs, that's all--every +damned one of them. Beastly luck! So I've killed the lot of them--Juno, +too." + +She recoiled from him, repeating stupidly, "You _killed_ them? Killed +your own dog because her puppies were mongrels? Basil! I--I--don't think +I understand." + +"Time you learned something about breeding," he muttered impatiently. +"Don't you know she might never have had another decent pup? Storm's got +its reputation to sustain. I can't have the place overrun by a lot of +curs." + +He passed her, and went into the house. + +She followed, stunned. All through supper, as she sat opposite her +husband, listening, answering, serving his needs, the vision was before +her of the great hound's eyes as they must have looked when, one by one, +he took her puppies from her; when at last she felt the beloved hand at +her own throat. + +She looked at her husband furtively. It seemed to her that she had never +really seen him before. The coarse, hairy hands, the face with its cruel +lips, its low brow above which the hair waved up strongly like a black +plume, its eyes, handsome and bright and shallow, like the eyes of +certain animals of the cat-tribe--surely those eyes were growing too +bright? People called this family "the wild Kildares," sometimes "the +mad Kildares." _Were_ they mad? Did that explain? + +Slowly a great horror of the man seized her; a fear which never +afterwards went away. He was her master, as he had been Juno's. She was +at his mercy, his thing, his creature. If she displeased him, if her +children displeased him.... + +He fell asleep presently in a chair, according to his wont, snoring like +a well-fed animal. She sat and watched him for a while, shivering. +Suddenly she gave a little choked cry, and ran out of the house. She +stumbled down the hill, through the ravine below, along the road to +where a lighted window shone through the darkness. It was the window of +Jacques Benoix' study. She did not pause to realize why she was going. +She wanted only to be near her friend. + +He sat beside a lamp, reading to his wife, who lay on her couch beyond. +Against his shoulder leaned his boy, rubbing a cheek upon the rough coat +as if he loved to touch it. The light fell on the two dark heads so +close together, the clustering boyish curls, the strong, curved lips, as +sweet as any woman's. Kate pressed her white face against the window, +drinking in the homely comfort of the scene. She had no wish to speak to +him, no disloyal thought of betraying to her friend this new and +terrible knowledge of her husband. It was enough to know that help was +within reach; always within reach. + +The invalid's cough sounded from the couch. Benoix laid his took aside +and went to adjust her pillows. He bent over his wife and kissed her. + +Then Kate knew. This stabbing shock in her heart--it was not friendship. +It was jealousy; love. + +She started away from the window. She must have made some slight sound, +for Jacques looked up suddenly, and after a moment came out into the +darkness. + +He almost stumbled over her in the ravine, face downward among dead +leaves, shaken with dry sobbing. He went on his knees beside her, +gripping his hands together behind him so that he should not touch her. +But his voice was beyond his control. It broke into little sounds of +tenderness and dismay. + +"Kate--you! But what has happened? Tell me! What is wrong with you? +What?" + +His nearness, the trembling of his voice, filled her with an exquisite +terror. If she could have risen and run away she would have done so, but +she dared not trust her legs. Nor could she look at him, there in the +starlight, with this new secret in her eyes. She clutched desperately at +her self-command. + +He bent closer. "Kate, tell me! You are hurt. _Dieu!_ That man--" It was +the first time she had heard a trace of accent in his speech. "What has +he done to you?" + +Still she could not trust herself to speak. In the silence she heard his +breath come hard. When he said, in a crisp, queer staccato that was not +his voice at all: + +"If Basil Kildare has hurt you, I shall kill him." + +"No, no," she gasped out. "It is not Basil. It is you!" She would have +given years of her life to recall the words the instant they were +spoken. + +"I? _I_ have hurt you, I, who would--But tell me! You must tell me!" + +His will was stronger than hers. She told him. + +"I saw you--kiss her." + +"Kiss--" + +"Your wife." She was close to hysteria now, all hope of self-command +gone. She caught him by the arm. "Jacques, do you love her? I never +knew, I never thought--Oh, but you _can't_ love her! It is impossible, +Jacques. Why don't you answer me?" + +He was shivering as if with a chill. "That is a question you have no +right to ask." + +"I--no right?" She laughed aloud. "What do rights matter? Besides, I +have every right, because it is me you love, me! I know it by your eyes, +your voice. See, you are afraid to touch me. And yet you kiss her! Why? +Why?" + +She could barely hear the answer. "Because--it makes her a little +happy." + +She laughed again, brokenly. "You hypocrite!" + +"No, not quite a hypocrite--" he got it out in jerks. "She cares for me. +She needs me. She has given me our son. If one cannot have--the moon--at +least there are stars." + +She knelt facing him, with her hands out, whispering desperately, "But +if you can have the moon, if you can--? Oh, my dear, my dear! Why don't +you take me?" + +He took her then, held her so close that his heart shook her body as if +it were her own, kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, until she was +ashamed and put up her hands before her face so that he might kiss only +them. + +At last he put her from him, and went without a word back to his wife. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The older Kate, looking from her eyrie at that other self of hers as at +some stranger she had once known and pitied, saw a girl who wore her +secret in her face, careless of who might read. Indeed she rather hoped +the world would read; she had no shame of loving. + +The negroes, sensitive as devoted dogs to the mood of their mistress, +vied with each other in serving her, and whispered uneasily behind her +back. Several times the mulatto nurse, Mahaly, more often with her than +the others, seemed about to speak to her of something, but lost courage. + +Kate did not notice. She noticed very little that went on around her in +those days. Sometimes, indeed, she caught the hard, shallow gaze of her +husband fixed upon her, curiously. But if he drew his own conclusions +from her pallor, her starry eyes, her long fits of brooding, he at least +did not trouble her with questions. Which perhaps was just as well. She +would have answered them. + +For a while she went about in a sort of daze, living over again what had +passed in the ravine, wondering what she and Jacques would say to each +other when he came to her. Then she began to wonder why he did not come +to her. A week passed--two weeks. She grew troubled, frightened; for the +first time a little ashamed. What if it were not love with him? The girl +had learned in a hard school the difference between love and the thing +that is called love. + +She spent hours out under the juniper tree, listening for the +pit-a-patter of a racking horse. She heard it often, but it did not +stop. The baby playing near heard it, too; and when it passed she +murmured with a tragic droop of the little mouth: "Aw--gone--by-by, +Muddy! Aw--gone--by-by!" + +Presently Kate lost all sense of shame; ordered out a saddle-horse in +defiance of doctor's advice, and took to haunting the crossroads and the +village on the chance of meeting him alone. This never happened. Fate, +rather late in the day, seemed to have taken her good name into its +keeping. They met, of course, but under the furtive, curious gaze of +others. Usually, too, Jacques had his boy beside him. It was as if he +were afraid to go alone. + +So Kate had nothing to feed her heart upon but an occasional grave "Good +morning," or a meeting of eyes that were instantly wrenched apart. It +was enough for her, however. This was no mere emotion she had stirred. +The man's face was worn as by a long illness. The least touch of his +eyes was a caress. + +She grew to pity him more than herself. "Poor Jacques!" she thought +tenderly. "Poor, miserable, foolish Jacques!--" and longed to comfort, +to reassure him. She felt in herself the strength for two. + +At last she wrote to him: + + When are you coming, Jacques? I miss you so! Do not be afraid. + Friends need be none the less friends because they love each other. + Don't you trust me? + +It was her custom to send her baby once or twice in the week to visit +the invalid, Mrs. Benoix. She gave her note to the nurse to carry. + +"It is to ask the doctor for a prescription," she explained. "If he is +not there, it will not be necessary to leave the note. You understand?" + +It was her first lie, and she told it badly, flushing and stammering. +Mahaly understood only too well. The woman seemed oddly reluctant; tried +once again to say what she had to say, and failed. + +When she had gone, Kate felt in the reaction as if her heart had been +released from some heavy weight. "Why haven't I written before?" she +thought. "Shyness, pride between people who love--what a silly thing! He +shall see how strong I am; how much better and truer a friend, now that +we know." + +To prove the purely friendly nature of her intentions, she donned her +most becoming dress, in case he chose to bring his answer in person. + +Mahaly brought the answer, however, written across a leaf of a +prescription-pad: + + I do not dare to come. It is myself I cannot trust. Forgive me! + +It was her one love-letter from Jacques Benoix. She wore it out with +reading. + +Some days later the bomb fell. Her husband said casually, at the +supper-table, "I bought the Benoix place to-day, Kate." + +"Bought--the Benoix place?" + +"Yes; not that I could afford it! God knows I'm land-poor enough as it +is. But they needed the money, and I knew you would like me to help +them, my dear. They're such friends of yours." + +Kate moistened her lips. "Of yours, too, Basil. But--why do they need +money?" + +He looked at her. "Oh, haven't you heard?" He spoke slowly, as if the +words were pleasant to him. "Has Jacques not told you that they are +going away to live, to the mountains? Mrs. Benoix' health; lungs, you +know." + +The room was whirling; around her. Clutching the tablecloth to steady +herself, she was aware of Mahaly behind her master's chair, looking at +her sharply, warningly. "Isn't it rather foolish of Jacques?" she heard +herself asking, evenly, "to give up his practice a second time?" + +Kildare laughed. "Not much practice to give up, my dear! Old Jones is +good enough for us--he's not a d----d Frenchman, at least," he said with +sudden savagery. "In fact," he added, smoothly again, "it was I who +advised Jacques to try the mountains. He has worn out his welcome here." + +At last Kate understood. Her husband had seen. He meant to guard what he +did not value. He had forced Benoix to sell his home, and to give up his +means of livelihood. He was driving him out of the neighborhood because +he was her lover. + +She rose, and walked steadily from the room. The girl Mahaly followed. + +"Tek keer, tek keer!" she muttered, in a low voice. "He's watchin' you, +Miss Kate!" + +"He is always watching me," said Kate, dully. + +"Yas 'm. I done tried to warn you. Hit were de letter. Ef you jes' +hadn't 'a' sent de letter!" + +"My husband saw that?" + +"Yas 'm. I don gib it to him." + +Kate recoiled, staring at her. "You! You gave it?" she whispered. "You +whom I have trusted! My own servant!" + +The mulatto woman's expression was a queer mixture of malice, and +triumph, and pity. + +"I was his servant first," said Mahaly. + + * * * * * + +Several months later, news came of the death of Mrs. Benoix in the +mountains. + +But it found Kate oddly indifferent. She was lingering, then, upon a +certain dark threshold which she would have crossed very gladly but for +voices that held her back; the prattle of a child, the thin, helpless +whimper of a baby. She had just given birth to her third daughter. + +Basil Kildare did not trouble himself to inspect his new property. +Servants brought him word of its sex and its soundness. + +"Good gad, another female?" he cried; and went off down the hill at a +gallop. + +Kate heard him go, and retreated a step from the dark threshold. + +There was peace in the room. + +Presently it seemed to her as if some one were near, a dear familiar +presence she had learned to associate with that threshold; a strength to +lean her weakness on; a hand gripping hers; eyes that held her with +their tenderness, would not let her go. + +By a great effort she raised her lids. The vision held. A voice said +steadily: "Quiet, Kate. Remember your baby." + +But she had no thought of excitement. It seemed too natural to have him +there. "I knew--you would come--if you could--" she whispered. + +He knelt beside her. She drew his head down to her breast, just above +where the baby lay. So they stayed a while without speaking. + +There was some sort of commotion downstairs; a cry, instantly hushed. +The old doctor entered the room in haste, and paused, staring. After a +moment he went out softly, clearing his throat. A mulatto-girl, +curiously gray of face, was mounting fierce guard over the door, and +would allow no others to enter. + +Then came a sound of trampling feet in the road, as of men bearing some +heavy burden. + +Benoix began to speak, in a low and rapid whisper: "Whatever comes now, +you will remember how I have loved you. From the very first, when I saw +you riding to me--There is for every man one woman, only we are fools +and do not wait. Wherever I am, my love shall reach you. They cannot +keep my love from going to you, and you will know. For me there is only +you in the world. The other things are shadows. You will +remember--whatever happens, you will remember?" + +She smiled: there was no need to answer. + +She asked, incuriously: "What are those feet in the hall? What are they +carrying?" + +He answered, "Basil Kildare." + +"Basil? He is hurt?" + +"He is dead," said Benoix. + +After a moment she began to laugh--but very softly, so that the sleeping +baby on her breast might not be disturbed: "Oh, thank God, thank God! +God is good to us, Jacques!" + +He stopped the terrible words on her lips with his own. There were feet +on the stairs. He tried to speak to her once more from the door, but he +could not. He closed the door behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The peace of that quiet time with her lover remained with Kate through +the days that followed, even as he had intended it should, guarding her +like an armor from the seething excitement of the world beyond her door. +Wailing servants, friends arriving from far and near, people filling the +house with lamentations (for the kindly magic of Death had transformed +Kildare for the moment into the noblest of mortals)--all this stopped at +the door of the quiet room where Mahaly mounted guard over the mistress +she had betrayed. + +None entered that room save the old doctor, and later Kate's mother, +become suddenly an old woman, broken by the terrible rumors which had +penetrated her peaceful Bluegrass home. She was shocked beyond words to +find her newly widowed daughter serene as some Madonna out of a +painting, wrapped in a rose-colored dressing-gown that would better have +suited a bride. + +"Whatever comes, you will remember how I love you," Benoix had said. +Kate was remembering. + +She lay dreaming of the future, thinking sometimes of her husband, not +unkindly, but with pity, as one thinks of poor, blundering people who +have gone through life unloving and unloved. Of his death she thought +not at all. It was what he would have chosen, painless and quick, a fall +from his horse within sight of his own house. So her mother found her, +calm and very beautiful, placidly nursing her child. + +Only once was the agitated lady able to prick her serenity. It was when +she began to babble of Kildare's will. This stipulated that in case of +re-marriage, Kate and her children were to be deprived of any interest +in the estate save only that provided by law, in which event Storm was +to become an endowed home for crippled children. + +At this news, indeed, Kate winced. Her husband had managed to strike at +her one last time from his grave, and in a vulnerable spot--her +maternity. He was forcing her to rob her children. + +But she regained her calm. Surely such a father as Jacques Benoix was a +better gift to her children than houses and lands and cattle! + +"I can't understand it," her bewildered mother moaned. "It's a cruel +will, almost an insulting will, daughter! It is almost as if +he--suspected you of something. What was Mr. Kildare thinking of? You +are so young, you have a right to re-marry! Surely he could have had +no--reason?" + +Kate told her mother the reason; partly out of justice to her husband, +partly because her love was a thing she wished to confess. + +The other rose to her feet, staggered, gasping: "Then they are true, +those dreadful rumors! You with a lover--you a married woman! Ah, my +little girl--my little girl! Such things do not happen in our family. +They do not! A scandal--a murder? Thank Heaven your father died in +time!" + +It was Kate who comforted her mother. But in the midst of her soothing +caresses, a sudden trembling seized her. The color fled out of her +cheeks. + +"Mother! What was that you said--A _murder_--?" + +So at last the truth came, the truth which Mahaly and the few who loved +Kate had tried to keep out of that peaceful chamber. Jacques Benoix had +gone from her side to prison for the killing of her husband. + +As soon as she was strong enough to travel--indeed before she was strong +enough to travel--Kate went to her lover in prison; saw him for ten +minutes alone. + +She wasted not a moment in preliminaries; there had already developed in +her that ability for affairs that was later to make her one of the +foremost women of her State. + +"I have engaged the best lawyers to be had for money," she said. "You +will never go to the penitentiary, Jacques!" + +He shook his head, his eyes roaming over her hungrily, imprinting every +detail of her beauty on his memory to stay. "It is of no use, my dear +one." + +She blenched a little. "You mean--you did kill Basil? But no! I don't +believe it. _You_ kill a man?" she laughed. "Why, you could not kill a +fox, a rabbit!" + +"Nevertheless," he said, "I fear that I did kill Basil." + +She caught at the doubt in his words. "You 'fear'--you do not _know_, +Jacques?" + +"I know only that I tried." + +He told her the story then. Others had wished to tell her, but she would +listen to nobody, saying proudly, "Jacques shall explain to me...." + +He had been waiting at the foot of Storm hill, watching her window, +desperate for news of how she did, when Kildare came galloping down the +road. Before Benoix could speak, he had reined in his horse, crying out; +"You, is it? I thought I'd catch you skulking around. You'll find a new +brat at the house; female, of course. If it's yours, you're welcome to +it--damn you!" + +Benoix, blind with sudden fury, tried to drag him from his horse. +Kildare struck with his whip, broke away, jeering back over his +shoulder. Then Benoix found to his hand a jagged piece of rock, and +flung it straight at the grinning face that mocked him. Kildare's horse +reared, toppled... + +A negro who had seen it all came trembling out of the hedge and found +the French doctor striving to staunch a wound in Kildare's temple, from +which blood and brains oozed together. + +Benoix finished with Kate's face hidden on his breast "Oh, Jacques, +Jacques!" she shuddered. "It was for me, then--you tried to defend me! +But--perhaps the fall killed him, not your stone?" + +"Perhaps," said her lover, soothing her. + +In a moment she lifted her head. "Now," she cried, "we will face this +thing together!" She proposed that he should marry her at once. + +He knew nothing of Kildare's will; but he refused, would not listen, hid +his eyes with his hand so that the pleading of her face would not weaken +him. + +"I've dragged you low enough without that, my Kate. Remember your +children," he bade her, sternly, "Remember my boy. We have more than +ourselves to consider." + +She could not move him, neither with tears nor with kisses. The jailor +came. + +As they led him away, her voice followed him so that the grim place rang +with it! "Your boy shall be mine till you come for us both. Jacques, +I'll wait, I'll wait!" + +Benoix was right. The best lawyers to be had could not keep him from the +penitentiary. The judge, a just and troubled man who had known Kildare +from boyhood, laid what emphasis he could on the uncertainty of the +case, the probability that Benoix had fought in self-defense. The jury +would have none of it. Popular prejudice had transformed the master of +Storm into a hero, a martyr to the unwritten law, who had given his life +to defend the sanctity of his home. It did not help the accused that he +was a stranger in the State, reputed to be an atheist, had not even a +decent, pronounceable English name, was--of all things!--a Frenchman. + +"A Creole American," corrected the accused, quietly. It was his one word +in his own behalf. + +Kate was in the courtroom when the jury brought in its verdict. She rose +to receive it as if she were the accused, and more than one member of +the jury, glancing at her, pursed virtuous lips. + +The sentence was a life term in the penitentiary. + +Mrs. Kildare, now famous and infamous throughout the country, made one +more public appearance, this time in the church where she had been +christened, confirmed, and married. She did not wear mourning, but her +face was like marble against the bright color of her dress. The +congregation began to whisper. She had brought her two children to be +christened. + +She was not quite alone. Two friends entered with her and stood at her +side: her mother, and a young man named Thorpe, who had been the least +among her girlhood adorers, and was the first to offer his support in +her disgrace. It was he, as godfather, who spoke the children's names: +"Jemima" for the elder, and for the younger, "Jacqueline Benoix." + +At this there was a rustle throughout the church. Was it possible that +she was actually naming her child for the condemned lover? The old +minister's voice faltered, almost stopped, in his dismay. Afterwards, +she had to brave the blank, frozen glances of people who had known her +since her birth, and who now, it seemed, knew her no longer. + +Not until that moment did Kate realize what interpretation the world +might put upon her act of public loyalty to the man who had gone for her +sake into a living death. + +She had, indeed, her answer for the world; but it was an answer that +must wait many years, until the baby Jacqueline was old enough to marry +Benoix' son. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +On the gallery at Storm stood two anxious girls with eyes fixed upon the +big juniper-tree less patiently than the eyes of the waiting dogs. Their +mother was invisible, but the presence of the dogs betrayed her. + +"We'll have to do it, Jack," murmured the elder of the girls. "I hate to +disturb her, but--there they come!" + +She pointed to the road immediately below, along which an object that +looked like a large black beetle was rattling and panting and honking +its leisurely way toward Storm. + +"The voice of the Ark will arouse her--just wait," advised Jacqueline. +"It would arouse anything. Professor Jimsy must have bought the original +trial machine made by the inventor, Blossom. How did he come to see +mother before there were automobiles?" + +"I don't remember--but you may be sure he came. Regularly every Friday +night, and again Sunday, if encouraged. There! Mother must be stirring. +Look at the dogs." + +Mrs. Kildare appeared from the other side of the great tree, moving +rather dazedly, as people move who have just awakened from sleep. The +dogs leaped and gamboled around her, and she put them down with vague, +kind gestures. + +"There, Beauty! Never mind! No muddy feet, please, Jock! So, boys, so--" + +"Mother, do hurry," called Jemima, with some impatience. + +Mrs. Kildare hurried. It had long been her habit to obey her eldest +child, who made her feel at times quite immature and thoughtless. + +"What's up, girlies?" she asked. + +"Company," they said together. + +"Oh, yes. Jim Thorpe's night for supper. But why so much excitement +about it?" + +"Only that the automobile is now at the foot of the hill, and your hair +is coming down, and he's going to catch you in an old, faded gingham. +What _am_ I going to do with such a mother?" sighed Jemima. "I don't +believe you ever notice what you put on!" + +"I don't," admitted her parent, humbly. + +"And you think it's highmindedness, whereas it's just pure vanity. You +know that no matter what you wear, you're more beautiful than everybody +else!" The girl's voice was sternly accusing. + +Kate laughed and kissed them both. "You spoil me, dears," she said; but +Jemima's shrewdness made her wince, as it often did. + +It was quite true that clothes existed for Kate Kildare only as more or +less comfortable covering for her body; but of that body itself, the +fine, satin skin, the hands, the lustrous hair, she took a care that she +would have scorned to use in the days of her bellehood. She was aware of +her comeliness, and she treasured it; not, however, for herself. She was +a woman of one idea. Never for a moment, despite many failures, had she +relinquished the hope of securing Jacques Benoix' release. + +She asked meekly, "What dress am I to wear this evening, please, +Blossom? Dear me! It seems to me you two have made yourselves rather +gorgeous for a mere godfather. He'll be quite dazzled." + +Both girls looked down consciously at their pretty frocks. They +exchanged glances. + +"It isn't exactly for Professor Jimsy," murmured Jacqueline. "He never +looks at any one but you, anyway. It's--_you_ tell her, Jemmy!" + +"No, you!" + +In the end, they told her together. "It's a party!" + +Kate looked at them in surprise. Suddenly their eagerness, their +excitement, struck her as being pathetic. What had they known of +parties, of the gay, pleasure-seeking life usual to girls of their +class? + +The county of which Storm was the chief estate occupied toward its more +aristocratic neighbor, the Bluegrass, the relative position of an +unpretentious side-street toward the fashionable residence district of a +city. It had a social life of its own--what portion of the hospitable, +gregarious, pleasure-loving State has not? There were many simple +gaieties, dances, picnics, and the like, which took no account of +distance or other obstacles to the natural coming together of young men +and girls, and of older folk who have exchanged gallantry for gossip. In +this life, the mistress of Storm held a certain place. No farmers' +dinner, no fair, or barbecue, was complete without the presence of the +county's one great landowner. + +But her daughters were creatures apart, young princesses among admiring +vassals. The country people looked with awe upon their tutors and +dancing-masters and singing-teachers, their books, their clothes from +the city. It had never occurred to them to include the little heiresses +of Storm in their humble amusements; they belonged so palpably to a +different world. The fact that this world was closed to them, because of +the unforgotten scandal connected with their mother, left Jemima and +Jacqueline singularly friendless; princesses, perhaps, but lonely +princesses in their castle. + +For the first time Kate realized this. Hitherto she had felt that they +three were all sufficient unto themselves, with Philip Benoix, and James +Thorpe, and one or two others who came regularly to Storm. Now she said +to herself with a sharp pang, "My poor babies! My little hidden, lovely +girls!" + +Aloud she said, "A party?--that is splendid! Who are coming to the +party? Some neighbor boys and girls?" + +"Hardly," replied Jemima, with a superior smile. "The party is coming +from Lexington." + +Kate's face changed. She asked in quick dread, "Who are they?" It was +not often that she met people from Lexington, except in the way of +business, and then it was an ordeal to her. + +"We don't know. Isn't it exciting? Professor Thorpe is bringing them." + +Then Kate smiled. They would not be people who knew her. She could trust +James Thorpe. + +"I must make myself presentable," she murmured, moving toward the +stairs. + +The two girls heaved sighs of relief. It was evident that they had +entertained doubts as to her reception of the party. Jacqueline walked +beside her, rubbing a caressing cheek against her shoulder--a trick she +had learned from the horses among whom she spent much of her time. + +"You see, Mummy, Blossom thought it was high time for us to be having +some beaux." + +"Good Heavens--not yet!" murmured Kate. + +"At my age, you had several babies," Jemima reminded her, firmly; and +Kate could not deny it. + +"So we consulted our godfather," continued Jacqueline. "It seemed to us +we had at last found a use for a godfather--besides candy, and birthday +presents, and things like that, which don't really count. We asked him +if he couldn't find us some nice young professors at the +university--attractive, dancing ones, you know, not old fossils like +him." + +"Pleasant for James," murmured Kate. "He must be very little over +forty!" + +"But imagine him dancing," cried Jacqueline, and dismissed him from her +world with a gesture. "So Jemima suggested to him that the surest way of +having you alone, the next time he came, was to bring some young +professors to amuse us. And," she finished dramatically, "here he comes, +the Ark simply bursting with young professors!" + +There was a loud honk at the door. + +Mrs. Kildare fled up the stairs. Jemima, following her, said in a low +voice, "You don't really mind, then--about the party?" + +Something odd in the girl's voice arrested her. "Mind? Why should I +mind, dear?" + +"I don't know. I thought perhaps--you see you never do have any of your +old friends here, and--and sometimes that seems to me queer. You must +have had so many friends there, in Lexington, a woman like you. Or were +they all beaux?" + +Kate's heart beat hard. It was not the first time the girl's observant +intelligence had frightened her, nor did the wistfulness of the query +escape notice. + +"Yes, I had many friends, and beaux, too--just as you will have, dear," +she said steadily. "But you see I have been too busy with the farm and +such things, since your father died, to keep up with people. That is +all." + +Jemima looked immeasurably relieved. "I knew you would give us friends +some day, Mother, just as you have given us everything else. Only, I--I +got a little tired of waiting." + +"Did you, dear?" said her mother sadly. "I thought you were quite +happy." + +"We are, of course. But you see, we've _got_ to get married some day, +Jackie and I, and--there's no use waiting too long." + +"I see." + +Despite her dismay, Kate's lips twitched. It was so like this capable +child of hers to be arranging the future, at nineteen, ready to be a +mother to herself in case her natural mother failed her. But as she got +quickly into the dress laid out for her, her hands shook a little. It is +disconcerting to discover that one is no longer the parent of children, +but of women grown. + +She had the weary, bruised feeling of one who has traveled too far--and +indeed it was a long journey she had made that day, from her own wistful +and eager young womanhood to that of her daughters. She brushed her +hands across her eyes to clear them of memories and dreams alike. + +Introspection is always a difficult matter to direct and simple natures, +such as Kate Kildare's, but she forced herself to it now. Had she in any +way failed her children, as Jemima seemed to imply? Was it possible that +in her absorption in a fixed idea she had neglected them, taken their +welfare too much for granted? Was there anything she might have done for +them that she had not done? + +Conscience answered, No. It was for their sakes, far more than her own, +that she had isolated herself with them, hidden them away from a world +which she had found unkind. It was for their interests that she had +worked harder than any man of her acquaintance, experimenting, studying, +managing, until she was recognized as one of the greatest agriculturists +of the State, and the unproductive property left by Basil Kildare had +become a stock and dairy farm which netted her an income that ran well +into five figures. More than wealth, she had given them education, +bringing to Storm the best tutors and governesses to be had in the +country. She had shared with them, too, her own practical knowledge and +experience, the wisdom not to be found in books. + +Every step of the way she had walked beside them. She who could not give +them friends, had given them instead herself. Busy woman that she was, +she was far closer to them than mothers and daughters usually find +themselves, sentiment to the contrary notwithstanding. Between them, she +believed, were none of the unfortunate reticences usual in that +relation, no questions that might not be asked, nor answers given. Kate +would have said that she knew her daughters truly "by heart." + +And yet already and without warning the time was upon her which she +dreaded--the time when she might no longer walk beside them, watchfully, +but only behind, and far behind. She knew--she had always known--that +only the childhood of her girls could belong to her. Their womanhood, +their future, they must face unaided. + +It is a bitter moment for all mothers, but more especially for Kate +Kildare, who knew better than most what pitfalls lie in wait for young +and hurrying feet, and whose nightmare was inheritance. + +Then a consoling thought came to her; came in the shape of Jacques +Benoix' son, Philip, with the steady eyes, and the great, tender heart +of his father. Inheritance is not always a nightmare. The future of +little Jacqueline, at least, was secure. (Thus Kate to herself, with a +characteristic self-confidence which took no account of chance or +choice, or other obstacle to her intent.) + +As for Jemima--once more her lips twitched. Jemima was certainly very +capable. + +Mrs. Kildare went down to meet her guests somewhat heartened. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +"This," murmured a voice into the ear of Professor Thorpe, "is the real +thing at last! Everything so far has been a rather crude imitation of +New York. I am disappointed in Lexington. But there's character here, +distinction, local color. My dear uncle, why have you not brought me to +this house before?" + +"I did not bring you this time, as it happens," commented Professor +Thorpe somewhat acidly. "You came." + +"Thanks to a firm character and a discerning eye. What, miss a chance of +seeing the Kildare on her native heath? Certainly not!" + +The other turned and looked at him. "Suppose," he murmured, "that +hereafter you speak of my friend and your hostess as '_Mrs._ Kildare.'" + +The younger man made a smiling gesture of apology. "What, ho! A +_tendresse_ here--I had forgotten," he said to himself; and added aloud, +"Of course, you know, one does speak of famous women without adding +handles to their names. The Duse, for instance, or Bernhardt--it would +be ridiculous to call them 'Madame.'" + +"Mrs. Kildare is not an actress," said the Professor, primly. + +His nephew's smile grew broader. He sometimes found his uncle amusing. +"I yearn to see the lady, by whatever name," he murmured. "Here she +comes now. Jove, what a woman!" + +His voice quite lost its drawling note. Percival Channing was a sincere +admirer of beauty in all its forms, and he had without doubt a right to +his claim of a discerning eye. There was something that set him apart +from the other young men who had come with Professor Thorpe to Storm, +aside from his English-cut clothes and a certain ease and finish which +they lacked. It was an effect of keenness, of aliveness to the zest of +the passing moment. He spoke of himself sometimes as a collector of +impressions; and it was a true characterization. His slight, casual +glance invariably took in more than the stare of other people; his +nostrils quivered constantly, like those of a hound, as if they, too, +were busy gathering impressions. It was a rather interesting face; a +little vague in drawing about the chin and lips, but mobile, sensitive, +vivid; distinctly the face of an artist. + +He gazed at Kate Kildare approaching down the long stairway with the +appreciation of a connoisseur. Beside her moved a slender sprite of a +girl, whose hair gleamed like spun gold above a dress of apple-green. +But his glance for her was merely cursory, and returned at once to the +older woman. Of this Jemima was quite aware. It had happened to her +before. Her lips straightened, where another girl's would have drooped, +but the sensation was the same. Jemima, not for the first time, was a +little jealous of her mother. + +Kate greeted her guests with a gracious courtesy that was almost regal +in its simplicity. Channing in particular she welcomed warmly. + +"What, Jim's nephew! And you have been with him for some time? Then why +has he never brought you to us before?" + +"Just what I have been asking him," murmured Channing, bending over her +hand. His manner reminded her sharply of Jacques Benoix. + +She asked, on an unconsidered impulse, "You have lived in France?" + +"For many years. Have you?" + +The group around them was silent, listening. Kate went rather pale. "No. +But my greatest friend happens to be a Frenchman, a Creole," she said, +steadily, and turned to the others. + +Channing, who knew her story, guessed at once the identity of that +"greatest friend." He gazed after her in renewed admiration. It was not +often in his native land that he had come across a perfect type of the +_grande amoureuse_. + +He contrasted her with the setting in which he found her--a distinctly +masculine setting. The hall was enormous, rough and simple; skins on the +floor, rather wooden portraits of dead Kildares on the wall, together +with antlers and fox-brushes, and the stuffed head of the horse running +his race with Death. The huge fireplace of field-boulders might have +roasted oxen in its time. There were some modern comforts; a piano, many +books, a table heaped with periodicals; even that indispensable adjunct +of American homes, the graphophone; but no curtains, nor cushions, nor +draperies, none of the little touches that speak of feminine habitation. +In twenty years, Kate had made few changes in the house; she regarded +Basil Kildare's home as merely a temporary abode until Jacques came to +claim her and her children. + +"I'm in luck!" thought the collector of impressions. "This is the +setting for my new novel." + +Here was the Kentucky, the America, he had hitherto sought in vain, with +its suggestion of the backwoods of civilization, the pioneer, the +primitive. And to emphasize and give the suggestion point, here was an +example of the finest feminine beauty left to this degenerating world, +beauty such as the Greeks knew, large-limbed, deep-bosomed, clear-eyed, +product of a vigorous past, full of splendid augury for the future. + +"What sons the woman must have!" he mused, stirred; and then remembered, +with quite a sense of personal injury, that there were no sons. + +He looked again with new interest at the daughter: but she disappointed +him. She was too dainty, too petite, with a pink-and-white Dresden +prettiness that was almost insignificant. (He missed, as people often +did, the shrewd gray gleam behind those infantile lashes.) He hoped that +the second daughter might prove truer to type. + +Jacqueline, meanwhile, had made an unobtrusive appearance through a door +just behind Professor Thorpe, and manifested her presence by a pinch on +his arm. + +He said "Ouch!" and dropped his eye-glass. + +"Hush!" she admonished him, replacing it on his nose in motherly +fashion. "I want to look them over and choose a victim before they see +me. Why, you old duck of a godparent! Four of them--and all so young and +beautiful. Two apiece. I hope they can dance?" + +"Warranted to give perfect satisfaction in the ballroom, or money +returned," he murmured. "But they aren't professors, my dear. None of +ours seemed young and beautiful enough for your purposes." + +She gave his arm an ecstatic squeeze. "I knew it! I simply knew the one +in gray, with the haughty nose, couldn't be a professor." + +"He's worse," warned Thorpe. "He's an author." + +She gave a little squeal. "An author! But where did you get him, Goddy?" +(Such was her rather irreverent abbreviation of "godfather," employed to +signify especial approbation.) + +"I didn't. He got me. It is my famous nephew from Boston--'from Boston +and Paris,' I believe he subscribes himself." + +James Thorpe spoke with a certain fortitude which Jacqueline was quick +to observe. He was a small, ugly man, with the scholar's stoop and the +scholar's near-sighted, peering gaze--the sort of man who has never been +really young and will never be old, looking at forty-five much as he +looked at twenty, a little grayer, perhaps, a little more +round-shouldered and ineffectual, but no more mature. His most marked +characteristic was a certain shy amiability, which endeared him to his +classes and his friends, even while it failed to command their respect. +Beneath this surface manner, however, were certain qualities which Kate +had had long occasion to test--dogged faithfulness, and an infinite +capacity for devotion. He was a very welcome guest at Storm, their one +connection with the outside world. Indeed, Kate's enemies were in the +habit of referring to James Thorpe as the third man whom she had ruined. +His learning and his abilities were wasted on the little college where +he chose to remain in order to be near her. + +It was Jacqueline's custom to treat the Professor as if he were a cross +between a child and a pet dog,--a favorite pet dog. She murmured now, +sympathetically, "Doesn't it like its famous nephew, then? I wonder why? +He does look rather snippy. Is he so famous as all that? In the +magazines and everything?" + +"Pooh! He would scorn the magazines. Novels are his vehicle. Large +novels, bound in purple Russia leather, my dear." + +"But you've never sent us any of them." + +"Heaven forbid!" murmured James Thorpe. + +"Oho!" Jacqueline rounded her eyes. "They're that sort, are they? +Asterisks in the critical spots?" + +The Professor blushed. "Well, er--no. No asterisks whatever, anywhere. +He belongs to what is called the er--decadent school." + +Jacqueline gazed around him at the author with increased respect. +"What's his name, Goddy?" + +"James Percival Channing. 'James' is for me. Calls himself 'J. +Percival,' however. He would." + +"What?--not _the_ Channing? Why, Goddy, of course I've heard of him! I +had no idea you had any one belonging to you like that." + +"I don't often brag of it," he murmured. + +"But what is he doing here?" + +"Getting next to Nature, I believe. Collecting specimens, dialect, local +color, animals in their habitat, you know. Take care, or he'll be +collecting you." + +Her eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't it be gorgeous to be in a book! Professor +Jimsy, don't you think we ought to give him a little local color at +once? Some native habits, for instance. Dare me to? Come, be a sport and +dare me to! Then if Mother or Jemmy scolds me, I can blame it all on +you." + +She stroked his hand persuasively. There was no resisting Jacqueline's +blandishments. He dared her to, albeit with misgivings. Ever since her +infancy, when hearing his voice in the hall she had escaped from her +nurse and her bath simultaneously and arrived, slippery with wet soap, +to welcome him, Jacqueline had been the source of an uneasy fascination +for her godfather. She represented, in his rather humdrum life, the +element of the unexpected. + +Some moments later the group gathered about Mrs. Kildare--and +incidentally Jemima--were startled by the appearance of a vision in pink +at the head of the stairs, who casually straddled the banister and +arrived in their midst with the swoop of a rocket. + +"Jacqueline!" gasped her sister. + +Kate shook her head reprovingly, and smiled. After all, one of her +children was still a child. No need to trouble about the future yet! + +Channing was the first of the guests to collect his wits, and he +assisted the newcomer to alight from the newel-post with gallantry. + +"What an effective entrance, Miss--ah, Jacqueline," he commented. "An +idea for musical comedy, all the chorus sliding down on to the stage in +a procession. I must suggest it to my friend Cohan." + +The girl suddenly felt very small, but she concealed her embarrassment +beneath an excessive nonchalance. "Why, in Boston don't people use their +banisters? We find them so convenient, so time-saving." + +"Unfortunately, in Boston," he replied blandly, "very few women seem to +have such decorative legs to exhibit." + +There was a shocked pause. Thorpe and Mrs. Kildare had moved out of +hearing. The three other young men rushed into the breach with small +talk, casting furious looks at Channing, much to his amusement. + +He made a mental note: "In rural Kentucky the leg may be seen but not +heard." + +Later Jacqueline whispered to her sister, "What was wrong with that +compliment? Why did everybody look so queer?" + +Their education had not included a course in the lesser feminine +proprieties. But Jemima was not one to be caught napping. Conventions +came to her by instinct. + +"He should have said 'limbs,'" she answered promptly. "And he should not +have seen them at all!" + +Jacqueline inspected her slim ankles with approval. "I don't see how he +could have helped it. They're very pretty. Blossom, what's wrong with +legs anyway?" + +But for once Jemima was unable to enlighten her. + +The collector of impressions had several occasions to congratulate +himself, during the course of that evening. He ceased to trust his +memory, and commenced a series of surreptitious notes on his cuff, to +the acute discomfort of his uncle. Among them appeared items such as the +following: "7 vegetables and no soup." "Pancakes are called bread." "The +butler has bare feet." + +The butler was one of the stable-boys disguised for the occasion in a +white coat and apron, who partially concealed himself behind the +dining-room door and announced in a tremulous roar, "White folks, yo' +supper's dished!"--stage-fright having conquered recent instructions. + +Mrs. Kildare, who was usually served by an elderly housewoman, gazed at +this innovation in frank astonishment; but it was only the first of her +surprises. The table was frivolously alight with pink candles, and in +the center stood a decoration consisting of a scalloped watermelon +filled with flowers, leashed to a little fleet of flower-filled +canteloupes, by pink ribbons. + +Jacqueline could not dissemble her admiration of this effect. "Isn't it +artistic?" she demanded of the company at large. "Jemmy saw a table like +this in the ladies' page of a magazine, and she copied it exactly." + +"So helpful, those ladies' pages," murmured the author. "Once I got an +idea out of them for turning a disused cook-stove into a dressing-table, +with the aid of cretonne and a little white paint." + +Jemima gave him a glance that was swift and sharp as the gleam of a +knife, but she said nothing. She was too preoccupied at the moment to +decide whether he was laughing at her or not. Temporarily, she gave him +the benefit of the doubt. Weighty matters were on her mind that night. +While Mrs. Kildare, as usual, sat at the head of her table, it was +Jemima who ably and quite visibly conducted affairs. + +From the pantry came suppressed guffaws, the shuffling of many feet, the +steady fusillade of rattling china. + +"It is a regiment preparing to charge!" thought Channing. + +But when it charged, the author forgot his note-making and was content +to eat. All day Jemima had been busy in the kitchen with Big Liza; both +notable cooks in a country where cookery is justly regarded as one of +the fine arts. + +At one time Mrs. Kildare counted no less than five unaccustomed +servitors, white-coated and barefooted, shuffling about the table, with +fresh relays of waffles, biscuits, fried chicken. They ranged in size +from the coachman's youngest to Big Liza herself, queen of the kitchen; +a monumental figure whose apron-strings barely met about her +blue-gingham waist, and whose giggles threatened momentarily to overcome +her. + +"Well, old woman, this _is_ a surprise!" murmured her mistress. "What +brings you into the dining-room?" + +Big Liza shook like the aspic she was carrying. "Laws, Miss Kate, honey, +I allus did have a eye fo' de gentlemen," she said coyly. "I des +'bleeged ter have a peep at de beaux. Mighty long time sense we-all's +had a party at Sto'm!" + +Jemima cast a reproachful glance at her mother; but the "beaux," +accustomed from infancy to the ways of servants like Big Liza, responded +cheerfully to the old woman's advances, bantering and teasing her till +she retired to her kitchen in high delight, tossing her head. + +Channing listened in sheer amaze. "Primitive? Why, it's patriarchal! +Positively Biblical in its simplicity!" he thought. + +Jemima was as pink as her decorations. + +"Judging from the Apple Blossom's expression," murmured Thorpe to Mrs. +Kildare, "you have committed a hopeless social error in conversing with +your cook." + +"I know! It was too bad of me. She takes her little party very +seriously," said the other, remorsefully. "Don't you dare laugh at her, +Jim! It is her first, and she's done it all by herself!" + +"If she made this puff-paste herself, no man in the world will think of +laughing at her," he said heartily. "But--their social instincts are +awaking, Kate. They come by them very naturally. It is time for your +girls to have their chance." + +She winced. "What shall I do about it? How can I manage? I have no +friends now. There is nobody I can count on to help them." + +He leaned toward her, his lined face for the moment almost beautiful. + +"There is always me, Kate. Hasn't the time come to let me help you, for +their sakes? As Mrs. Thorpe--" he paused, and continued quietly, with a +rather set look about his jaw, "As Mrs. Thorpe I think I can promise you +a few friends, at least. And a--protector--though I may not look like +one," he finished, wistfully. + +She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She always avoided, when she +could, these offers of help, knowing that when he grew tired of making +them she would miss him. But she had not the courage to send him away, +to break with him entirely. She was not consciously selfish. If it had +been suggested to her that she was interfering with her friend's career, +she would have been shocked and grieved beyond measure. Thorpe's +devotion was a thing so complete, so perfect in its unobtrusiveness, +that it defeated its own purpose. She simply took it for granted. + +He made no protest now; even smiled at her reassuringly, knowing that it +troubled her to hurt him. Only the eagerness that had for the moment +beautified his face died away, and Jacqueline, happening to glance +across at him, thought, "Poor Goddy! How old and out of it all he +looks!" + +She drew him into the conversation. "I was just telling the author, +Professor Jimsy, that he inherits his patrician nose from you," she said +(somewhat to the author's embarrassment). "And he says one doesn't +inherit from uncles. That's nonsense! If property, why not noses? And +character?" she added wickedly. "Oh, I see lots of resemblances between +you!" + +"Do you?" murmured the Professor, rather grimly. + +"For instance, you both go in for psychology--only you don't publish +yours in large purple novels." + +"I do not," said the Professor. + +Channing looked at her with surprise. Was it possible that this +backwoods hoyden--Bouncing Bet of the Banister, he had named her to +himself, with a taste for alliteration--was it possible that she had +read any of his books? She was hardly more than a child. The hair hung +down her back in a thick, gleaming rope, her merry gamin's face lacked +as yet all those subtleties, those _nuances_ of expression which +fascinated him in such faces as her mother's. Channing was still young +enough to prefer the finished product. But if she read his books.... + +Doubtless Mrs. Kildare was not a woman to be very particular about her +young daughters' reading. The standards of a well-bred world would not +prevail in this strange household. He thought suddenly of the girl's +dangerous inheritance--the father, notorious even in a community that is +not puritanical about the morals of its men; the mother, fought over +like some hunted female of the lower creatures, yet faithful always to +the lover who had done away with the husband.... Truly, the future +career of young Jacqueline Kildare might be well worth watching. Despite +her crude youth, there was a certain warm sweetness about her which, he +noticed, drew and kept the attention of every man at the table--a +caressing voice, hands that must always touch the thing that pleased +her, above all a mouth of dewy scarlet, curving into deep dimples at the +corner. + +"Undoubtedly a mouth meant for kissing," mused Channing, the +connoisseur. + +He let his imagination go a little. It was a pampered imagination, that +led him occasionally into indiscretions which he afterwards +regretted--not too deeply, however, for after all, one owes something to +one's art. "Psychological experiments," he named these indiscretions. He +suspected that he was on the verge of one now, and tasted in advance +some of the thrills of the pioneer. + +And then, quite suddenly, he became aware of Jemima's cool, appraising, +gray-green gaze fastened upon his face; not quite meeting his eyes, but +placed somewhere in the region of the mouth and chin, those features +which Channing euphoniously spoke of to himself as "mobile." The author +started. He resisted an impulse to put a hand up over his betraying +mouth. + +"What ho! The pink-and-white one's been making notes on her own +account," he thought. + +It was a privilege he usually reserved for himself. + +After dinner the phonograph was promptly started, Jacqueline explaining +that the young men were going to teach them to dance. + +"Teach you?" exclaimed her mother. "Why, you both dance beautifully." + +She had taught them herself from earliest childhood, lessons +supplemented by the best dancing-masters that money could bring to +Storm. Perhaps the prettiest memory the rough old hall held was that of +two tiny girls hopping about together, yellow heads bobbing, short +skirts a-flutter, their baby faces earnest with endeavor. + +"Pooh, two-steps and waltzes, Mummy! They're as dead as the polka. +Besides, you can't really dance with another girl." + +"Can't you?" Kate sighed. She exchanged a rueful glance with Thorpe, +"Jim, tell me, did _you_ know the polka was dead?" + +"I haven't danced since your wedding." + +They settled themselves to look on, Kate murmuring, "I hope all this +noise isn't keeping Mag Henderson awake. We've got a new baby upstairs, +did you know it? A poor creature who had no one to look after her at +home." + +"So you brought her here--of course! Kate, Kate, isn't it enough that +you take in every derelict dog in the county, without taking in the +derelict infants and mothers as well?" + +"I take in the dogs as a sort of atonement to poor old Juno and her +mongrel pups," she said, soberly. "I feel as if Storm owed something to +mongrels. As for this baby, it's a good experience for Jemima and +Jacqueline. I want to teach them all I can, while I can." + +"Humph! Where's the woman's husband!" + +"There never was any." + +"What? My _dear_ Kate! And that's the type of woman you think will be a +good experience for your young daughters?" + +"Jim, you psychologists have a stupid way of dividing people into types. +I regard them as individuals. My girls will do Mag Henderson more good +than she can do them harm," she said, with a quiet dignity which ended +discussion. "Good Heavens! What sort of dance is that?" + +The dancing that is called "new" was just making its triumphal progress +westward into the homes of the land. + +"That, I believe, is a highly fashionable performance called the Turkey +Trot." + +"Looks it," she commented disapprovingly, even while her feet beat time +to the infectious measure. + +The voice of Jacqueline rang out, "But this isn't new at all! It's just +ragging, like they do at the quarters, only not so limber. We've known +how to rag for ever so long, haven't we, Blossom? Watch us!" + +She caught her sister around the waist and went strutting down the long +hall, hips and shoulders swinging, pretty feet prancing, laughing back +over her shoulder with unconscious provocation, until a delighted old +negro voice at the window cried, "Dat's de style, Miss Jack! Dat's de +way to git 'em, honey!" + +With the first note of the phonograph, the entire domestic force had +transformed itself into an unseen audience. + +When Philip Benoix came to the top of the Storm road, he jerked up his +horse in sheer amaze. It was a scene such as he had never expected to +find in that grim old fortress-home. Past the lighted windows couples +stepped rapidly to the titivating strains of "Trop Moutarde"; while on +the lawn outside the entire population of the quarters pranced and +capered in much the same fashion, somewhat hampered by the excited dogs. +Kate Kildare stood in the open doorway, gazing from the dancers within +to the dancers without, and laughing until she held her sides. + +Philip's grave face warmed with sympathy. "It is good to see her laugh +like that. I won't tell her to-night," he thought; and would have turned +away, but that the dogs suddenly became aware of him and gave tongue. + +"Heah comes Pahson to jine de high jinks!" cried the erstwhile butler, +running hospitably to take his horse. It was too late for retreat. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Kate stepped down into the porch with outstretched hands. "I am so glad +it is you, Phil dear. You must have felt me wishing for you. Come, come +in, boy! You don't have half enough of 'high jinks'!" + +He shook his head silently. + +She made a little grimace. "I forgot--the Cloth does not dance. But +surely the Cloth may look on?" + +"From afar off, perhaps, out of the way of temptation." + +He spoke smilingly, but she reproached herself for thoughtlessness. +Philip was very careful not to present himself anywhere that his +presence might cause restraint or embarrassment, he never forgot, no +matter if others forgot, that he was the son of a convict. + +"Then I shall sit out here with you." As she drew closer to him, she saw +his face clearly in the light that streamed from the open doorway. It +was very pale. "Oh!" she cried. "What is the matter, Philip?" + +"My father--" + +Her hand went to her heart. + +"Not bad news," he said quickly. "Good news. To-day I had a letter from +the Governor." + +The newly elected Governor of the State had been the presiding judge at +Jacques Benoix' trial. + +"The Governor! Well? Well?" + +"He said--it was a personal letter, you understand, nothing official. He +said that he had always entertained grave doubts as to the justice of +father's sentence, and that if I could secure the signature of certain +men in the State, he would be glad to consider a petition for pardon." + + * * * * * + +In the house, James Thorpe, waiting for Mrs. Kildare's return, after +some time became aware that he was not the only person in the room not +dancing. A girl in apple-green sat, with a rather fixed smile on her +lips, watching three of the young men teaching Jacqueline a new step, +while Percival Channing produced upon the piano a tune too recent for +the resources of the graphophone. It occurred to him that Jemima's party +might leave something to be desired on the part of its instigator. He +crossed the room. + +Jemima withdrew her eyes from the dancers with an effort. She had +evidently forgotten his existence. "But what have you done with mother?" +she demanded. "I thought you were having such a nice time with her all +to yourself." + +He explained. + +"Oh, Philip, of course! Mother does spoil Philip dreadfully, poor +fellow! She was a great friend of his mother's, you know, and his father +is--but of course you know about his father. Phil simply worships +mother, and I think she likes it. Any woman does," said Jemima, with the +air of elderly wisdom which always amused Professor Thorpe. "Still, it's +too bad of her to go off with him to-night, when I'd promised you a +whole evening with her alone." + +He winced. He was beginning to realize that evenings alone profited him +no more than evenings in company. + +"Since you've broken your promise," he said severely, "I think you will +have to make me some reparation. This new dancing, now"--he mastered a +certain trepidation--"it looks easy, if unbeautiful. Do you think you +could teach it to me?" + +She rose with alacrity. "Of course I could! I always learn things much +quicker than Jacky. You see it's taking three of them to teach her--two +to dance for her and one to dance with her--and I know the steps +already. Professor Jim," she said irrelevantly, with a faint sigh, "do +you think it pays to be clever?" + +If Mrs. Kildare had noticed, she would have been more than a little +astonished by the vision of shy and awkward James Thorpe, one of the +leading psychologists of the country, capering nimbly in a lady's +chamber under the guidance of her eldest child. But she did not notice. + + * * * * * + +"Do you know what this means?" she said, after a long silence. "It means +that we have won, my dear. The very judge who tried him!" + +Philip nodded, without speaking. + +Her hand groped for his and clung to it. As the sisters of Lazarus must +have felt when he who was dead came to them out of the tomb in his +cere-cloths, so these two felt now. After seventeen years, the thing +they had vainly hoped and striven for was about to be granted--not +justice (it was too late for that), but mercy, freedom. And after +seventeen years, what was a man to do with freedom? + +"I am--frightened, a little," Philip said at last, turning to her. "What +am I to do with father?" + +"You are to bring him straight to me. No, I will go with you and bring +him home myself." + +"_Home?_ To Basil Kildare's house?" + +She lifted her head, "What matter whose house? We shall be married at +once." + +He said in a low voice, "Have you forgotten--the will?" + +"Forgotten it?" she laughed. "Do you think that likely? Why do you +suppose I have worked as I have, scheming, saving, paring corners--done +my own selling and buying and overseeing, driven my men and myself to +the limit of endurance, got for myself the reputation of a female +Shylock? Because I like that sort of thing? Because I enjoy making +money? No, my dear. When I rob my girls of their inheritance, as rob +them I must, I shall be able to give them each a little fortune to take +its place. I am a rich woman now, aside from the Storm property. Basil +Kildare had the right, perhaps, to do as he chose with his property. +Thank God he cannot lay a finger on mine!" + +She stared out straight in the direction of the little cornfield +graveyard, as if defying some ghostly presence there to do its worst. + +Philip lifted the hand he held to his lips. When he spoke there was +trouble in his voice. "Do you think that when my father hears the terms +of Kildare's will, he will consent to such a sacrifice?" + +She turned on him sharply. "He does not know about the will, and he must +not, certainly until after we are married. Who would tell him--you, +Philip?" Her eyes met his. "Philip! What do you mean?" + +"Suppose," he said very low, "it were a matter of my conscience?" + +"Then I ask you not to listen to your conscience, but to me!" She put +her hands on his shoulders. "If, as you say, you owe me anything--if you +value my friendship--if you love me, Philip--promise that you will never +tell your father!" + +It was a great temptation through which he passed at that moment; a +temptation all the more subtle in that he could tell himself truly it +was for her sake he hesitated. One word to Jacques Benoix, and the thing +he dreaded, the thing suddenly so near, would never come to pass. + +"Don't you know it will hurt you to give up Storm?" His voice was +hoarse. "It has been your life so long. You love the land, every stick +and stone of it." + +"And every twig and grass-blade. But," she said quietly, "I love Jacques +more. Promise, dear." + +He promised. + +The silence fell again. Across Kate's face a moonbeam strayed and +rested, and the young man sitting in the shadow a little behind her +could not take his eyes away. He had the strange feeling that he was +looking for the last time on the woman he loved, who belonged now +irrevocably to his father. It was a glowing face, with eyes as lovely, +and lips as tremulous, as those of a dreaming bride. Before Philip she +made no attempt to conceal her thoughts. They had been confidantes too +long. + +It came to him that his father must be a remarkable man to have held +through years of absence such a love as this. + +"I wish I knew him better," he said, thinking aloud. "To me he is almost +a stranger." + +"A stranger!" She smiled incredulously. "I should think you would find +it difficult to write those long weekly letters of yours to a +'stranger.'" + +Philip had never found it difficult, because from the first the subject +of those letters had been herself. + +At the last meeting between Jacques and his son, the man in his +extremity had turned to the boy for aid, pleading with the terrified, +bewildered little fellow as if with a man who understood. And Philip, +already old beyond his years, born with the instinct of the priest and +confessor, had understood. + +"You will tell me of her?" Jacques had pleaded. "I have no friend but +you, boy. You will take care of her? You will write me how she does?" + +Philip had not failed his father. Every detail of Kate's life was known +to the man in prison, her comings and goings, her daily habits, her +work, her successes and failures, the very color of the gowns she wore. +There had been from the first a sort of glamour about her, to the +imagination of a lonely, dreaming boy. Even at fourteen he had been a +little in love with Kate Kildare, as a page may be in love with a queen. +With the passing years, more of Philip's self than he knew had crept +into those weekly letters to his father; so that if Jacques Benoix was a +stranger to him now, he was no stranger to his father. + +"It is queer, though," he mused, still thinking aloud. "Often as I write +to him, he rarely answers. Once a year, on my birthday, and again at +Christmas. It is as if he wanted me to forget him!" + +"I think he does," she said. "That is why he never writes to me at all. +I have had only one letter, begging me never to come there, nor to allow +you to come there. He even asked me not to write to him, and I have not +written. But--forget Jacques!" She smiled proudly. "He does not know us, +does he? Nor himself. Why, there is not a man or woman in the county who +has forgotten him!" + +Philip was staring at her in amaze. "You mean to say that _you_ never +hear from him, either, and that you have never seen him--?" + +Her face paled. "Yes, I have seen him. Once. There were convicts working +on one of the roads near Frankfort. I spoke to them as I passed--men in +that dress always interest me now. One of them did not answer me, did +not even lift his head to look at me. I looked more closely--" + +"It was he?" + +She nodded. "Working on the road like a common laborer, a negro! Oh, I +went to the warden about it myself. I railed at him, asked him how he +dared put such a man at that work, a gentleman. He heard me through +patiently enough--after all, what business was it of mine? When I +finished, he explained that he had put Jacques on the road at his own +request, granted as a reward for help during an epidemic in the prison. +Jacques had chosen it." + +"Chosen it! Why?" + +"Because it was out of doors, beyond the walls. Because he wanted to see +the sky, and trees, and birds. He always loved birds...." + +She felt Philip shaking, and with a gesture of infinite tenderness, drew +his head down on her shoulder. + +"He had changed so little, dear, so little. But it was years ago. Now he +must seem older. Have you forgotten how he looks? You were such a child +when he went. Glance into your mirror and you will see him again. The +same eyes that flash blue in your dark face, the same smile, the same +look of gentleness; strong gentleness. You are simply your father over +again. That is why I love you so." She laid her cheek on his hair. + +If the words brought a stab of pain that was almost unendurable, she did +not guess it. From the moment her first child was laid in her arms, +Kate, like many another woman, regarded herself as a mother to all +mankind. For her, this was the boy Jacques had left in her care, the +husband she had chosen for her own little girl; doubly, therefore, her +son. That she was less than ten years his senior, the one beautiful +woman in his world, the heroine of all a young man's idealism--of these +things she was as unaware as of the fact that Jacques' boy had long ago +left boyhood behind him. + +He stayed where she lightly held him, his head rigid upon her shoulder, +conscious in every fiber of his being of the cheek pressing his hair, +the warmth and fragrance of her, the rise and fall of her soft +bosom--praying with all the strength that was in him to become to this +beloved woman only the son she thought him, nothing more, never anything +more. The Benoix men came of a race of great lovers. + +She released him presently and he rose, moving with a curious stiffness +as of muscles consciously controlled. + +"What, going so soon? I have so much more to say to you about him--but +there! You look tired--you look not quite happy, Philip. What is it? Are +you still wondering what to do with him? Don't! Leave that to me, dear. +And now go straight to bed and get a good night's rest. To-morrow we +shall begin on the petition--our last, thank God! I will see the men the +Governor mentions myself." + +When he was gone, she sat a while longer in the dark. She was not quite +ready yet to face strangers, to face even her daughters. Jacques was +coming back to her! She said the words over and over to herself, till +they rang through her head like the refrain of a song. All the years +between them, the long, lonely, weary years, filled with work and with +the sort of happiness that comes from successful endeavor,--these were +suddenly as naught, and she was a girl again, a wistful, dreaming girl +with a baby in her arms, listening there in her garden for the +pit-a-patter of her lover's horse. + +She closed her eyes. Presently the voice of the graphophone broke in +upon her dreams, and she became aware of the dancers that passed and +repassed the lighted windows; among them a man in spectacles, guiding +and being guided by a determined young person in apple-green, his face +flushed and earnest, his grizzled hair somewhat awry. "Why--it's Jim +Thorpe!" she thought, with a stab of remorse. "I'd forgotten him. But +he's dancing, he's enjoying himself like a boy. Bless that thoughtful +girl of mine! She's made him look ten years younger. Dear, faithful old +Jim!" + +Her heart was open to all the world just then. She went to the window +and smiled in at him tenderly. + +Perhaps it was just as well that James Thorpe could not see that smile, +and misunderstand it. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Late summer in Kentucky; deep, umbrageous woodlands fragrant with fern, +dreaming noons, shimmering in the heat, with the locust drowsily +shrilling; warm and silver nights, made musical by the loves of many +mocking-birds; the waste places green tangles of blossoming weed, the +roads a-flutter with hovering yellow butterflies, over all the land a +brooding hush, not the silence of idleness, of emptiness, but of life, +intense and still as a spinning top is still. Beneath it those who +listen are aware of a faint, constant stirring, a whisper of green and +eager things pushing themselves up from the fecund soil. + +More than ever before was Kate aware of the sympathy that bound her to +these fields of hers, soon to be hers no longer. She could not keep away +from them. Early and late the Madam and her racking mare were to be seen +about the roads and lanes, inspecting dairies, stables, hog-pens, +poultry-yards, watching the field-hands at their labor, hearing in +person the requests and complaints of tenants. Much of her phenomenal +success was due to personal supervision, as she knew; even, perhaps to +personal charm, for field-hands and tenants are alike human. Now the +executive habit stood her in good stead. None of the business of the +great farm was neglected; but active as her mind was, through it all her +heart was dreaming, not as a girl dreams, but as a woman may who knows +well what she has missed of life. Spring had passed her by, with all its +promise blighted. Now, like her fields, she had come to late summer, to +the season of fulfilment. + +There was much to be done in connection with Jacques Benoix' pardon; +certain men to be interviewed, not always successfully, though the woman +who had made Storm was heard with more respect than had been the +desperate young heroine of a scandal; lawyers to be seen, land-agents, +cattle-dealers, for in resigning her stewardship of the estate, a +certain amount of liquidation was necessary. Optimist that she was, +however, for years she had been preparing for this contingency. Her +affairs were in such order that at any moment she could turn them over +to others. Nothing that had any claim upon her was overlooked. The +servants, the horses in her stable, the very mongrel dogs who by the +instinct of their kind had discovered her weakness and spread the +discovery broadcast,--all had their share in her planning for the +future--their future, not hers. + +Hers was to be put without question into the hands of Jacques Benoix. +She would go to him at the door of his prison-house and say, "Here I am, +as you left me. What will you do with us, me and my children?" + +She would trust the answer to his wisdom, ready, glad to follow wherever +he should lead. Yet so much of herself, of her vital force, had gone +into the building up of Storm that sometimes a realization of what was +about to happen stabbed through her dreaming like a sharp pain. For +twenty years this had been her world, and she was about to leave it. +Often, as she passed among her young orchard trees, she laid a hand upon +them yearningly, as a mother might touch children with whom she was +about to part. + +In all her planning, there was only one problem that baffled her, a new +problem: Mag Henderson. It was difficult to arrange a future for Mag +Henderson. + +"I shall simply have to leave it to Jacques. He will know what to do +with her," she decided, with a thrill at the thought of her coming +dependence. It is only strength that realizes to the full the joy of +leaning. + +Mag and her child were both thriving under the care lavished upon them +at Storm. They had been established in a room of the long-disused +guest-wing, where young Jemima might keep a capable if impersonal eye +upon their welfare. But Jacqueline, somewhat to her sister's surprise, +had promptly relieved her of all responsibility with regard to the baby, +and was doing her best to relieve the mother of responsibility also. +From the first she regarded the child as her own personal possession, +neglecting in its behalf the various colts and puppies which had +hitherto occupied most of her waking moments. + +The girl had a fund of maternal instinct that sat oddly upon her +careless, madcap nature. It was a queer and rather a touching thing to +Philip Benoix to see this young tomboy running about the place with an +infant tucked casually under her arm or across her shoulder; and to +Jemima, for some reason, it was rather a shocking thing. + +"She's perfectly possessed by the child, always bathing it or dressing +it or something, just as she used to do with dolls. You know we couldn't +make her give up dolls till a year or two ago. She is actually +persuading Mag to wean it, Philip," complained Jemima, who had no +reserves with her friend, "so that she can keep it in her room at night. +Did you ever hear of such a thing? A squalling infant that would much +rather be with its mother! Isn't it--unseemly of her?" + +But Philip did not find it unseemly. "She's growing up, that's all," he +said, looking at his young playmate and pupil with eyes newly observant. + +Since his acceptance of the Storm parish, Philip had supplanted all +other tutors to Kate's children, and was "finishing" their education +with an attention to detail not possible in even the best of girls' +finishing schools. + +Mag had needed little persuasion to give over the care of her child to +Jacqueline. She was not lacking in animal instinct, and those who +advocated taking the child from her permanently would have found a fury +to deal with. But she had also the ineradicable laziness of the "poor +white," and it took effort to keep the baby up to the standard of Storm +cleanliness. If one of the young ladies chose to take this effort off +her hands, so much the better. Besides, it was Jacqueline who had kissed +her. + +Her temporary interest in the novel state of maternity was soon +superseded by an interest still more novel and far more absorbing--the +passion for dress. + +Even in her abject poverty, there had been something noticeable about +Mag Henderson, aside from mere prettiness. Her print frocks, while often +ragged and rarely clean, fitted her figure very neatly, and she managed +effects with a bit of ribbon and a cheap feather that might have roused +the envy of many a professional milliner. Now that she had become the +possessor of several cast-off dresses of Jemima's and Jacqueline's, her +pleasure in them was a rather piteous thing to see. As her strength +rapidly returned, under the influence of care and good feeding, she +became absorbed in the task of altering these treasures to fit herself. +For this she showed such aptitude and taste that Jemima spoke to her +mother about it. + +"I believe I've found what Mag is meant for--dressmaking." + +Kate gave her daughter a delighted hug. "You clever Blossom! What should +I do without you? We'll give Mag a profession. That solves the problem. +Write to town at once for patterns and material, and set her to work. +Teach her all you can, and whatever you do, now that she is getting +strong, _keep her busy_." + +Mrs. Kildare was a firm believer in the adage with regard to Satan and +idle hands. + +Jemima nodded responsibly. As it happened, this suggestion fitted in +very well with certain schemes of her own. Like all good generals, she +realized that equipment plays a vital part in war; and little as her +mother realized it, the recent "party" was the opening move in a +well-thought-out campaign. Jemima had no idea of passing her entire life +in the role of exiled princess; and since her mother evidently did not +realize certain of the essential duties of motherhood, she intended to +supply deficiencies herself. + +So the voice of the sewing-machine began to hum through the old house +like a cheerful bumble-bee, and Mag entered upon what was certainly the +happiest period of her career. Laces, silks, fine muslins--these had the +effect upon her developing soul that a virgin canvas has upon the +painter. Her fingers wrought with them eagerly, deftly, achieving +results which astonished Jemima, herself a dressmaker of parts. Her +attitude toward Mag lost something of its cool patronage. She had always +great respect for ability. + +It was perhaps her absorption in Mag's efforts and the approaching +campaign which blinded her keen young eyes to certain changes which had +taken place in her mother. She did notice that she spent more time than +usual in the juniper-tree eyrie; and one night when the three sat as +usual in the great hall, busy with books and sewing, she suddenly +realised that her mother had been reading for an hour without once +turning her page. + +"Mother's got something on her mind. I wonder why she doesn't consult +me," she thought, characteristically; but at the moment she had too many +weighty affairs on her own mind to give the matter her usual attention. + +Occasionally Kate wandered into the sewing-room in the rather vague way +that had come to her recently, quite unlike her usual brisk alertness. + +"What are you up to, you and Mag?" she asked on one of these occasions. +"You seem to be turning out garments by the wholesale." She fingered the +dainty pile of fineries on the bed. "What a pretty petticoat! And a +peignoir to match. How grand they are! And what's this--no sleeves in +it, no waist to speak of--Why, it's a ball-dress! Where in the world +have you ever seen a ball-dress, Jemmy girl?" + +"In a magazine." Jemima spoke rather anxiously, with a mouth full of +pins. "Does it look all right, Mother? Did you use to wear as--as little +as that at a ball?" + +"Well, not quite as little, perhaps," murmured Kate--the frock in her +hand was of the Empire period. "Fashions change, however, and it looks +very pretty. But what do you need with such a dress at Storm, dear?" + +The girl said rather tensely, "Mother, do you expect Jacqueline and me +to spend the rest of our lives at Storm?" + +Kate's eyes dropped. "No," she answered in a low voice. She wondered +whether the time had come to make the announcement she dreaded. + +"Well, then!" said Jemima with a breath of relief. "You see I believe in +being forehanded. Young ladies in society need lots of clothes, don't +they?" + +"You are not exactly young ladies in society." + +"Not yet. But we mean to be," said Jemima, quietly. + +Kate winced. She had not forgotten it, the thing her daughter called +"society"; the little, cruel, careless, prurient world she had left far +behind her and thought well lost. To Jemima it meant balls and beaux and +gaiety. To her it meant the faces of women, life-long friends, turned +upon her blank and frozen as she walked down a church aisle carrying the +child she had named for her lover. Wider, kinder worlds were open to her +children, surely, the world of books, of travel, of new acquaintance. +But the thing Jemima craved, the simple, trivial, pleasure-filled +neighborhood life that made her own girlhood bright to remember--of this +she had deprived her children forever. + +She caught the girl to her in a gesture of protection that was almost +fierce. "What does it matter? Haven't you been happy with me, you and +Jacqueline? Hasn't your mother been enough for you, my darling?" + +Jemima submitted to the embrace with a certain distaste. "Of course. +Don't be a goose, Mother dear! There'll never be any place I love as +well as Storm--" (Kate winced again)--"or anybody I love as well as you. +But we've our position in the world to think of, we Kildares," she +ended, with the stateliness of a duchess. + +"The world? Kentucky's a very small part of the world, dear." + +"It happens to be the part we live in," said Jemima, unanswerably. "And +ever since there was a Kentucky, there have been Kildares at the top of +it. I do wish," she freed herself gently, "that you wouldn't always feel +like embracing me when I've just done my hair! You're as bad as Jacky." + +"Forgive me," said Kate humbly, releasing her. "So you can't be happy +without 'society,' Jemmy? Parties don't always mean pleasure, my little +girl." + +"I know that--" Jemima spoke soberly. "I don't believe I'm going to have +a very good time at parties. Jacqueline is. I don't know why--" her +voice was quite impersonal. "I'm prettier than she is, really, and lots +cleverer, but Jacky gets all the beaux. Even that author man, though +you'd think.... Queer, isn't it?" She put her wistful question again: +"Mother, do you think it pays to be clever?" + +Kate, with a pang at the heart for this clear-eyed child of hers, +answered as best she could this plaint of clever women since the world +began. "Certainly it pays. Clever people usually get what they want." + +"They get it, yes," mused the girl. "But it doesn't seem to come of its +own accord. And things are nicer if they come of their own accord." She +gave a faint sigh. "However, we must do what we can. And of course +people don't go to parties, or give them, just to have a good time." + +"No?" murmured Kate. "Why, then?" + +"To make friends," explained the girl, patiently. "You see Jacky and I +have to make our own friends." + +Kate's eyes smote her suddenly with compunction, and she leaned her head +against her mother's arm, quite impulsively for Jemima. "Not that I'm +blaming you, Mummy. You've done the best you know how for us, and this +is going to be my affair. It's all quite right for you to be a hermit, +if you like. You're a widow, you've had your life. But Jacky and I +aren't widows, and if we keep on this way, we'll never have a chance to +be." + +She was surprised by her mother's sudden chuckle. Jemima was never +intentionally amusing. + +"So," she finished, "Professor Jim is going to help us all he can." + +"What! Jim Thorpe to the rescue again?" Kate could not accustom herself +to the thought of this shy, awkward, scholarly man, the least considered +of her girlhood adorers, in the role of social sponsor to her children. + +"I asked him," explained Jemima, "whether he did not know all the worth +while people in Lexington and thereabouts, and he said he did. So he is +going to see that they invite us to their balls and things. Of course, +we shall have to do our share, too. And then," she added with a +hesitating glance, "I thought perhaps we might go to New York some day, +and visit our father's aunt Jemima." + +"That is an idea you may put out of your head at once," said Kate, +quietly. "Your father's aunt and I are not on friendly terms." + +"I know. I've often wondered why." She paused, but Kate's face did not +encourage questioning. "She's very rich, and old, and has no children. +Oughtn't we to make friends with her?" + +"Jemima!" said her mother, sharply. + +The girl looked at her in genuine surprise. "Have you never thought of +that? Well, I think you should have, for our sakes. Even if you and she +aren't good friends, need that make any difference with Jacky and me? +You see, Mother dear, it is we who are really Kildares, not you." + +Kate turned abruptly and left the room, more hurt than she cared to +show. Sometimes the paternal inheritance showed so strongly in Jemima as +to frighten her; the same fierce pride of race, the same hardness, the +same almost brutal frankness of purpose. A terrifying question rose in +her mind. When they heard the truth about her, as hear it they soon +must, would her children he loyal to her? Would they understand, and +believe in her? As the girl had said, they were Kildares, and she was +not. + +So far, despite the frequently urged advice of Philip, she had kept them +in ignorance of the facts of their father's death. They knew that he had +been killed by a fall from his horse. They knew, too, that Philip's +father was in the penitentiary, a "killer" as the phrase goes in a +hot-blooded country where many crimes are regarded as less forgivable +than homicide. But to connect the two tragedies had never occurred to +them, and the isolation of their life, passed almost entirely among +inferiors and dependents, had made it possible to keep the truth from +them. It would not be possible much longer. + +But once more the mother postponed her moment of confession. It was the +one cowardice of her life. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +The fact that, while the countryside had been astir for weeks with +rumors of Jacques Benoix' impending release, her daughters were quite +unaware of them was evidence of the Madam's complete sovereignty over +her realm. It would have been a brave man or woman who dared to gossip +of Mrs. Kildare's affairs with her children. They remained unconscious +of the undercurrent of excitement and speculation in the atmosphere +about them. In time, mention of the pardon and reference to the old-time +scandal it revived, was made in the newspapers; but these papers failed +to reach the reading-table at Storm, and the girls did not miss them. +Kate had never encouraged the reading of newspapers in her household, +finding the monthly reviews cleaner and more reliable; and indeed the +doings of people in the far-off world were less real to Jemima and +Jacqueline than episodes in such novels as their mother read aloud by +the evening lamp, while one girl sewed and the other lost herself in +those dreams of youth which are such "long, long dreams." + +They wondered a little, it is true, over Kate's frequent absences from +home, and over the defection of Philip. + +"He hasn't been here for days, and he used to come every evening," +complained Jacqueline, always his sworn ally and companion. "No time for +riding, or music, or even lessons--not that I'm complaining of that! But +he's never been too busy for us before." + +The fact was that Philip dared not trust himself at Storm just yet, not +until he had accustomed himself to the immediate thought of Kate Kildare +as his mother. + +"Philip looks a little queer, too--sort of hollow about the eyes," mused +Jemima, the observant. "Still, he always was rather a solemn person." + +"No such thing, Jemmy!" cried Jacqueline, who could bear no criticism of +the thing or person she loved. "He's positively giddy sometimes when I +have him alone. Anyway, wouldn't you be solemn yourself, if you had a +father in the penitentiary?" + +"He ought to be used to it by this time. No, I don't believe it is that. +I believe it is mother." + +"What do you mean--'mother'?" + +"Oh, nothing. Only"--Jemima severely bit off a thread--"I do wish +mother'd grow wrinkled or--or fat, or something, like other people's +mothers." + +"Why, Jemmy Kildare!" cried the other, shocked. "How can you say such a +thing? Mother's the most beautiful person in the world!" + +"Exactly. If I'm not mistaken, Philip thinks so too." + +"Well, why shouldn't he? That's nothing to be solemn about." + +The other smiled an enigmatical smile. + +"Stop looking like that horrid Mona Lisa. You mean--" Jacqueline stared, +then shouted with laughter. "Blossom, you're _too_ silly! Of course +mother's the most beautiful person in the world, but after all she +is--mother! She's old." + +"Remember Henry Esmond." + +"Pooh! That's in a novel. Why, Philip might as well get up a romantic +passion for--for the Sistine Madonna." + +"Which would be exactly like him," commented Jemima; but Jacqueline +dismissed the absurdity from her mind with another laugh. + +From day to day now, Kate put off the breaking of her news. "Not yet," +she pleaded with her better judgment. "I will wait till everything is +settled." + +She waited a day too long. + +Jemima had driven down to the crossroads store for some pressing +necessity of the sewing-room. Like many country stores, it combined the +sale of groceries, fishing-tackle, hardware, dry-goods, and other +commodities with the sale of wet-goods, the latter being confined to the +rear portion of the establishment, opening upon a different road from +the front portion. + +The proprietor's wife, who usually managed the dry-goods and groceries' +section, happened to be absent at the time, and the proprietor's +unaccustomed efforts to find the buttons Jemima needed aroused her quick +impatience. + +"Never mind--let me find them myself, Mr. Tibbits," she urged. "I'll put +them down in your book. There's a customer in the back store. Do go and +attend to him." + +Tibbits meekly obeyed, murmuring, "You might find them buttons on the +shelf with the canned goods, or then agin they might be under the +counter behind them bolts of mosquito-bar." + +So it happened that Jemima was on her knees behind the counter, quite +invisible, when two women in sunbonnets entered, deep in a congenial +discussion of their betters, such as might have been heard in a dozen +homes in the vicinity that day. They had failed to recognize the buggy +at the door as a Storm equipage. + +"What I want to know is how's she ever goin' to manage with the two of +them at once. They do say the young parson's sort of took his father's +place with her." + +"Laws! I should think she'd be ashamed. Her old enough to be his +mother!" + +"No, she ain't, either. She wa'n't twenty, nothin' like, when Mr. +Kildare brought her here, and the French doctor's boy must a-been about +ten then. Ten years or less ain't such a heap of difference, not when +you hold your looks the way she does. Anyway, they been seen kissin'." + +"You don't say!" + +The informer nodded, pursing her lips. "It come to me pretty straight. +That old nigger Zeke, who does chores about, seen 'em with his own eyes, +and tol' me about it next day when he was doin' some work in my patch. +Said he caught 'em kissin' and just carryin' on, right in the public +road." + +"The idea! What for do you s'pose they want the father pardoned out, +then? She got up the petition herself. Laws, what a mix-up! I shouldn't +think she'd dare have anything to do with either of them. Don't look +good, does it? Him killin' her husband and all." + +It was here that the girl behind the counter, flushed and furious and +just about to speak, suddenly lost her color. + +"There was some that never believed he done it, Miz Sykes. If you'd ever +known the French doctor--always so sort of soft and gentle in his ways, +didn't believe in huntin' rabbits unless for food, used to doctor +animals just as if they was folks. He didn't seem the sort of man to +make a killer. But there! You never can tell with for'ners. And Kildare +wa'n't the sort of man to let his wife go gallivantin' round the country +with a lover, that's certain. We was s'prised he stood it long as he +did. Oh, I ain't sayin' Dr. Benoix done his killin' in cold blood! He +prob'ly done it in self-defense. The gentlest critter'll fight if it's +got to. But killin' it certainly was. No axdent about that!" + +They went toward the back store, still talking, unaware of the +white-lipped girl who slipped out from behind the counter and gained the +refuge of her buggy with trembling knees. + +Her knees might tremble, but her lips did not. They were set in a +straight, grim line, and her brows met over eyes that had grown almost +black. It would have been difficult to recognize in this stricken face +the pink-and-white Dresden prettiness that had won her the sobriquet of +"Apple Blossom." + +An old man, fumbling at his cap as she passed, suddenly paused and +stared after the buggy, aghast. He thought for the moment that he had +seen the ghost of Basil Kildare. + +She went straight to her mother's office, a small room opening off the +great hall. She opened the door without knocking, and closed it after +her. + +"One moment, please, I am busy," murmured Kate, glancing up from her +desk in surprise. She was not often interrupted so unceremoniously. But +instantly she rose to her feet. She had no need to ask what had +happened. The girl's face told her. + +"Mother!" Jemima's voice was hoarse. "Is it true that--Philip's +father--is coming out of the penitentiary?" + +Kate inclined her head, paling. + +"And that you are getting him out?" + +"Philip and I together." + +"Why?" + +Kate did not answer. She was struggling to collect her wits for this +sudden necessity. + +Jemima came quite close, searching her face with curious grimness; and +Kate saw the resemblance the old man had seen, and shivered. + +"Mother, that was not the only news I heard at the store. I overheard +some women talking. They said--" + +"Surely we need not concern ourselves with village gossip, my child!" +Kate was fighting for time. + +But the appeal to the girl's pride went for once unheeded. "If they +lied," she said tensely, "they must be punished for it. If they did +not--Mother, what they said was that my father was not killed by +accident. They said the man who killed him was Dr. Benoix. They +said--why." + +Kate moistened her lips. The time had come to speak, to explain what she +could, to lie if necessary--anything to wipe out of her child's face +that look of frozen horror. + +But her tongue refused her bidding. She was hypnotized by the +realization of her own utter folly. To have left such a discovery to +chance! To have hoped that some impossible luck would keep her daughters +in ignorance of her tragedy--and this in a rural community where nothing +is ever forgotten, where every sordid detail of its one great scandal +had been for years a household word! + +The two stared at each other. Slowly the ruthless inquiry in the girl's +eyes changed into fear, into a very piteous dismay. "Can't you +deny--anything?" she whispered at last. "Mother! say it isn't so. I'll +believe you." + +She began to cry; not weakly with hidden face, but as a man cries, +painful tears rolling unheeded down her cheeks, her shoulders heaving +with hard sobs. + +It came to Kate that never since her babyhood had she seen this child of +hers in tears. She held out her arms, infinitely touched. "My dear, my +baby!" she said. "Come here to Mother." + +But the girl avoided her touch with a sort of shrinking. "All these +years we've been trusting you, loving you, almost worshiping you--and +you were _that sort_! Oh, Mother! Your husband's murderer--and his son +coming and going about our house as if he were our brother. Those women +said something about you and Philip, too,--but never mind that now. Will +you tell me the truth, please? Before my father's death, you and--that +man--loved each other?" + +"Yes, Jemima, but--" + +The girl silenced her. "And now that he is coming out of prison, you +will go on--being lovers?" + +Her mother answered quietly, "I shall marry him, dear, if that is what +you mean." + +Without another word, the girl turned and went out of the room. Kate +hurried after her. "Wait, daughter, I haven't finished. There are some +things I must tell you. Where are you going?" + +"To tell Jacqueline." + +Kate cried out, "No, not Jacqueline! She's too young. Wait, please--" + +She followed up the stairs, commanding, pleading. "Wait! I prefer to +tell her myself. Please, please! Jemima, do you hear me? I insist." + +Jemima never paused. "My sister must know the truth. I owe that much to +my father. Young or not, Jacqueline is a Kildare," she said stonily at +the door of her room; and shut her mother out into the world of people +who were not Kildares. + +All that morning the Madam, greatly to the bewilderment of her +household, wandered about the house in utter idleness, never stopping; +saying to herself reasonably, "I must find something to do. Now is the +time to be doing something;" wondering with that helpless, childlike +egotism of people in great distress, how the sun happened to be shining +so brightly out-of-doors, the birds singing quite as usual. + +Invariably her footsteps came back to the door of the room that had been +the nursery. It was there the two tiny cribs had stood, the +rocking-horse, the doll's house, the little desks at which her babies +had lisped their first lessons. It was there they murmured together now +through the endless morning, discussing her fate, sitting in final +judgment upon their mother. + +She could not keep away from the door. Sometimes she pressed against it +soundlessly, as if the passionate throbbing of her heart might send a +wave through to reach them, to help them understand. How else could she +help them to understand? Only by blackening now the memory of a father +who was not there to defend himself, a father whom she herself had +taught them to respect and to love. + +It was an expedient that did not once occur to Kate Kildare. + +"My little girls!" she whispered to herself. "My poor little frightened +babies!" + +If only she had been more with them, had taught them to know her better! +In those hours she accused herself of neglecting her children, of +leaving them too much to the care of others while she absented herself +upon their business. She begrudged, as mothers of dead children +begrudge, every necessary moment she had spent away from them. What +things were they saying in there, what things were they thinking of +their mother? + +At last she went upon her knees beside the door, her ear shamelessly at +the keyhole. Jemima heard her there, and opened. + +She said coldly, "You might have come in, if you wanted so much to hear +what we were saying. The door was not locked. We have been deciding +where we shall go." + +Kate got with difficulty to her feet. "Where you shall go?" she +repeated. + +Then she thought she understood. Jemima had remembered the terms of her +father's will, by which in case of her mother's re-marriage the property +of Storm was forfeit. + +"Oh, but daughter!"--the words tumbled over each other in their +eagerness to be out. "You need not trouble about that! Losing Storm +won't matter. You lose only what your father left, and I have doubled +that--trebled it. Besides, there is the little property that came to me +from my parents. I've always meant, when I married, to give you more +than my marriage would cost you. That is why I have worked so hard, and +saved. Perhaps you thought me miserly, grasping? I know people do. But +that is why. The money is to be yours, all yours and Jacqueline's--at +once, not after I die. We shall need very little, Jacques and I. Just a +start somewhere--" + +The girl stopped the hurrying words with a gesture of some dignity. "We +have not thought about the money part yet, Mother. We were simply +deciding where to live now." + +"To live?" The words were puzzled. + +"Yes. Surely you don't expect us to go on living with you and our +father's murderer?" + +Kate groped at the wall behind her for support. Here was a thing she had +not thought of. She had known that she might lose her children's +respect, perhaps, temporarily, their love; but she had counted +unconsciously upon the force of daily habit, of companionship, of her +own personal magnetism, to win back both, as she had won them from +others. Deprived of their companionship, what chance had she? They were +lost to her, utterly. Yet not even in that bitter moment did it occur to +her that she might fail the man who was coming back to her out of his +living death. + +She said tonelessly, "You are very young to leave your mother. Where +could you go?" + +The girl had her answer ready. "To my father's aunt Jemima. Now I +understand why you and she have not been on good terms. I understand +many things now. When she hears that we are leaving you, and why, I +think she will be glad to offer us a home." + +Kate bowed her head, "And Jacqueline? Is she, too, willing to leave me?" + +At this there was a cry from inside the door, and a dishevelled, sobbing +figure flung itself into Kate's arms and clung, desperately. + +"No, no, _no_! Don't let her make me. I won't, I won't! She's been +saying--oh, terrible things, Mummy! I tried not to listen. She said you +didn't love us, you loved him. She said that when he comes--that man, +Philip's father--you wouldn't want us around any more. But I know +better. No matter who comes, you'll want _me_, you'll want your baby! +Won't you, Mother? Dearest, darlingest Mother!" + +"Jacky, don't be so weak," commanded her sister, sternly. "Remember what +I told you. Remember our father." + +"But I never knew our father. What do I care about him? It's Mummy I +want. Whoever she loves, I love. I don't care _what_ she's done! I +wouldn't care if she'd killed Father herself--" + +"Child, hush, hush!" whispered the trembling woman. + +"I wouldn't! I'd just know he needed killing. There, there--" she had +her mother's head on her breast now, fondling it, crooning over it as if +it were Mag's baby. "Look--you've made her cry!" She stamped a furious +foot at her sister. "What are you staring at with your cold, wicked +eyes? You told me she was a bad woman--my _mother_! If she is, then I +choose to be bad myself. I'd rather be bad and like her than good +as--God. Now, then! Get out of here, you Jemmy Kildare!" + +Jemima went. Sternly she closed her door upon the clinging pair, +shutting both out together into the world of people who were not +Kildares. But they were together. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The night before Jacques Benoix' release found Kate Kildare lying +sleepless within sight of a grim gray wall that blocked the end of the +street upon which her window opened. A great fatigue was upon her, a +fatigue more of the spirit than of the body. For years, it seemed to +her, she had been fighting the world alone, unaided; and now that +victory was within her grasp it tasted strangely like defeat. + +She tried to realize that the gray wall no longer stood between her and +happiness; was a menace that with the sun's rays would disappear out of +her life like so much mist. But the effort was useless. The aura of +shadow that hung always over that place wrapped her in its suffocating +miasma, became part of the very air she breathed. + +She had taken rooms in an old hostelry near the railroad station, +wishing to avoid the curious recognition that would have been inevitable +in the town's one good hotel. She was occupying what had been known in +days of former prosperity as the bridal suite. This consisted of a dingy +parlor, in which on the morrow Philip was to perform the ceremony that +made her his father's wife, and of the room in which she lay, its walls +dimly visible in the light of an arc-lamp just outside the window, gay +with saffron cupids who disported themselves among roses of the same +complexion. Over the mantel-piece of black iron hung an improbably +colored lithograph of lovers embracing. + +Kate found the effect of these decorations ironic, curiously depressing. +She was not usually so responsive to environment. + +Very near her now Jacques must be lying sleepless, too; watching for the +dawn as she was watching--but with what eagerness, what trembling hope! +Her depression shamed her. She tried in vain to conjure up a consoling +vision of the man she had loved so long. The figure that came to her +mind was more Philip than his father. She put it from her impatiently, +angrily. + +"I believe I'm developing nerves," she thought. + +Her eyes, weary of the meaningless, leering antics of the cupids, +presently came to rest on the ceiling above her bed, which appeared to +be a-flutter with small pieces of pasteboard. She made them out to be +business cards, evidently momentoes of passing knights of the road who +had amused themselves by sailing their credentials heavenward, each with +a transfixing pin. Kate smiled a little, oddly cheered by these +reminders of carefree, commonplace humanity which had lain sleepless +also in that dreary bridal chamber. The knights of the road were better +company for her thoughts than brides who might have dreamed there dreams +to which she had forfeited her right; young, innocent brides who were +not fighting their way to happiness over the happiness of their +children. + +Now and again a train came thundering past her window, till the old +house shook to its foundation. For these she listened, tense and +quivering. One of them would be bearing away from her forever the +first-born of her children.... + +While she made ready for her journey, Jemima had also made ready for a +journey, grimly; Jacqueline wandering between the two like a woebegone +young specter, all her gaiety dissolved in tears. Mrs. Kildare herself +had written to her husband's aunt, for the first time in years, +explaining briefly her own intentions and Jemima's attitude with regard +to them. The reply had come by telegraph, not to her, but to Jemima. +Kate did not ask to see it. Without comment, she had observed the girl's +preparations for immediate departure. She could not trust herself to +speak. + +It was known throughout the countryside by this time that the French +doctor was indeed coming out of prison, and that the Madam intended to +marry him. The news brought Professor Thorpe post-haste to Storm, pale, +but ready as ever with his services. + +"I never knew Dr. Benoix well, but now I shall make up for lost time," +he said quietly. "What are your arrangements? Will you need a best man, +or anything of that sort? Here I am." + +Kate thanked him with tears in her eyes, declining. + +"Jacques will prefer to see nobody, just at first, but Philip and me, I +think. But if you _could_ do something with Jemmy? She will listen to +you, if to anybody. Make her understand, somehow--make her +believe--" Her choking voice could not finish, and Thorpe silently +patted her shoulder. + +He had done his loyal best with the girl already, without success. He +was handicapped by his promise not to say anything that would shake +Jemima's passionate pride and faith in her father. + +"I have nothing further to do with my mother's affairs," was her stony +answer to all his arguments. "The day she brings that man into my +father's house, I leave it, naturally; and I shall do my best to make +Jacqueline leave it. That is all." + +Her packing went on apace. On the last morning she found a check-book at +her breakfast plate. + +"Do you mean me to have this, Mother?" she asked in the coldly courteous +voice she had used toward Kate since her discovery. + +"Yes. There will be a deposit to your credit on the first day of each +month until you come of age, when a third of my property will be turned +over to you." + +The girl flushed deeply, but said nothing except "Thank you." She would +have liked to refuse all aid from her mother; but after all, was she not +being deprived of her rightful inheritance? Let her mother make what +reparation was possible. + +To the last moment Kate hoped for some sign of relenting, struggled to +find some explanation, some plea, that would draw the girl to her. But +those who have formed the habit of ruling, suffer one disadvantage among +their fellows: it is impossible for them to become suppliants. + +"Good-by, Mother." + +When she started for the train that was to take her to Frankfort, Jemima +followed her to the door. + +"You will be here when--we return, to-morrow?" Kate's steady voice hid +very successfully her agonized suspense. + +"No, Mother." + +"Ah!... Then your aunt expects you? She knows what train to meet?" + +"Yes, thank you. Professor Thorpe has made all the arrangements. He will +put me on the train in Lexington." + +Kate bent over her child. "Good-by, my daughter." + +Even then the tremble of a lip, a tear on an eyelash, might have brought +them into each other's arms. But neither was the sort of woman who weeps +in a crisis. They kissed, their lips quite cool and firm. + +It was Jacqueline who did the weeping for both of them, and insisted +upon sitting in her mother's lap all the way to the station, so that +Kate had some difficulty in driving.... + +Such were the scenes and memories that flitted through Kate's brain all +the night before her wedding; and the night was long. + +Near morning she slept at last, and dreamed. Somebody stood beside her, +smiling down--a stranger, she thought him, till she met his eyes. + +"Jacques!" she cried, starting up with hands outstretched. "You, +Jacques!" + +The consoling vision for which she yearned had come at last; but not as +she had seen it before, not in the prime of manhood, strong to hear her +burdens. This was an elderly man, stooping, gray-haired, frail. Only the +eyes were the same, blue as a child's in his wan face, warm as a caress. +He spoke to her. He seemed to promise something. + +She awoke with his name on her lips, and saw that it was morning. Peace +had come to her with the vision. She faced a new day, a new life, serene +and unafraid. What was it that he had promised? No matter. She would +ask him when she saw him, soon now. + +Smiling at her own credulity, she began with hasty hands to dress. + +Out in the street she heard the crisp trot of horses, stopping beneath +her window. Looking down, she saw one of her own vehicles, a light +phaeton drawn by a pair of young blooded colts she had sent in to +Frankfort some days earlier, that they might be rested and fresh for the +day's drive back to Storm, which was to be their wedding journey. She +looked them over critically. + +"They are in excellent condition. We ought to make it in eight hours," +she thought. "How he will love to drive those pretty fillies! He was +always so fond of horses." + +Philip knocked on her door. His voice said, "I am ready now." + +It had been her idea to send him for Jacques alone, so that father and +son might have a little time together before they came to her. She +opened to him and stood, a white-clad vision, framed in the doorway of +that dreary bridal suite. + +"You see, I am ready too," she said, blushing a little. "Do you like my +dress, Philip?" + +He stared at her without speaking. His eyes were heavy and rimmed with +shadow. For Philip, too, the night had been long. + +She asked again rather anxiously, "Do I look nice, Philip? It doesn't +seem too--young for me, this white?" She was in need of all her vanity +just then. The mirror had shown her a face pale and luminous, not less +beautiful--she knew that--but far older than the face whose memory +Jacques carried with him into prison. She was obsessed by the fear that +he would not recognize her. + +But for once Philip's comforting admiration failed her. "I don't know +how you look," he muttered, and turned abruptly away. + +She stared after him in surprise. "Dear Phil--he must be very much upset +to speak to me like that!" she thought. + +She went into the parlor, and busied herself arranging flowers she had +ordered to make the place less cheerless for the little wedding. The +proprietress came in presently with more flowers, a box bearing the card +of James Thorpe. The woman was in a flutter of excitement. + +"They's two reporters in the office already, _Mrs. Kildare_," she said, +emphasizing the name, "and more on the way, I reckon. If I'd 'a guessed +who you were, I'd 'a' had a weddin'-cake baked, I surely would. I've +been on your side from the very first!" + +"Thank you," said Kate, wearily. + +"We've often had folks stayin' here to meet a friend who was comin' +out,"--she jerked a significant thumb over her shoulder toward the +penitentiary--"but never any one so famous, and never a weddin' right at +the very gate, so to speak," she added unctuously. + +Kate winced. She had registered under a false name, hoping thus to +escape notoriety. Now she saw the folly of any such hope. From the +first, no detail of her unfortunate romance had escaped notoriety. + +"Let the reporters come up," she sighed. "Perhaps if I speak to them now +they will let us alone afterwards." + +She was speaking to them, when she heard in the street outside the +familiar, crisp trot of the colts from Storm. Her voice broke off in the +middle of a sentence, and the two reporters, exchanging glances, +tactfully withdrew. + +Kate was suddenly very weak in the knees. She stood by the window for a +moment, clinging to the curtains, with closed eyes. "I must be prepared +for changes," she said to herself. "It is many years, many years--" + +She opened her eyes and looked down. Philip had alighted, throwing the +lines to a porter. As he crossed the sidewalk, he glanced up at her +window and she saw his face. No one followed him. + +She met him at the head of the stairs. "Where is he, Philip?" Her voice +was very quiet. + +"Gone." + +He led her into the room, closing the door in the faces of the eager +reporters. + +"Father caught a train that went through Frankfort just after dawn," he +said tonelessly. + +She cried out. "Just after dawn!" It was the hour of her vision. "He did +not get our letters, then? He did not know that we were coming to take +him home? There was some mistake!" + +"There was no mistake. From the first he did not mean to see us. The +warden said so." + +"Where has he gone?" + +"I do not know. The warden would not tell me." + +Kate ran into her room, and returned with a hat and coat. "He will tell +me," she said. "Come." + +The warden received them in his private office, grave with sympathy. + +"I understand what a blow this is to you," he said. "I argued with him +to make him change his intention--Dr. Benoix was as nearly my personal +friend as was possible under the circumstances. But from his first +coming here he was determined never to be a burden upon his son--nor +upon you, Mrs. Kildare. He felt, rightly or wrongly, that he had already +darkened your life too much. It was for that reason he declined to write +to you or to receive letters from you. He did not wish to keep alive +a--a sentiment which would be better dead." + +Kate gasped, "He said that?" + +"Yes," said the warden, gently. "He asks that you forget him, if it is +possible, or that you think of him as one who has died." + +After a moment she said in her resolute voice, "You must tell us where +he is." + +The other shook his head. "I cannot, and I would not if I could. He has +the right to make his life as he chooses. But you may be sure that +wherever he has gone, there will be a place for him." The warden's voice +changed, "He will be missed here. My business is not a sentimental one. +It does not soften a man. We see a great deal of evil in this place, and +very little that is good, and it is easy to--to question the ways of +Providence, if there is any belief left in Providence. But when men like +Benoix come to us, as occasionally they do come, the old-fashioned idea +of a guardian Providence becomes--well, more tangible. There seems to be +a reason back of such miscarriage of justice. I believe," he said rather +haltingly, "that Benoix was sent here, not because he had any need of +prison, but because prison had need of him." + +He told them something of the doctor's prison life; of an epidemic that +had raged through the wards, when he offered his services to the jail +physician and for many days and nights had gone without sleep in his +efforts to assuage suffering; of women in the surgical wards who +mentioned his name beside that of God in their prayers; of men to whom +he had given new hope and a new outlook on life by curing them of +obscure disease from which they had not known they suffered. + +"I would have recommended him for pardon or parole years ago, but he +forbade me. He said he had more opportunity for research here than +elsewhere." The warden smiled. "By 'research' he meant help, of course, +he held the modern theory that crime is always a thing for the surgeon's +knife, or the physician, or the teacher, to handle. We let him practise +his theories wherever possible, because he was of great assistance to +us. He could do more with the prisoners than we could, being one of +them. Whenever we had trouble with an inmate, his first punishment was +Benoix. He did not often need a second. It is many years since the +whipping-post, or the standing-irons, or solitary confinement, have been +used in this place, as perhaps you know. Many of our prison reforms may +be traced to Benoix' influence, though he will never get the credit of +them. He said once, 'What is the use of making men desperate? What you +want is to make them ashamed. And that comes from inside.' Young man," +he turned to Philip, "convict or not, you need never be ashamed of your +father." + +"I never have been," said Philip. + +They went away, each with a letter Jacques had left for them. Kate's was +very short: + + I have known always that you would come, and that I must not let + you. I am going while I have the strength to go. Fill up your busy, + useful life without me, Kate. I thank God that you have your + children and my boy, whom you have made a man. Once I left him to + your care. Now I leave you to his, without fear. He is worthy. + + Do not trouble your great heart for me. I shall find my work in a + world that is so full of people--work and friends, too. We cannot + be together, you and I, but remember always that I am not far from + you wherever I may go, never so far that any need of yours will not + reach me. + + JACQUES. + +She gave this letter, silently, to Philip, but he did not offer her his +own. There were things his father had said to him in farewell not meant +for other eyes to read; and for a long time they left him awed and +silent. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Kate made the long drive back to Storm, which was to have been her +wedding journey, with Philip beside her. They rarely spoke. Conversation +was never necessary between them, and now both were busy with their +thoughts. She drove, sitting erect as was her custom, her hands very +light upon the lines, steadying the young horses now and then with a +word, never urging or hurrying them; yet after a few coltish alarms and +excursions they settled down to their work with a long, steady trot that +ate up the miles like magic.--It was always a pleasure to Philip to see +her drive. It was her great gift, he thought, settling men and horses +alike to their stride. + +They stopped for the nooning at a farmhouse where they were expected, +and where their hostess met them eagerly at the gate. But when she saw +who was Kate's companion, her face fell, and she hurried to her +dining-room to remove from the table a large cake, decorated in candy +roses. She asked no questions. There was that in the Madam's face which +made questioning impossible. + +After the meal and a brief rest for the horses, they drove on, still in +silence, the colts trotting steadily now like old, sedate roadsters. +Philip's thoughts were still too chaotic for speech. Disappointment, +sorrow for his father, admiration, struggled with an unwilling relief, a +secret gladness that made him sick with shame. + +"Poor father! What am I thinking of!" he said to himself, angrily. "He +may be ill, he may be without money. Why did I not ask more questions? +Oh, I must find him somehow, I must! And yet--What a solution! She is +here beside me. He will not take her from me. How did he know? I shall +never have to call her 'mother.' He gives her to me. His whole life has +been a sacrifice. What was it he wrote--'We must consider nothing now +except her happiness, you and I, except her greatest good.' I wonder, I +wonder--" + +He dared not look at her often, but sat quite still through the long +miles, thrilling to the touch of her skirts when they blew against his +knees. The thoughts within him clamored so that sometimes he feared she +must be aware of them. + +But Kate had forgotten that he was there. Her eyes gazed straight before +her down the white road, over which yellow August butterflies hovered +like drifting flowers; across the dappled, fragrant fields of the wide +valley they crossed to the hills, whose vanguard, Storm, was already to +be distinguished by the pennant of smoke flying from its tip. She longed +for her home with a great longing, as children who have been hurt yearn +for the comfort of their mother's arms. + +Her mind was too bruised, too weary for consecutive thought. Sometimes +the dream she had at dawn came back to her.--How broken he was, how +frail! It did not seem to her that she had seen only a vision. It was +Jacques himself. She understood now what promise he had made her. He was +indeed never so far away that any need of hers could fail to reach him. +He was giving her back her child, giving her back the land she loved, +the work she loved; he was giving her what he could of happiness. But he +was taking with him the hope that had kept her young. + +Storm stood out clearly now against its background of hills, and a cloud +of dust approached down the road, which presently revealed the galloping +figure of Jacqueline, waving a large bouquet. + +"Your wedding bouquet, Mummy," she cried from afar off, with rather +tremulous gaiety. "Welcome home! Welcome home!" + +Then, as her eyes made out the second figure in the phaeton, her +expressive face changed. "Why--it's only you, Philip? Where is _he_?" + +Philip said huskily, "We do not know." + +"You don't know! You--you haven't _lost_ him?" + +Philip nodded. To his surprise he found that he was sobbing, crying as +he had not cried since he was a boy. + +"Oh--_oh_!" gasped Jacqueline. Then, "Stop, please, Mummy. I want to get +in and comfort Phil." + +She turned her horse loose with a slap on the flank, and clambered in +between them. + +Jacqueline knew a great deal about comforting people. It was a knowledge +that had been given to her with her warm lips, and her crooning voice, +and her clinging, caressing hands. She said nothing, because she could +think of nothing to say; but for the rest of the way Philip was aware of +a young arm wound tight about his shoulders, and more than once of lips +fluttering against his cheek. Jacqueline's kisses were like the dew from +heaven, which falls alike upon the just and the unjust; none the less +blessed, perhaps, for that. + +Philip had more than his share of these attentions, because Kate did not +seem to need them. She still drove silently, sitting upright, staring +straight before her. + +Once the girl leaned far out of the phaeton, and waved a handkerchief +three times, as if she were signaling. There was an answering flutter +from beneath the juniper-tree. + +"Who is that in the eyrie?" It was the first time Kate had spoken for +hours, and her voice seemed to come with a great effort. + +"Why, it's the Blossom, Mother. She hasn't gone yet. She was waiting +till the last possible moment, to be sure whether--whether Philip's +father was with you. I promised to signal her yes or no." + +Kate turned suddenly and looked at her. "Why did Jemima think he might +not be with me?" + +The girl answered very low, "Because--because she wrote to him." + +The colts with a last gallant effort breasted the hill at a trot. At the +door a wagon was waiting with a trunk in it, and Jemima stood beside it, +dressed for traveling. But as they appeared, she dropped the satchel out +of her hand and ran toward the phaeton. + +"Bring brandy, Mag--be quick!" she called over her shoulder as she ran. + +She had seen what the others had failed to notice: that her mother, +still sitting upright with the lines in her hands, was quite +unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +Years before, when gentle Mrs. Leigh turned her back forever upon the +beloved Bluegrass town of her youth, and came to spend the remaining +years of her life at Storm--for with all her ineffectiveness she was not +the woman to leave her daughter alone in disgrace and sorrow--Kate had +tried to make the strange country more homelike for her by building an +Episcopal church. Meeting-houses of several denominations had been long +established there; but to Mrs. Leigh, with Virginia and English +antecedents, "church" meant candles on the altar, a vested choir, a +rector in robes reading the familiar service of her childhood. She was +willing to concede to Methodists, Baptists, Campbellites, other +attendants of meeting-houses, a possible place in heaven; but hardly in +the best society of heaven; and she was one of the people who cannot +worship God comfortably except in the best society. + +The church Kate built was small and plain--she had found her husband's +estate heavily encumbered with debt. But it had its cross, its choir, +and its rector, a scholarly old man who persuaded Philip into the +ministry and who on his death was succeeded by him. And from the first +it had its congregation. The farming people of that section of the State +had come, or their immediate forebears had come, almost entirely from +Virginia, so that the English service was as much a part of their +traditions as of Mrs. Leigh's. The building of the first Episcopal +church in that country did more to break down the enmity toward Basil +Kildare's young widow than any of her patient efforts to win their +friendship; and this despite the fact that she herself rarely entered +it. + +The little edifice stood in a grove of fine beeches between Storm and +the crossroads village; a four-square structure of field boulders, with +a modest steeple, and a gallery across the back for negroes, in the +patriarchal Virginia fashion. The mistress of Storm saw to it that this +gallery was well filled. The corner-stone bore an inscription that +excited much comment in the community, as Kate intended it should: + + ERECTED IN MEMORY OF BASIL KILDARE + BY HIS TWO CHILDREN + +It was the first word of her answer to the world, and it had its weight. + +"It says _his_ two children. She wouldn't dare to tell a lie on stone!" +was the current opinion. + +Near the church was the rectory, one of those log-cabins boarded over +and whitewashed, which are still quite common in Kentucky, sturdy +mementoes of the sturdy pioneers whom they have outlived and will +outlive for many a generation yet to come. Lilac, hollyhock, and +hydrangea bloomed in season about this cabin, and it had a door-yard +that made women linger enviously and men smile in scorn; for to these +rough, hard-working, hard-living farmers it seemed that a young man +might find better use for his leisure than the tending of flowers. + +He had other weaknesses than flowers. The walls of his long living-room +were lined with books, many of them "poetry-books," and the rector was +reported to have read them all. Passers-by often heard him playing +softly on his mother's old piano, and more than once he had been +discovered in the kitchen, cooking his own dinner. The one servant he +kept was an ancient negress addicted to the use of whisky and cocaine. +To those who remonstrated with him for keeping the old woman, he +explained that he got her very cheap because of her habits; but the +community suspected other reasons, and despised him accordingly. + +Their scorn of his "softness," however, failed to extend to the man +himself. Different, they found him, reserved, a little cold, unless they +happened to be in trouble; but never alien. For one thing, he had +inherited from his father a gift that made "the French doctor" long +remembered in that horse-raising community. It was an understanding of +horses, indeed of all brute creatures, that amounted almost to wizardry. +There was never a colt so unmanageable that he could not bring it to +terms, without the aid of either whip or spur; never an equine ailment +too subtle for him to discover and alleviate. At all hours of the day or +night owners of sick beasts sent for the young rector as they had sent +for his father, confident of willing assistance. + +He had created his reputation by entering, against all protests, the +stall of a crazed stallion which had just mangled its groom. "I want to +look at his mouth," he explained. "Just as I thought! It's an ulcerated +tooth. Give me my lancet. No wonder the poor beast was vicious!" + +Philip had made the discovery among animals made by his father among +men, that most wickedness may be traced to physical causes. He had also +been heard to say, not very originally, that horses needed more care +than people, because people had speech and religion to help them and +horses had neither; a saying which deeply endeared him to a community +that ranks its thoroughbreds with its wives. + +Two other qualities of his offset, in the eyes of the neighborhood, the +matter of the flowers, the poetry-books, and the cooking. He had +courage, and he had a temper, both proved. A few years previously, +during the "tobacco-war" which upset the State, when the entire +countryside was terrified by the outrages of the Night-Riders who had +taken justice into their own hands, after the fashion of the moribund +Ku-Klux Klan, young Benoix alone, of all the pastors in his +neighborhood, did not hesitate to denounce from his pulpit Sunday after +Sunday the men who resorted to masked terrorism as sneaks, cowards, and +murderers. And this, despite the fact that the majority of his +congregation were in sympathy with the Night-Riders for the best of +reasons--kinship. Indeed, more than one man who listened to him with a +stolid face had worn the mask and wielded the whip and torch himself. +Benoix knew it; they knew that he did. They knew also that no possible +circumstance could persuade him to give up one of the names he suspected +to the law he was determined to uphold. + +Anonymous letters came to him, warning, insulting, threatening his +personal safety. More than one advised him to go armed. His board of +vestrymen themselves remonstrated, counseling moderation for fear of +alienating the congregation. His reply became famous throughout the +State. + +"Look here!" he cried, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze. "You want me to +shut up, do you? Then behave yourselves, and see that your sons behave +themselves. I'm talking to you, and you, and you--" he pointed direct at +several of his vestrymen. "I want you to understand that I'm a disciple +of peace. And, by God, I'm going to have peace in this parish if I have +to fight for it with my fists!" + +Such a man was Philip Benoix, priest, dreamer, idealist, son of a +convicted murderer, lover of the woman who for seventeen years had been +faithful to his father. He believed his great devotion a secret. +Probably the only person within twenty miles who had not guessed it long +ago was Kate Kildare herself.... + +Some Sundays after his father's release from prison, Philip, striding +across the rectory garden in gown and cassock, was aware of a subdued +stir among the men who lounged at the church door, waiting for service +to begin. A light surrey was approaching which he knew well, drawn by +the Madam's favorite bay colts. It was the second Storm vehicle to +arrive that morning. Jemima and Jacqueline were already within; Jemima +at the organ, which she manipulated capably if unemotionally; Jacqueline +marshaling her choir of farm boys and girls into a whispering, giggling +semblance of order. In the gallery sat the usual quota of Storm +servants, for Kate Kildare's household took its religion each week as +faithfully as it took its tonics and calomel in due season. + +With a throb of the heart, Philip realised that it must be his lady +herself who drove those prancing bays. He thought over his sermon +hastily.--Yes, it was good enough. + +She drew the colts up on their haunches, flung the lines with a smile to +the nearest bystander, and walked up the aisle with her free, swinging +step, followed by a girl carrying a baby. The girl was Mag Henderson. + +The sensation caused by this double appearance was immense. It was the +first time many of the congregation had seen the Madam since the +much-talked-of disappearance of Dr. Benoix, and they were eager to see +how she took it. From all appearances she seemed to be taking it very +calmly; a little paler than usual, perhaps; her eyes extraordinarily +dark, but nothing to suggest the illness that had been rumored. Rather +disappointed, they turned their eyes upon her companion; and then the +whispering broke out like the buzzing of a swarm of angry bees. + +Mrs. Kildare had brought Mag's baby to be baptized. Philip wondered why +she had come without warning. He did not guess that only an impulse of +sudden courage had brought her there at all. She remembered too keenly +the last time she had come to church with a baby to be baptized. + +That was why, perhaps, she so rarely honored with her presence the +church she had built; but she could not explain this reluctance to +Philip. "Church is too small for me," she said to him, airily. "My soul +doesn't breathe between walls very well. I have to do my praying in the +open." + +It had long been her custom on Sunday mornings to ride among the +deserted fields with her dogs, taking note of what had been accomplished +during the week past, planning work for the week to come, visiting such +of her tenants or laborers as were sick or incapacitated. Sometimes as +she passed she heard Philip's voice in the pulpit, and stopped for a +while to listen to him. It was no unusual thing for him to see her +there, framed in the sunny square of the open doorway, sitting her +restive horse, surrounded by dogs who leaped and gamboled eagerly, but +in perfect silence, out of respect for the long whip she carried. At +such moments his congregation nudged each other in sympathetic +amusement. Without turning to see, they knew by his flush and his +halting speech who was outside. + +But to-day there was no flushing or faltering of speech. Unprepared as +he was, the priest in Philip woke to the necessity, and in his message +the messenger forgot himself. Noting the women's curious, hostile +glances, the buzzing whispers, the stiff-necked anger of the men, +several of whom did not enter the church at all, he laid aside the text +he had prepared and spoke to his people directly and very simply of that +most dramatic episode in history, when Christ said to the crowd in the +streets, "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." + +While he spoke, he watched the girl sitting beside Mrs. Kildare, and at +the first sign of shrinking, of embarrassment, he would have slipped at +once into another theme. But there was no shrinking in that pretty, +empty face. Indeed, after the first few moments of shyness before so +large an audience, the girl looked about her openly, bridling, pleased +with the attention she was attracting in her new dress and with her new +baby. If there was menace in those staring faces, the Madam was there to +protect her. It was no new thing to the girl to be prayed over; this had +come to be an attention she expected from preachers. Young as she was, +there had been good reason for her leaving the town from which she came +to Storm. But a whole sermon about herself, right out in church! It was +a proud moment for Mag. + +Benoix, his eyes on her face, sighed even as he spoke, realizing the +probable hopelessness of Mrs. Kildare's effort. + +The congregation was free to leave at the close of the regular service, +without waiting for the christening. But it did not leave. For one +thing, there was the Madam to be welcomed to church--excuse enough for +those who needed excuse. To their shocked surprise the child was +christened by the Madam's own name, "Katherine." + +Afterwards, to each of the women who shook her hand, Kate said some such +thing as this: + +"You know Mag Henderson here, don't you? We've discovered that she is +quite a wonderful dressmaker. Yes, she made the dress I have on, and +those my girls are wearing. She is a stranger among us, too, so that of +course we must find her plenty of work. That is only hospitable." + +Kate knew her people when she appealed to their hospitality. Many a +village gossip, many a virtuous farmer's wife who had pursed her lips +and kept her skirts from degrading contact with the notorious Mag +Henderson, found herself pledged to employ the Madam's protegee for her +next dressmaking. + +"It does beat all," Mrs. Sykes was heard to murmur helplessly, "how that +woman gets folks to do whatever she wants 'em to! 'Birds of a feather,' +_I_ say. But there! If she's willin' to give that misbegotten child her +own Christian name, it won't do for the rest of us to be too +toploftical. And them girls," she added, "certainly do dress stylish." + +Philip usually took his Sunday dinner at Storm, and the congregation had +the further privilege of watching their rector drive away in the same +surrey with the Madam and Mag, apparently upon the most intimate and +cordial relations with Mag's infant. + +Mrs. Kildare, more sensitive of disapproving eyes for her friends than +for herself, suggested that he come home with Jemima and Jacqueline +instead. + +"I'm a little uneasy about the mare Jacqueline is driving," she said, +for an excuse. + +"Pooh! Jacqueline can handle anything I can," Philip smiled. "Besides, I +want to speak to you about something in particular." + +"You usually do," murmured Kate, teasingly. She found his open +partiality for her society rather amusing. + +He was silent until they had passed the long line of homeward-bound +vehicles, drawn respectfully out of the Madam's way. Then he said in a +low voice, "Henderson is back in his cabin. Did you know it?" + +Low as he spoke, the girl on the back seat heard him. "Not Pappy?" she +cried. "Oh, oh, he's come for me agin! Please don't let me go back to +him, _please_ don't! I don't want to, I don't want to!" + +"Why?" demanded Kate, sharply. "Was he cruel to you, Mag?" + +"No'm, he wa'n't. He was always real kind, even if he was drunk; never +kicked me, nor cussed me, nor nuthin'. But I don't want to go back to +him. I'd ruther stay with you. Hit don't matter so much about me--I'm +spiled anyway--but I don't never want Pappy to git my baby!" + +Kate gave Philip a puzzled glance, which he met gravely. "Let her +explain to you," he said. + +"Is it because you are more comfortable that you want to stay with me?" +asked Mrs. Kildare. "Is it that?" + +"That ain't all." The girl's hands were working together. "'Tain't safe +for Pappy here, noways. Them Night Riders'll git him, shore. And he's so +po'ly he couldn't stand a whippin'. It'd kill him. Oh, please, you make +him go 'way, Miss Kate! Tell him I'll send him money soon as ever I git +work, but make him go 'way. He shan't have my baby, he shan't!" She +began to sob. + +"There, there, Mag, don't be foolish. What would he want with your +baby?" + +"She's a gal." + +Vaguely, understanding began to drift in to Kate. Her voice shook +suddenly as she said, "What do you mean about the Night Riders getting +your father? He is in no danger from them with you not there. It was you +they threatened." + +"No'm, 't were Pappy. That's how he come to run away. They got down on +him fer makin' me do like I done." + +"_Making_ you--?" gasped Kate Kildare. + +"Yes'm! It were him what found the men and brought 'em round. But it +wa'n't no business of them Night Riders," said the girl resentfully. "I +didn't mind. It were a easy way of makin' money, easier 'n workin'. +Pappy's so po'ly, he ain't got the strength to work hisself. Only--" she +began to cry again--"I know it ain't nice, and I don't want my baby +should do that-a-way, not ever. I want she should grow up a lady, like +you." + +Kate was shivering uncontrollably. Over the brooding Sabbath stillness +of her fields it seemed to her that a strange miasma was creeping, which +shadowed the light of the sun. She had read of such horrors as this. She +had thought of that strange traffic, the White Slave trade, as of some +hideous, modern depravity that belonged to another and harsher world +than her own. Yet here, almost within sight of the home that sheltered +her children, here in the domain where her will was law, where she had +believed herself cognizant of the doings of every man and woman and +child--the thing had been going on unknown to her; the sacrifice of a +little girl creature, not in the name of love (her tolerant mind found +it difficult to condemn the sinning of stupid, healthy young human +animals) but in the name of filial piety.--"Filial piety!" Always +afterward the smug phrase was hideous to her. + +"Well," said Philip, rather hoarsely, "what are we to do with this--this +man?" + +"Let the Night Riders have him, and welcome!" + +But Mag intervened once more in her father's behalf. "No, no, they'd +kill him, shore! He's so sickly. Don't you let 'em git him, Miss Kate, +don't you! He's always been real kind to me, even when he's drunk. Don't +you let 'em git him!" + +"Do you love him, Mag?" asked Kate, wonderingly. + +"In co'se I do. He's my Pappy." + +The others could not speak for a moment. Her unexpected loyalty to the +father who had been "real kind" to her got them by the throat. + +"What do you want me to do with him?" Mrs. Kildare asked at last. + +"Jes' make him go away. Tell him he dassent come back no more. I reckon +he thinks you'll take keer of him 'cause you're takin' keer of me. Ef he +knows you ain't a-goin' to, he'll go away." + +"Very well," said the other, gently, "he shall go away. And, Mag--" she +reached back to grip the girl's hand strongly with hers--"he shall never +have your baby. She shall grow up as nearly a 'lady' as I can make her. +You have my word for that." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Kate, at this juncture, was filling her days to the brim with work, +turning to it as to a tried friend, tested in many a crisis. Her recipe +for avoiding thought was extreme physical fatigue; a good recipe, but +one which was telling upon her physically. Philip's were not the only +eyes which noticed the beginning of a change in Mrs. Kildare; a certain +lack of buoyancy, an effect of effort in what she accomplished. Jemima, +secretly alarmed, had insisted upon having in a doctor after her +mother's fainting attack, but he made little of it. He was a bluff, +cheerful, young countryman, shrewd but without subtlety, the son and the +worthy successor of Jacques Benoix' successful rival, "Doc" Jones. + +"She's as sound as a dollar," he pronounced admiringly. "Don't often see +such a specimen of perfect health as the Madam. Nerves? Not likely. +Probably over-fatigue--she does the work of ten men. Let me see, how old +is she? Nearly forty--humph! Looks twenty-five. Make her take a rest. +She'll be all right." + +But rest, inactivity, was the one thing Kate would not allow herself. +She dared not. She threw herself heart and soul into the business of her +estate, and tried to feel the same interest, the same sense of large +accomplishment, that had buoyed her up through so many years of +loneliness. + +On the Monday after Mag's child was christened, it happened that she was +due to appear at a fair in an adjoining county, where she was exhibiting +shorthorn cattle. But before she left, she did not forget to send a +peremptory message to the man Henderson. + +During her not infrequent absences from home, she had no uneasiness +about her daughters, amply protected as they were by the numerous +servants in the quarters back of the "great house," to say nothing of +the small army of dogs which fattened upon her bounty. The housewoman +who had been with her for years slept on such occasions on a pallet +outside the girls' door, and Big Liza, the cook, also took up a position +in the house, lying across the stairs in the great hall, whence her +massive snores would have deterred the most reckless of marauders from +entering. + +But it chanced that this particular Monday was the occasion of the +annual colored picnic in the village, held under the auspices of the +Ladies of the Evening Star, of which organization both the housewoman +and Big Liza were officials. So from dusk until midnight the young +ladies were to be left in the charge of no one but Lige, the stable-boy +who had once figured as butler, to whose unhappy lot this honor had +fallen because of his known slave-like devotion to Jacqueline. Every +other member of the domestic force was off rejoicing with the Ladies of +the Evening Star. + +This youth was making the rounds of the house with one of the Madam's +pistols in his belt, taking some comfort in the dramatization of his +unlucky role, when breathless yells were heard approaching, and a small +Ethiopian made his appearance over the back fence, yelling for help and +the Madam in the same breath. + +"The Madam's done gone away fum heah, an' lef me in charge," said Lige, +grandly. "Whut kin I do fer you, young chile?" + +A window opened in the house. "What's the matter, Lige? What's Caesar +Jackson yelling that way for?" demanded Jacqueline, who knew by name +every creature, on two legs or four, in the county. + +"Hit's de Riders!" gasped Caesar Jackson. "De Riders is comin'!" + +"Here? Nonsense! Why should Night Riders come to Storm? They wouldn't +dare!" But she thought suddenly of Mag Henderson, and her jaw set. + +"I yeared 'em, Miss Jacky! I hid behine a tree an' seed 'em pass with +dey false-faces on!" The little negro shivered with that superstitious +awe which had made the Ku-Klux Klan possible. "Dey 'lowed dey was +a-gwine ter git old man Henderson." + +Jacqueline gave a quick breath of relief. "Then they're too late. He has +gone. Mother sent him word to leave the cabin last night. They won't +find him." + +"Yes'm, dey will, kase I seed 'im! I snuck erlong 'cross de fiel', an' +dey was a light in de winder, an' I calls out, 'Run lak de debbil, kase +de Riders is on dey way!' But he can't do it, run--he's too drunk. An' +he say, 'Go an' git de Madam. Fo' God's sake git de Madam!' So I run, +an' I run, an' I yells fit to bust myse'f--" + +"You certainly did, Caesar Jackson," said Jacqueline, patting his head. +"You couldn't have yelled better if you had been a white boy. The Madam +shall hear of this. She likes people who keep their wits about +them.--What must we do, Jemmy?" The older girl had followed her out. "Do +you suppose they mean Henderson any real harm?" + +There was a sobbing cry from Mag behind them. "They'll kill him, that's +what they'll do! Oh, pore Pappy! They'll beat him up, an' it'll kill +him, he's so puny. Oh, my Gawd! Cain't nobody stop 'em? They'll _kill_ +my Pappy!" + +The two girls exchanged startled glances. + +"What ef dey does? Nuffin but po' w'ite trash nohow," murmured Lige +scornfully. He knew what he knew. + +Jemima hushed him, sternly. "Poor white or not, we can't have tenants on +our property murdered. I'll get help!" She started for the telephone. + +"No time for that. They must be at the cabin already. We are the only +neighbors, Jemmy. It's up to us. I wonder what mother would do if she +were here?" + +Even as she spoke she was running toward the stable. She knew that at +least her mother would not be standing idle. + +Mag cried after her, "Miss Jacky, whar you goin'? Don't you try it, +honey, don't you! How could you stop 'em all by yourself? They might +whip you, too, ef you was to make 'em mad." + +"Whip me? _Whip me?_" Jacqueline threw up her head and laughed. Her +purpose had not been clear in her mind, but Mag's plea settled it. + +She jerked the pistol out of Lige's belt--an able, well-conditioned +weapon it was, in whose use both girls were as proficient as their +mother. Lige and the breathless pickaninny trotted faithfully beside +her. Jemima's voice could be heard at the telephone, resolute and +distinct, rousing the countryside to the rescue of Henderson. Number +after number she called, gave her brief message, and rang again. + +"But I bet we get there first!" murmured Jacqueline, with an excited +giggle. "Three horses out, Lige. Don't stop to saddle. I suppose you can +ride, Caesar Jackson?" She laughed at her own question. Was there ever a +country-born darky, or a city-born one, for that matter, unable to +straddle a horse from the moment he left his cradle? + +"Laws, Miss Jacky, what we-all up to dis time?" murmured Lige, +apprehensively. It was not the first time he had followed his divinity +into reckless adventure. + +He led out the three horses, amid soft nickering from other stalls. + +"They all want to come, the dears! What a pity there's nobody to ride +them! We'd be quite a troop--Storm cavalry to the rescue!" Inspiration +came to her. "Lige, it's awfully dark! Do you suppose it would be seen +that they were riderless?" + +"My golly!" chuckled Lige, grasping the situation. + +"Fetch 'em all out!" + +Herding the riderless horses before them, a feat in which both had had +experience, they took a short cut across back fields to the road that +ran behind Storm hill toward the Henderson cabin. The first of these +fields was known as the hospital pasture, where grazed several mules +recovering from stone-bruises, harness galls, and the like. Mrs. Kildare +always kept invalided stock under her own eyes. + +"Suppose," said Jacqueline, suddenly, "that we were to add a few mules +to the regiment?" + +Lige and the pickaninny Caesar Jackson responded to this suggestion with +a pleased alacrity. Eleven strong, they galloped into the lower pasture, +where steers were being fattened for market. + +"Lige," cried out Jacqueline, "can steers gallop?" + +"Dey kin wid me behine 'em. _Whee-ow!_" yelled her faithful henchman. + +Caesar Jackson rushed ahead and opened the gate, and the cavalry from +Storm swept out into the road. + +The girl had planned her sortie with the lightning instinct of a born +general, an inheritance, perhaps, from various Kildares who had played +their parts in the wars of the world. The road behind Storm resembled +the fateful sunken lane of Waterloo, hidden between higher land on +either side, topped by fences which made scattering of forces +impossible. Nothing was to be heard in the darkness except the dull +thudding of hoofs, an occasional startled bellow, the choked laughter of +the two lieutenants as they herded their forces along at a smart trot. + +Where a side road branched toward the Henderson cabin, Jacqueline gave +her final instructions. "Silence till I shoot off the pistol, then yell, +yell for all you're worth! and drive 'em in at a gallop." + +"My _golly_!" gasped Lige, in an ecstasy that almost lost him his seat. + +Everything was propitious. An obliging moon came suddenly from the +clouds and showed them a group of horses tethered about the cabin; +showed them also men tying a struggling figure to a tree in the front +yard. Then came a sound that drove the mirth out of the girl's face, and +left it white and stern--the cry of a man in mortal terror. + +"Brutes, beasts!" she muttered. "Now then, you boys--" + +Off went the pistol. Out of three pairs of young and vigorous lungs +burst such a rebel yell as might have startled Grant's army in its long +sleep, let alone twelve or fourteen nervous and uneasy "Possum Hunters." + +They did not stop to see what was upon them. They heard the yell, the +shot, the soft thunder of many galloping feet, and they made for their +horses. Some got away straddling the crupper, some embracing their +steeds about the neck. After them galloped the regiment from Storm, +bellowing and braying, with its rearguard of two boys and a girl quite +helpless with laughter. + +Where the lane debouched into the highroad the rout became sheer panic, +for there pursued and pursuers ran full tilt into the glare of a large +automobile, from which a voice called "Halt!" + +"The Sheriff, the Sheriff!" cried somebody. + +Night Riders were to be seen scattering in all directions, leaping into +cornfields, scurrying into the woods. In a moment there was nothing left +of the raid except a few sweating, quivering thoroughbreds, and many +steers and mules that fell at once to cropping the wayside grass with +the composure of true philosophy. + +Then from the darkness behind (for the moon, her work done, had retired +again) came guffaws, and gurgles, and wails of laughter. The three men +in the automobile eyed each other inquiringly. The laughter drew nearer. +They could distinguish, amid mirth unmistakably negroid, a beautiful +contralto voice demanding. "_Did_ you see 'em skedaddle, Lige? Oh, +wasn't it glorious! Riding on their stomachs, their ears, any old way. +Holding on with their toe-nails--Oh, Lord!" + +One of the men jumped out of the machine. He had recognized that voice. +"Jacqueline Kildare, you wild hoodlum! What have you been up to?" + +Into the lamplight rode a disheveled figure straddling a horse bareback, +her pink gingham skirts well up above her knees, hair flowing in a +cascade of splendor about her shoulders. + +"Oh, Reverend Flip, were you in time for the fun?" she asked, weakly. +"'The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold.' Those bold, bad +'Possum Hunters' will never be able to hold up their heads in _this_ +county again! Routed by a girl with a troop of cattle!" (It may be added +that she spoke no less than prophecy.) + +"The 'Possum Hunters'! Do you mean to say _you've_ been mixed up in this +performance? My dear girl," said Philip, sternly, "what will your mother +say." + +"She'll kick herself to think of missing it!" cried Kate Kildare's +daughter, and was off on another peal of laughter in which the three men +joined with a will. + +"I should have been sorry to miss it myself," said a voice which +Jacqueline recognized, behind the headlight. "Better one night of +Kentucky than a cycle of Cathay." + +Jacqueline made ineffectual attempts upon her skirts, blushing, but she +said demurely enough, "Why, if it isn't the author, just in time for +some more local color! Where did you come from, Mr. Channing?" + +"From Holiday Hill, where I am visiting my friend Farwell. Your sister +telephoned for help, and we were on our way to the rescue. Farwell," +continued Channing, "is now nudging me in the ribs and demanding to be +properly introduced. Do you mind? Mr. Farwell, Miss Kildare." + +Jacqueline's eyes were sparkling. "One ahead of Jemmy," she thought, +triumphantly. The owner of the great new house five miles away which +made Kate Kildare feel crowded, was an object of no small interest to +her daughters. + +"We've been _so_ anxious to see you, Mr. Farwell! I wish it weren't +dark," she said with her usual frankness. "We've been so afraid you +would be old, or fat, or married, or something like that." + +"What have I done," murmured a plaintive voice, "to deserve such unkind +suspicions? Why old and fat?" + +"Because rich. They usually go together--in books, at any rate. And it +would be just our luck to have you married, when we're so dreadfully in +need of beaux. _Are_ you married?" + +"Alas, yes! But does marriage bar one absolutely?" + +Jacqueline considered. "Well, no, I don't suppose it does--except for +marrying purposes. Not unless you're old and fat, too," she added, +gravely. + +"I do assure you!" Mr. Farwell leaped nimbly out of the car and struck +an attitude in the full glare of the headlight, as one who would say, +"Take a look at me. Gaze your fill." + +Jacqueline did so with full and unqualified approval. Mr. Farwell was +distinctly worth looking at. + +"What a pity you are married!" she said sadly. "It will be a great blow +to Jemima.--I must go home and break it to her. I suppose she's still at +the telephone assembling the clans. Did she telephone you too, Philip, +man of peace?" + +"Naturally, sensible girl that she is, instead of charging about in the +dark like an avenging fury in pink gingham." + +She made a face at him. "Just the same, it was me and not Jemmy who +saved Henderson a whipping!" she remarked, with more satisfaction than +grammar. + +"And where is Henderson now?" + +Her face went blank. "Good gracious, I forgot all about him! He's tied +to a tree in front of the cabin." + +"I'm not surprised. Perhaps we'd better go and untie him," suggested +Benoix. "Thanks for the lift, Mr. Farwell. It saved me a long walk. My +old horse was too done to take out this evening. Are you ready, +Jacqueline?" + +He caught one of the grazing thoroughbreds and straddled it with an ease +that filled the author's soul with envy. Channing was no horseman. + +"Do you mean to say you are going to ride that prancing beast without +either bit or bridle?" he murmured. + +The clergyman smiled. "It doesn't take much riding to persuade a horse +to go home. Besides, Mrs. Kildare's horses know me. Come, Jacqueline." + +Farwell protested. "Why not let me run Miss Kildare home in the machine, +while you go and liberate the late victim? She must be tired after such +an experience." + +Benoix answered for her, rather brusquely. "Jacqueline is too young to +know what it is to be tired. I'll go home with her, thanks. Good night." + +He turned up the lane, and the girl followed, leaving her scattered +cavalry to be herded home by the two negro boys. It would have been +pleasant, she thought, to have appeared at Storm in an automobile, with +not only the author in tow, but the interesting stranger as well, to the +confounding of Jemima. Her voice came back through the darkness rather +wistfully. + +"Good-by. Wasn't it lucky you happened along in time?" + +"It was indeed!" they replied with one voice. + +"I hope," she called sweetly, "that you will think it necessary to come +and inquire about my health. That would be only polite, don't you +think?" + +They agreed with her. + +"There!" she said to Philip. "Didn't I do that nicely? Jemmy herself +couldn't have been more young lady-like. Do tell me how you happened to +know Mr. Farwell, and why you haven't introduced him to us? Didn't you +know we were wild to see him?" + +Benoix did not answer. His silence gave an effect of displeasure. + +She put her horse closer to his, and laid a coaxing hand on his arm. +"Why, Reverend Flip, I believe you are cross with me! What about--not +because I came to Henderson's rescue, surely? I couldn't let those men +get poor Mag's father! She said they would have killed him." + +Philip murmured, "Not such a bad thing if they did." + +"Philip! What did you say?" + +"I said," he replied mendaciously, "that you have behaved foolishly and +riskily, and with no dignity whatever. 'Young lady-like' indeed! Riding +about the country bareback, with your hair down, and your skirts above +your knees! What do you suppose those strange men thought of that?" + +"I think they liked it," she said candidly. "They looked as if they did. +You see neither of them is my spiritual pastor and master, so they don't +have to be shocked by me." She gave him a demure, sidelong glance. + +"I am not shocked either, you know that. Only--" said Philip. + +"Only you wish I were more like Jemmy," she pouted. "Stiff, and proper, +and prim--" + +"I don't want you to be like any one but yourself," he said warmly, and +paused. Suddenly he realized the change that was coming over this little +playmate of his, half child and half woman as she was. The woman was +beginning to predominate. He remembered her with Mag's baby, her almost +passionate tenderness, her precocious knowledge of the child's needs. He +remembered her manner with the two men they had just left, coquettish, +innocently provocative. It had startled him. Evidently, Jacqueline was +becoming aware of certain powers in herself which she was not averse to +practising upon whatever victims came to hand; even upon her spiritual +pastor and master. + +"Jacqueline," he said gravely, "you are growing up. You must remember +it. Why did you talk to a strange man like that?" + +She chuckled. "Like what?" + +"You know what I mean." + +"Well--because I wanted him to come and see us. He's a neighbor, and we +ought to be friends with him. And then--I'll tell you this, Philip, +because you're my chum--I wanted that author man to notice me! He +treated me like a silly child the last time. He won't again." + +"I see,"--Philip smiled in spite of himself. "Nevertheless, you can't be +too careful and dignified with strange men, dear." + +She recognized the change in his voice; a change that usually came soon +or late when people endeavored to scold Jacqueline. + +"Now you're nice again," she said with satisfaction, slipping her hand +into his. "You don't disapprove of me, anyway, half as much as you think +you do. You might kiss me, just to show it." + +He resisted gently. "No, my dear, you're getting too old for that." + +"Too old for what?" she cried out. + +"To kiss men. I told you you must be careful--" + +She burst out laughing. "But you're not 'men,' you old goose!" +Unexpectedly she jerked his head down to hers, and gave him a resounding +smack on the cheek. "There! I'm going to kiss people I love, men or +women, till I'm as old as Methuselah--'specially if they're cross with +me. You may as well get used to it.--Now kiss me back, nicely." + +Philip succumbed to the inevitable with as good grace as possible. He +wished, with a sigh, that this child of the woman he loved could remain +as she was forever; innocent, frank, unspoiled by the encroachment of +womanhood. Jacqueline was particularly dear to him, perhaps because of +her resemblance to her mother.... + +They found the man Henderson in a whimpering heap at the foot of a tree, +about which his arms were still tied. Vigorous rubbing restored the +circulation to his wrists, and a few drops of whisky from Philip's +pocket-flask completed the restoration. + +"Now, then, you're able to walk. Go!" said Philip. "Get your things and +march. You were told to get out last night." + +Jacqueline looked at him in surprise. This sharp, cold voice was quite +unlike Philip's usual gentleness with the unfortunate. + +The man began to whimper and whine, "How kin I go? I ain't got no money, +and I ain't got the stren'th to walk. I'm jes' a pore ole man what don't +mean no harm to nobody. Take me along with you-all! I'm afeared the +Riders'll git me ag'in. I come back to see my darter, the onliest chile +I got in the worl'. I ain't got no other place to go at. The Madam won't +let a pore ole man suffer. I wants to see my darter." + +"Stop talking about your daughter!" interrupted Benoix, harshly, "I give +you five minutes to get your things together and bring me your key." + +"Why, Philip!" cried Jacqueline, hot with indignation. "Of course he's +in no condition to go now, after the scare he's had. The poor thing! +We'll take him home to Storm. Mother'll expect us to." + +Henderson fawned upon her eagerly. "Bless yore purty sweet face! You +won't let 'em git the ole man. That's right. Take me along with you to +see my darter." He put a wheedling hand on her arm. + +"You dare to touch that young lady--!" Philip spoke in a voice +Jacqueline had never heard, shaken with rage. He had a stout switch in +his hand. Suddenly, uncontrollably, he brought it down across the man's +shoulders again and again. + +Henderson cowered away from him. In less than the five minutes he had +been given, he was shuffling down the lane, all his worldly goods slung +over his shoulder in a handkerchief. + +Then Jacqueline's shocked astonishment burst bounds. + +"Why, Philip Benoix, you wicked, cruel man! To turn that poor old thing +out of his home without even giving him a chance to see his daughter! +And you struck him, too, struck him to hurt--you, a minister of the +Gospel! Oh, oh, you 're as bad as those 'Possum Hunters,' kicking a dog +when he's down. You, a man of peace!" + +"It seems," said Philip, ruefully, "that I am also a man of wrath." + +During the ride back to Storm both remained silent, Jacqueline nursing +with some difficulty her displeasure against her friend. So this was +Philip's famous temper, in which she had never quite believed! In truth, +that sudden outburst of inexplicable rage on the part of the grave, +quiet, young clergyman had appealed strongly to the love of brute force +that is inborn in all women. + +But it had frightened Philip himself. He realized for the first time +that he was indeed the son of a man who had killed in anger. He touched +more than once the little inconspicuous gold cross that hung at his +belt, wondering whether he were fitted after all for the vocation he had +chosen. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +There stood, in the ravine which separated Storm hill from the property +that had formerly belonged to Jacques Benoix, a roofless, tumbledown +stone cabin which had been from childhood Jacqueline's own particular +playground, as sacred to her as the eyrie to her mother. She called it, +grandiloquently, the Ruin. The place had a sinister reputation, and was +sedulously avoided by both negroes and whites of the neighborhood; which +suited Jacqueline's purposes excellently. All dreamers feel the need of +a hidden place where they may retire, free from the gaze of a not too +sympathetic world; and the Ruin made a strong appeal to the imagination +of Jacqueline. + +If the place was haunted, as the neighborhood averred, it was perhaps +not without reason. The cabin had once been a slave-house where an +earlier Kildare kept certain human livestock to be fattened like hogs +for the market, overcrowding and neglecting them, however, as he would +not have dared to neglect and overcrowd hogs, so that the venture was +not altogether successful. Recently, workmen laying drainage pipes +through the ravine had uncovered a long trench filled with many bones, +ghastly witness to the folly of neglecting livestock, human or +otherwise. Cholera was the first ghost to haunt that spot, but it had +left others which were heard about the cabin on windy nights, moaning +and rattling chains and, because they were the ghosts of negroes, +singing. + +Jacqueline, unaware of this episode in the proud Kildare history, had +nevertheless been faithfully warned by the negroes of "ha'nts" in the +ravine, which added materially to her pleasure in the place. Not every +budding genius has at her private disposal a haunted ruin; and at this +period of her career Jacqueline was being a budding genius. + +Their mother had recently taken both girls to a near-by city for their +first taste of grand opera, completing the effect by the purchase of a +graphophone and opera records. Since that time Jacqueline had nourished +the more or less secret ambition of becoming the world's greatest +_diva_. She had taken to singing in church with an impassioned ardor +which startled, even while it titillated, the ear of the congregation. +As Mrs. Sykes put it, "Folks hadn't ought to sing hymns as if they was +love-songs, no matter how nice it sounds." + +Jacqueline had not taken her family, even her adored mother, entirely +into her confidence, having a shrewd conviction that her ambition would +meet with slight encouragement from them. Of late, since the disturbance +about Philip's father, both Jemima and her mother were too _distrait_, +too absorbed in their own affairs, to pay much attention to Jacqueline. +Whatever confidences trembled on her lips, remained unsaid. She felt +that they had more important things to think about. Once, indeed, she +had ventured to join her voice to that of the Victrola in the mad scene +from "Lucia," acting at the same time her conception of the part; and +her family, staring in amazement, had suddenly roared with laughter, the +first laughter heard in that house for many a day. + +So Jacqueline and her hurt dignity sought refuge in the Ruin, there to +rehearse her art hereafter untroubled by the jeers of an untemperamental +world. Her faithful audience and inseparable companion was Mag's baby, +who crowed and gurgled impartially over the woes of _La Tosca_, +_Camille_ or _Manon_, having inherited the easy-going placidity of her +mother. Sometimes Kate, coming and going about her work, paused to +listen, smiling at the arias soaring up out of the ravine, and thought, +"It is a good thing that child has all outdoors at her disposal! +Whatever should I do with her between four walls?" + +Here, on the afternoon following her raid upon the raiders, Jacqueline +posed and strutted happily, making the welkin ring with the piteousness +of _Madame Butterfly_. From without came distant, languid, sounds of +late summer, grass-mowers whirring in the hay-meadows, a stallion +nickering in his stall for the freedom of the pasture, crickets and +katydids shrilling their cheerful dirge for the summer that was passing. +All of these sounds the girl knew and savored in the intervals between +her singing. Now and then a bird hopped down from the branches that hung +over the roofless cabin, and searched fearlessly for provender at her +very feet. Mag's baby, on a bed of moss and leaves, crooned to herself, +kicking fat legs toward heaven and clutching at stray sunbeams with +futile hands. + +Jacqueline broke off. "Oh, dear, I could sing so much better if somebody +would listen!" she complained aloud to the birds and the baby and the +world at large. "It takes two to make real music, a singer and a +listener." + +She began again. Suddenly, just outside, a very passable tenor took up +the air just where a tenor should. Jacqueline was startled but not +nonplussed; she had been hoping a miracle might occur that day. At +seventeen, the age of miracles has not passed. She finished her share of +the duet with a flourish, and on the last note of his, Percival Channing +appeared in the doorway. + +"Weren't we splendid together?" she greeted him. "Just like the +Victrola. Let's do it again!" + +They did it again, and afterwards shook hands in mutual congratulation. + +"What you said was quite true--music without some one to share it is +only half music," he remarked. "But whom did you say it to?" He looked +about him curiously. + +"Oh, to my familiars!" She waved an airy hand. "This place is haunted, +you know; but the ghosts run when they see a stranger.--You _do_ make +unexpected appearances, Mr. Channing!" + +"Nothing compared with yours. The banister-rail, riding bareback 'out of +the night,' as the romantics love to say--But unexpected? Come now, Miss +Jacqueline--" he smiled quizzically--"surely you did expect me to +inquire for your health?" + +She dimpled. "Yes--but not quite so soon." + +"You do yourself an injustice!" He added, with an air of formality, "I +have come to make my dinner call. Is your mother at home?" + +"You know very well that she's away, because you heard Philip say so +last night! There's Jemima, though." + +"Is your sister at home?" he asked politely. + +"She's making pickle this afternoon, and she's always rather cross when +she makes pickle. But I'm sure she'll see you, if you wish." + +"I don't," said Channing. + +"I thought not," murmured Jacqueline, and made a place for him to sit +down beside her. "Look out--you'll squash the baby!" + +Channing jumped. "A baby? Beg pardon, infant--" he poked a finger toward +young Kitty, who promptly conveyed it to her mouth. "It's biting me," he +said plaintively. "Call it off--What are you doing with a baby?" + +"I'm winning it away from its mother so that she'll let me keep it for +good," said Jacqueline in confidence. + +"Humph! Rather a high-handed proceeding, that." + +"Oh, no--I don't think Mag really wants a baby much, not like I do. +She's fond of it in a way, just as cats are fond of their kittens; but +they soon outgrow it, you know. Why, once we had a cat who ate her +kittens!" + +"Shocking of her," said Channing. + +"I suppose it was because she didn't want to have them--any more than +Mag did. She never had a husband, you see, and that makes it so +awkward." + +"Meaning the cat?" murmured Channing. + +The author of erotic novels was rather pink about the gills. He wondered +how much of the girl's naivete was natural and how much pose. On the +whole, judging from her antecedents and environment, he decided that it +was largely pose, but thought none the less of her for that. The +artificial always interested him more than the natural. + +He looked at the baby again with a certain distaste. He had heard from +Farwell the story of Mag's adoption into the Storm household, and it had +rather shocked him. What was the woman thinking of to surround her young +daughters with such influences? Naturally one would not expect prudery, +conventionality, from the mistress of Storm, but in his experience quite +_declasee_ women guarded more carefully than this the morals of their +young. + +"I can't think why you want to keep the infant," he said. + +Jacqueline looked at him in surprise. "Why, she's perfectly sweet! Look +at her precious little curls, and her chubby feet, and all!" She +gathered the small Kitty up in her arms protectively. "Didn't the bad +old man admire her, then? Bless its heart! Just shows what a stupid he +is--Why, Mr. Channing, everybody wants a baby!" + +He murmured, "Yes? But in the natural course of events, surely--" + +"I might have some of my own, you mean? I hope so--oh, I do hope so! +Lots and lots of them. But I might not, you know. The natural course of +events doesn't always happen. I might be an old maid. Or I might be +wedded to my Art. 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' Have +you ever thought how perfectly _awful_ it would be to go through life +without any children at all?" + +Mr. Channing admitted that he had not, and changed the subject. "What +particular Art are you thinking of being wedded to?" + +Jacqueline looked at him reproachfully, hurt. "I should think you'd +know. Didn't you hear me practising?" + +The author did not smile. Crude and untrained as it was, he had +recognized in that young contralto a quality that made him start. He was +always very quick to recognize talent. + +"I was going to speak to you about that," he said seriously. "Do you +know that you have quite a remarkable voice, Miss Jacqueline?" + +"Of course I know it! But what's the use if nobody else does? A voice +with nobody to listen to it is--is like being pretty with nobody to tell +you so." + +"Does nobody tell you _that_?" he murmured. + +She dimpled again, flushing under his frank gaze. "They think I'm too +young for compliments! As for my voice, it's getting so strong that +Mummy and the Blossom are always saying to me, 'Not so loud.' If I let +it out in the house, they put their fingers in their ears. If I let it +out in church, Jemmy says I'm drowning the soprano--and so I am. What +can I do?" + +"Learn to use it," said Channing. "You must have lessons, of course." + +"Oh, I've had them. The best singing-teacher in Lexington came here once +a week all last winter." + +"Lexington!" Channing smiled. + +"You think I ought to have one from Louisville or Cincinnati?" she asked +anxiously. "I didn't really seem to learn very much from the Lexington +one." + +Channing smiled again. "I'm afraid you won't get the sort of training +you need this side of Europe. Your mother must send you to Germany, or +at least to New York." + +She made a gesture of despair. "Then there's no use talking about it. +I'll never leave mother, never! I'll just have to go on practising out +here as best I can, with nobody to listen to me." + +"I'll listen to you," consoled Channing, "whenever you'll let me." + +"But you'll be going away soon." + +"Not very soon," he said. He did not add that he had decided on the +moment to remain Farwell's guest until he had exhausted this new +interest thoroughly. Channing was not the man to deny himself the luxury +of any passing sensation. + +He had found himself pleasurably wakeful during the night, thinking of +the picture the girl made as she rode into the glare of lamplight, +skirts and hair in disarray, laughing like a young Bacchante, the spirit +of youth and joy incarnate. Now he drew her out very skilfully, so that +he might watch the changing expressions on her vivid face as she talked, +or smiled, or bent broodingly over the child in her arms. Here, he +thought, was temperament as well as talent. Properly handled, the girl +had a career before her. + +Nor was his curiosity about her entirely impersonal. Channing, as a +rule, felt rather at a loss with girls. Occasionally in his work he +found it necessary to introduce the young person, chiefly by way of +contrast, and then he did extravagant justice to her rose-white flesh +and her budding curves, and got her as speedily as possible into the +arms of the villain; after which she became interesting. His natural +taste in heroines was for the lady with a past, preferably several +pasts. The blot on the woman's character was as piquant to him as the +mole upon her shoulder. He had spent an impressionable youth in Paris. + +But this Bouncing Bet of the Banister, as he had called her, this young +wildwoods creature with all the instincts and none of the experience of +his own class, gave an effect of warmth, of vitality, that thrilled him. +His gaze kindled as he watched her. She promised to be even lovelier +than she was, never as beautiful as the mother, perhaps, but quite +beautiful enough to be disturbing, with her soft, thick-lashed eyes, her +tender mouth, her slender, straight, finely molded body; no finished +product this, but a bit of virgin soul-clay waiting to be modeled; an +empty, exquisite vase waiting to be filled with life. + +He thought suddenly of that matchless nude of Ingres', "La Source." +Young Jacqueline Kildare might have posed for it. + +Percival Channing; at thirty-four, had moments of regretting that he had +not conserved his energies more carefully, been more truly "wedded to +his Art," to use the girl's quaint phrase. He felt latterly a little +stale, a little jaded and world-worn. It had occurred to him during the +night that contact with so vital a personality might refresh him, might +do for him what contact with the earth did for the giant Antaeus. Indeed, +to his imagination she suggested the earth, field and pasture and wooded +stream, nature in her abundance, promise. She was the very essence of +this Kentucky, this half-tamed wilderness that he had come to study and +to portray. + +There is no more charming companion than your temperamentalist, when +once the spark is struck. Jacqueline for the first time in her life +enjoyed that most subtle flattery of being understood. Here was a +person, a thoroughly "grown-up" person, who did not pet and humor her, +and tease her as if she were a child; who on the other hand did not +demand of her the impossible formalities of young ladyhood. Famous +author as he was, he accepted her just as he found her, and liked her +that way. She compared him with Philip, always suggesting some change, +always trying to improve her; and after all Philip was nothing but a +country clergyman! + +When she had exhausted her own eager confidences, Mr. Channing paid her +the compliment of talking about himself. He made confidences in return. +She learned that he, like her, had suffered and was still suffering from +a lack of sympathy on the part of his family. They failed completely to +appreciate the necessities, the difficulties, of the artistic +temperament. In fact, he had practically given up his family, and was a +homeless wanderer upon the face of the earth, seeking his encouragement +among strangers. + +"But surely they must appreciate you now," cried Jacqueline. "Why, you +are famous!" + +He admitted it, rather sadly. "Famous--and lonely," he said. + +She gave him an impulsive hand by way of sympathy. "I'd be willing to be +lonely, if I could be famous. But I wouldn't be willing to have mother +lonely," she added. "I never could make up my mind to leave her here +alone." + +"Alone? But there's your sister." + +"No, there isn't. Not now. She's here, of course, but--" The girl's face +shadowed, but she did not explain. The shock of that terrible scene +between the two beings she loved best was a thing that did not bear +thinking of, much less speaking of. Sometimes at night she woke +trembling and sobbing with the memory of it, as from a nightmare. But by +day she put it from her determinedly, and tried to pretend that +everything was as it always had been in her home. + +"Have you told your mother about this ambition of yours?" he asked +curiously. + +She shook her head. "No. I've hinted, but they--they laughed at me, and +Jemmy said that it wouldn't be lady-like to go on the stage, even in +grand opera." + +Channing smiled. "The standards of the world, fortunately, vary somewhat +from the standards of rural Kentucky. Some of the greatest 'ladies' I +have known happened to be on the stage, and not always in grand opera." + +He went on to speak of various singers and actors and painters and +writers of his acquaintance, of studios and greenrooms, customs in +European countries, famous friendships between royalty and artists; and +she had her first glimpse of a world that made her own seem as barren +and desolate as some desert isle. + +Certain racial inheritances awoke in her and clamored. Her mother's +family had been people of culture and travel and wide social +affiliations. It had not occurred to her before that her life was +singularly empty. She would have said that her friends were legion. The +horses, the dogs, the negroes, the humbler country folk of the +neighborhood, the tenants on her mother's property--all accepted the +Madam's youngest daughter as one of themselves, and loved her +accordingly. But of intercourse with her own kind, she had none. Her +mother, Philip, Professor Thorpe, even Jemima--regarded Jacqueline as a +playful, happy, charming tomboy, whose sole duty in life was to amuse +herself and them. Philip, indeed, was beginning to observe the deeper +instincts stirring in her; but Charming was the first of her equals to +treat her quite as an equal, and the fact that she looked upon him as a +dazzlingly superior order of being made his recognition of her as a +kindred spirit a rather heady thing. Jacqueline was capable, as only +seventeen may be, of a vast and uncritical hero-worship, that gave with +both hands and never tired of giving. + +"Oh!" she said at last, with a long sigh. "Listening to you is just like +reading the most exciting book, all about crowned heads, and far +countries, and society, and things like that. Jemmy ought to hear you. I +wonder why Professor Jim has never sent us any of your novels? He is +always giving us books." + +"I told you," remarked Charming, "that my family did not appreciate me." + +He was not quite sure whether it was a disappointment or a relief to +realize that this wide-eyed girl had not, after all, read his books. + +"Will you send me some?" she asked eagerly. + +"I will not," he said decidedly. "But if you care for verse--" he +hesitated. + +"What? You write poetry, too?" Jacqueline clasped her hands. "Recite +some for me at once!" + +He chose one of his less erotic sonnets, and spoke it well and simply, +with the diffidence which occasionally besets the most confident of +authors with regard to their own performances. + +Jacqueline listened dreamily. At last she said, "That's very musical. +I'd like to sing it." + +The comment pleased him exceedingly, musical phrases being his +specialty. "You shall," he said. "I'll set it to music for you." + +Her eyes opened wide. "You don't mean to say you're a composer as well +as an author and a poet, Mr. Charming? That's _too_ much! It isn't +fair." + +He blushed quite boyishly. It is a curious fact that people are often +more avid of praise for the thing they cannot do, than for the thing +they can. Channing, who had met with no small success as a novelist, +secretly yearned to win impossible laurels as a composer of parlor +music. "Talents usually go in pairs," he said modestly. + +She commanded an instant performance, which he refused, explaining that +his songs were never written for men's voices. "They have no thrill, no +appeal. Who wants to hear a bull bellowing?" + +"Or a cow lowing, for that matter?" she laughed. + +"But that is very different. A cow lowing makes one think of twilight +and the home pastures, of little stumbling, nosing calves, of the +loveliest thing in life, maternity--" + +She smiled, drawing the sleeping Kitty close. "You can say things like +that, and yet you wonder why I want to keep this baby! You're a fraud, +Mr. Channing!" + +"A poet--The same thing," he murmured cynically. "We wear our sentiments +on our sleeves for publishers to peck at." (he made a mental note of +this epigram for future use.) "I've an idea! Suppose you run home with +me now and try over some of my songs, will you? There's a lot of stuff +that might interest you. I've got one of Farwell's machines down in the +road." + +"Go over to Holiday Hill in an automobile?" Her eyes sparkled. "But +could I take the baby?" + +His face fell. "Why--er--won't it have to be fed or something? I'm +afraid Farwell's bachelor establishment, complete as it is, offers no +facilities for the feeding of infants." + +"Oh, it's a bottle baby," she said casually. "But perhaps you're +right--I'll take her up to the house.--No, if I do that, Jemmy'll want +to know where I'm going, and stop me." + +"Don't tell her." + +"You don't know Jemmy!--I have it. Lige shall come and get the baby." + +Cupping her hands about her mouth she let out a peculiar, clear yodel +that promptly brought an answering call from the top of the ravine. In +response to Jacqueline's peremptory, "Come here!" her faithful +lieutenant descended with manifest reluctance. + +Ten yards from the cabin he halted. "I dassent come no furder, Miss +Jacky, not for nobody," he pleaded. + +"Don't be a coward! The ha'nts won't hurt you. I come here every day, +and they never hurt me." + +"No 'm, reck'n dey knows dere place--Dey's culled ha'nts," explained +Lige, and stayed where he was. + +But as Jacqueline put the child in his arms, he suddenly let out a +frightened yell. "I sees smoke--oh, my Lawd! I sees smoke an' fire an' +brimstone comin' out'n dat cabin!" he gasped, and fled, clutching the +placid Kitty. + +Jacqueline chuckled. "He saw the smoke from your cigarette," she +explained to Channing. "Naturally he thought that it was a little +manifestation from hell for his benefit. He's got religion, you see. So +much the better. Now we'll never be disturbed here!" + +The "we" amused Channing. It was evident that he was expected to call +again at the Ruin. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +It was an epoch-making afternoon for Jacqueline, and not the least part +of the enchantment was her first experience of automobiling. The +wheezing, coughing little equipage known to Professor Thorpe's friends +as the Ark had induced in her the belief that automobiles were a very +poor substitute for horses, and she scorned to enter it. But this +powerful, silent car of Farwell's, capable of such incredible speed and +yet controlled by a lever or a button quite as easily as she herself +could have handled a horse--it gave her the feeling that she was riding +a tamed whirlwind. + +"Nice car, isn't it? I like it best of all Farwell's machines. It is to +be mine while I'm here," said Channing. + +"Do you mean to say Mr. Farwell owns more than one of them?" asked +Jacqueline, awed. "How in the world did he ever get to be so rich? He's +an artist, isn't he? And I thought artists were never rich." + +"It depends upon the kind of art. Farwell gives the people what they +want, which always pays." + +"He must sell a lot of pictures to buy a machine like this!" + +"Pictures!" He turned and stared at her. "Why, I don't believe you know +who he is!" He chuckled. "What a blow for Morty! I must tell him that +there's actually a girl in America who doesn't recognise him on sight. +He is _the_ Farwell--Mortimer Farwell himself, my dear." + +Jacqueline looked blank. + +"What, never even heard of him? Mortimer Farwell is--or was--the most +popular matinee idol on the stage. He's resting on his laurels at +present, but I don't think he will rest long. Between you and me, he +misses the footlights." + +"On the stage! You mean he's an actor? And I'm going to his house! What +_will_ Jemmy say when she hears of this?" Jacqueline looked rather +alarmed. + +Channing said, much amused, "Actors don't bite, my dear child. Farwell's +a gentleman. And I am here to protect you." + +She still felt uneasy. Her experience of actors had been confined to the +barn-stormers who occasionally drifted into the nearest town and out +again as speedily as possible. Though the theatres of Frankfort and +Lexington were only a few hours away, they belonged to the life Mrs. +Kildare shunned. + +"At least he's married," murmured Jacqueline with some relief. "Is she +on the stage, too? Will I like her?" + +"His wife? Oh, Mrs. Farwell never comes here, you know. It's a bachelor +place. That's why he calls it Holiday Hill." + +"Dear me!" she said, puzzled. "Don't they like each other, then?" + +"Very much, I believe. It's an extremely comfortable arrangement. She +makes her engagements, he makes his; all very friendly and no questions +asked. Quite the ideal match." + +Jacqueline looked doubtful. "But what about the children?" + +"Oh, there aren't any children, of course. Fancy May Farwell with +children!" + +"But if people are going to live that way, what is the use of getting +married?" + +"There is none," said Channing, earnestly. "Believe me, there is none. +Many have made that discovery. I mean to profit by their example." + +"You mean never to marry at all?" asked Jacqueline, and sighed a little; +so far and fast does maiden fancy roam once it slips the leash. + +Channing was not unaware of that sigh, and not displeased by it. But +what he did fail to notice was the smile that immediately succeeded it; +a demure and secret smile which said more plainly than words, "We shall +see, Mr. Percival Channing! We shall see!" + +The word "forbidden" had always upon young Jacqueline an opposite effect +to that intended. + +Hours passed as if on wings. Farwell, so they were informed by a correct +man-servant at the door, was away for the afternoon and evening, so that +they had the house to themselves. Jacqueline went from room to beautiful +room of the bachelor establishment, lost in admiration of the +ivory-paneled walls, the charming pictures, the delicate French +furniture and brocade hangings of the bedrooms, each with a marble bath +attached that was luxurious enough for a Roman emperor. + +"To think of just a man having things like this!" she marveled. + +It was her first glimpse of luxury, a thing unknown to the rough and +simple comfort of Storm. Vaguely it oppressed her. She felt shy for the +first time in her life, self-conscious. It seemed to her that her +gestures were awkward, her voice too big and crude. Channing detected +the chagrin in her expressive face, and had the tact to lure her into +the music room, where she forgot herself entirely. + +Music was far more of a passion with the girl than Kate Kildare was +capable of realizing. She had done what she could to cultivate in both +her daughters a taste that had been in her day part of the education of +every lady. She herself enjoyed music, and she intended to supplement +their singing and piano lessons with occasioned visits to Cincinnati to +hear grand opera. There was an excellent musical library at Storm, and +the best records to be had for the graphophone were sent to her +regularly. She felt that from a musical standpoint she was doing her +full duty by her children. + +Of the physical reaction that music produces in some finely strung +temperaments, Kate knew nothing at all. Jacqueline's was a nature +similar to hers, but far less balanced, and lacking as yet an outlet for +its abounding energy. There were possibilities in her which would have +startled the mother, had she guessed them. + +Percival Channing, with his carefully developed flair for character +study, guessed them from the first. Susceptibility to musical +intoxication was a thing which he understood, a thing to which he +himself was more or less subject. He knew the danger and the value of +it. Without some such susceptibility, he believed, artistic +accomplishment was not possible. He had been thrown much into the +company of singers, players, painters, people whose profession was the +charming of a capricious public, and he saw in the girl many of the +requisites for success--not only the voice, so far unspoiled by bad +training, but the sensitiveness, the beauty, even the splendid physical +strength necessary to that most strenuous of all professions, operatic +singing. It flattered his vanity to realize that he was the discoverer +of a possible celebrity. + +Song after song they tried together, Channing playing the +accompaniments. He played well, and made the most of rather faulty +music. Jacqueline thought the songs wonderful. It was her introduction +to the sensuous, discordant harmonies of Strauss and de Bussy, of whom +Channing was an ardent disciple. They puzzled and stirred her oddly. + +Now and then as she leaned over Channing's shoulder to interpret the +difficult manuscript score, he glanced up to meet her eyes, no longer +merry and mischievous as was their wont, but curiously somber, languid. +He saw that she was giving herself to music as an opium eater surrenders +to the drug he loves, indifferent to her surroundings, unaware of them, +perhaps; but not unaware of him. It was to him she sang, however +unconsciously. Jacqueline had found the audience she needed, and she was +singing as she had never sung in her life before. + +It was with some difficulty that Channing kept his attention on the +score. + +Unnoticed, the long August twilight had come into the room, and a +servant shut it out unobtrusively with silken curtains. Later he +returned and announced dinner. Jacqueline's eyes opened suddenly as if +from sleep. + +"What did he say?" she asked. + +The servant cleared his throat and repeated, "Dinner is served." + +"Dinner?" Jacqueline started. "You mean supper? Why, it's dark, and the +candles are lighted! Mr. Channing, what time is it? Goodness, I must +hurry! Mother'll be home by this time." + +"Please, no," he protested. "I took the liberty of telling the servants +you would dine with me to-night. Why not, Miss Jacqueline? Do take pity +on my loneliness. Farwell does not return till to-morrow." + +She hesitated, longingly. "It would be fun." + +"Of course it would. And perfectly harmless. Farwell's servants are +discreet. He has trained them. Nobody need know." + +But it was not any doubts of propriety that made her hesitate. For +Jacqueline, conventions did not exist. Moreover, the breaking of bread +seemed too natural and simple a thing to take with any seriousness. It +was her democratic custom to present herself for a meal at any table +near which the meal hour happened to find her. Farmers, tenants, even +negroes in the field, had on occasion proudly shared their bacon and +corn-pone with the Madam's youngest daughter. + +"It's Mother," she explained, "She has just come home, and I haven't +seen her for three days. If I am not there to pet her and make a fuss +over her, she will miss me, and worry.--No," she corrected herself, +"Mother never worries, but she'll wonder. I must go." + +"There's to be a rum cake," murmured Channing, craftily. "And--do you +like champagne?" + +Jacqueline's eyes sparkled. "I've never tasted it, or rum cake either. I +_would_ like to--" her eyes wandered wistfully toward the dining-room. +"Suppose I telephone and ask Mother whether she'd mind?" + +"If you do that, she's sure to mind. Mothers always do. Besides, think +of the firm sister. Do you suppose she'll consent to your dining in a +strange actor's house? Never!" + +Jacqueline tossed her head. "It's none of Jemmy's business. She's only +two years older than I am.--Besides, I needn't tell her where I've been, +need I?" + +Channing had accomplished his purpose. + +The girl's hunger for the things that were to him matters of everyday, +touched him. She stood a moment in the door of the dining-room, gazing +in delight at the long carven oak table, with Florentine candelabra at +each end and a strip of filet across the center, at either side of which +their plates were laid, separated by a vase of white alabaster, holding +a few hothouse roses, crimson as blood. Untrained as her eyes were, they +appreciated the aesthetic at sight. + +"It is all so different," she said with a little sigh. "The very food is +different, and beautiful." + +"Farwell does himself very well at what he calls his little backwoods +farmhouse. But why the sigh?" + +"Because--" she looked away shyly, then looked at him again. "I was +thinking that I don't belong in this sort of place, and--and you do." + +"Nonsense!" He leaned across the table, and laid his hand on hers. "You +belong wherever things are most beautiful, my dear. As for environment, +you can make it what you choose," he said. "Don't you realize that? +Whatever you choose, Jacqueline." + +"Can I?" Her eyes met his in a long gaze. The languor of the music was +still in them, but he saw another expression growing there, a grave and +womanly sweetness. "I wonder--" The hand under his turned so that the +warm fingers clasped his. + +At that moment the discreet servant entered with a small bottle wrapped +in a napkin. Channing withdrew his hand abruptly. + +"Of course you can!" he smiled and lifted a glass shaped like a lily, +filled with sparkling gold. "To your future career!" he said, and drank. + +She echoed the toast, "To my future career." + +Perhaps the career she had in mind was not entirely an operatic one, +however. + +Very shortly afterwards, he took her home. She went rather reluctantly, +glancing in at the music-room with a wistful sigh. But he was adamant. +He had no idea of arousing maternal watchfulness. + +"I wish we had time for a little more music," she said. + +"We shall have a great deal more music before we are done with each +other, little girl," he assured her. + +She answered naively, "But it will never be quite like this again. The +next time I come, Mr. Farwell will probably be here." + +Channing laughed. "I can promise you he won't! Morty's an awfully good +sort, and not keen on music. We shall have his music-room to ourselves +whenever we like." + +She nestled against him in the machine confidingly, feeling the reaction +of the day's excitement, and perhaps of the champagne, to which Basil +Kildare's daughter had taken very kindly. + +"I feel so tired all of a sudden," she murmured. "Do you mind if I put +my head on your shoulder?" + +Channing did not mind. "Make yourself comfortable!" + +She lay there, gazing up happily at the stars that were beginning to +show in the wide curve of the sky, and singing under her breath, + + "When you come to the end of a perfect day--" + +"I wish," she said presently, half to herself, "that this day could just +have gone on forever." + +Channing did not answer. He was beginning to congratulate himself on the +self-control that kept his hands to the steering-wheel. Jacqueline, +drowsy and sweet as a tired child, was rather hard to resist; but +Channing had certain inconvenient ideas as to the duties of a host and a +gentleman, ideas that were the sole remnant of a careful New England +upbringing. + +She lapsed into contented silence, and they did not speak again until +they reached the foot of Storm hill. There Channing stopped his car. + +"Wake up, and run along home now, little girl," he said, his voice more +tender than he meant it to be. + +She roused herself and smiled at him, a wonderful, wide smile. She was +very grateful to this new friend of hers for his sympathy, his +understanding, grateful for the glimpse he had given her of a world +hitherto unguessed, grateful for the look in his eyes at that moment. + +"I do wish," she said, holding out both hands, "that I knew how to--to +thank you!" + +Channing's admirable self-control slipped a cog. He took the hands. "I +can show you how to thank me," he said, quite hoarsely for a mere +collector of impressions. + +She jerked her hands away, dimpling, and jumped out of the car. The +imminent prospect of being kissed had not shocked her--in fact, she was +rather surprised that she had not been kissed before. But she had her +instincts of the sex that flees. So she turned and ran, neither very +fast nor very far-- + +"Dear me!" she whispered presently against Channing's lips, "what would +old Philip say to this? He told me I couldn't be too careful with +strange men. I'm not being _very_ careful, am I?" + +"Damn Philip! Kiss me again," said the author. + +Breathless and radiant, she ran her blithe way up the dark hill road. +She had been hungry for other things than music and sympathy and +friendship, this youngest of the wild Kildares of Storm. + +Her mother was standing in the door, Philip Benoix beside her. + +"There you are, Jacky girl! I was just about to send Philip out to find +you, gadabout. Have you had any supper?" + +"Oh, yes, Mummy darling, I took some with me." It was the first lie of +Jacqueline's life, and the ease with which it came surprised her. She +ran into her mother's arms and hugged her close. "Oh, Mummy, I am so +happy, happy!" + +"There, there," murmured Kate, moved. "Glad to have me home again, my +precious? But you needn't crack my ribs in your belated ardor. Where +have you been so late?" + +"Oh, just roaming around," she said vaguely. "The twilight was so +lovely." + +"Little dreamer!" Sighing, she knew not why, Kate drew the glowing face +to her own. + +But for once Jacqueline of the eager lips turned her cheek, so that her +mother's kiss should not disturb the memory of certain others. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +If Mrs. Kildare's eyes had been of their usual observant keenness in +those days, she could not have failed to notice the change in +Jacqueline; a new loveliness, a sudden bursting into bloom of the +womanhood that had lain hidden in the bud. Her eyes took on a starry +softness quite different from their usual glint of mischief, the rich +blood in her cheeks came and went with her thoughts, her very hair had a +sort of sheen upon it like the luster on the wings of pigeons in the +spring. Blossom time, that comes once in life to every woman, with its +perilous short gift of the power that moves the world, had come in turn +to Jacqueline. It is a moment when a girl most needs her mother; but +Kate's thoughts were elsewhere. + +People were saying among themselves, "The Madam's beginning to show her +age." But they could not have said in just what way she showed it. There +was no diminution of her tireless energy; she rode her spirited horses +with the same supple ease; no pallor showed in her warm cheeks; no lines +in the broad space between her brows; no gray in the glinting chestnut +of her hair, as abundant and as splendidly vital as Jacqueline's own. +The change was as subtle as the change in Jacqueline; yet many people +spoke of it. + +Sometimes on the road she passed acquaintances without seeing them; or +in the midst of some important conversation, they became aware that she +was listening only with her eyes. She spent much time under the juniper +tree, sitting idle, her gaze fixed on the shadow over the distant +penitentiary, which it had for years avoided. When that shadow hung over +Jacques Benoix, her thoughts had at least known where to seek him, as +the Moslem when he prays turns toward the east. Now her thoughts had no +Mecca. They sought him homeless throughout the world. + +Unused to introspection as she was, Kate had made a discovery about +herself. Of the two types of strong-hearted women created, the +mother-type and the lover-type, she would have said that she belonged +indubitably to the former; that hers was a life led chiefly for and in +her children. Now she knew that it was not so. Her work for them, her +absorption in their welfare, their property and education and +character--what were these but so much makeshift to fill the empty years +until Jacques came to her? + +She had been so sure, so passionately sure, that he would come to her. +Vitality, beauty, youth, she had deliberately hoarded for him, like +precious unguents to be poured out at his feet. What was she for but to +atone to him for the bitterness that life had brought him, through her +fault? Since he rejected her, of what use was she in the world? + +A strange restlessness came over her, a feeling of waste, of +unfulfilment. She was so intensely alive, so eager, so sentient--surely +there must be some purpose for her yet in life; not as the mistress of +Storm, not as the mother of Basil Kildare's daughters, but as herself, +Kate, the woman. She tried to explain this restlessness to Philip, +always her confidant, content for the present with any role that brought +him in contact with her; faithfully, as his father had hidden him, +biding his time. + +"What am I for?" was her cry. "What is the use of me, Philip?" + +For weeks she did not give up hope of Jacques' relenting, but it was a +hope in which Philip did not encourage her. He recognized his father's +decision as final, even as wise and just; though his heart was torn +between pity and admiration for a man who was capable of such sacrifice. +And he understood his dear lady better, far better, than she understood +herself. + +But if this new unrest of hers kindled certain hopes which he had never +before dared to entertain, love taught him to offer her nothing now but +comfort, the comfort of devoted friendship. It was a thing she sorely +needed, for Kate had lost, and knew it, not only the man she loved, but +her daughter Jemima. + +The relations between them were evident to all observers: on the girl's +part a scrupulous, cold courtesy; on the mother's, wistful and tentative +efforts to please that would have touched any heart less youthfully hard +than Jemima's. Kate's was a nature too great to harbor resentment. Grief +had obliterated, almost as soon as it was born, her anger at the girl's +treachery in writing to Benoix; if indeed anything so open and frank as +Jemima's act could be called treachery. + +The doctor had hardly left after Kate's unprecedented fainting attack, +when the girl confessed: "Mother, I think you ought to know that I +myself wrote to Dr. Benoix advising him not to come to this house. I +told him that if he did so I should leave you." + +"Is that all you told him?" asked Kate. "Did you tell him the terms of +your father's will?" + +The girl flushed. "Certainly not, Mother. That would not have been quite +fair, when you had promised to make good any loss that came to +Jacqueline and me through your marriage. I think," she said, "that you +may always count upon me to be quite fair." + +Kate nodded, wearily. It was true, Jemima was always fair.--She thought, +"This was the baby Jacques loved"--who had clung to him as she never +clung to her own father, who had listened as eagerly as she herself +listened for the pit-a-patter of his racking horse, who had refused to +be consoled when he passed without stopping. This was the baby, this +stern, hard-eyed young girl, who had been their constant companion in +the days of their unspoken love, equally dear to both of them, lavishing +upon both her impartial ardors. Does memory only commence with thought, +then? Do the loves through which we pass from cradle to grave disappear +without leaving even a tenderness to show where they have been? + +Jemima's throat contracted with hate at the very mention of Jacques' +name. Had she learned so suddenly, perhaps, to hate her mother, too? + +Nothing more was said of the girl's leaving home. She remained in her +mother's house, but without capitulation. It was "her mother's house" +now, no longer home. She was one of those proud, not ignoble natures +whose affection is entirely dependent upon respect. Her mother had been +the great figure in her rather narrow life, object of a silent, +critical, undemonstrative affection which was the furthest possible +remove from Jacqueline's or Kate's own idea of love, but which in its +way amounted to hero-worship. When Kate with her own lips destroyed her +daughter's faith in her, she had unwittingly destroyed an idol. + +The moral lapse to which she admitted was as incomprehensible to this +cool and level-headed observer of nineteen as actual sin. She realized +that her mother had been unfaithful to her father--whether literally or +spiritually did not matter--and that instead of repenting she was +prepared to augment her unfaithfulness by putting in her husband's place +the man who had killed him. These were the facts that stood out before +her in all their naked horror, and it was impossible for her temperament +to find either palliation or excuse. + +The tragedy of the discovery left its mark upon young Jemima. Her lips +retained permanently a certain cold fixity, that reminded more than one +person who remembered him of Basil Kildare, and it was significant that +she was never called again by her old pet-name of "the Apple-Blossom." + +Kate made many efforts to break down the barrier between them, efforts +which Philip and even the unobservant Jacqueline found piteous. But they +did not touch Jemima. She turned to the girl often for advice--a new and +strange thing indeed for the Madam; discussed business matters with her, +asked her opinion with a deference that would once have flattered Jemima +immensely. Now she responded politely, with forced interest, as if she +were a guest in her mother's house. + +Kate asked once, "What about those parties you were going to have, dear? +Surely you have not given up the social campaign?" + +"No, Mother," answered the girl, "I don't often give things up, you +know." + +Kate did know. Neither had Basil Kildare often "given things up." + +She went on with some effort, "I've been thinking lately over some of +the good times we used to have when I was a girl. Those of us who lived +outside of town, as you do, used to invite the others to +house-parties--only we did not call them 'house-parties' in those days, +or 'week-ends.' We called it 'staying all night.' Why shouldn't you and +Jacky have young people out to stay all night? There's room enough for +dozens of them at a time, and plenty of horses to ride. Boys and girls +don't need much in the way of amusement except each other." She paused. +"What do you say, daughter--shall I have a bathroom or two put into the +guest-wing, and some fresh papers and curtains, and make it all ready +for company again?" + +"That would be very nice, Mother," said the girl, slowly, "only, you +see, we don't know any young people to invite." + +"I've thought of that, too!" Kate spoke with an eagerness more pathetic +than tears. "Of course many of those boys and girls I used to know have +boys and girls of their own now. It's many years since I've seen them, +but--I think they won't all have forgotten me. If you like, I'll write +and ask some of them to let their children visit us?" + +If Jemima had any knowledge of the wincing courage this offer cost, she +did not show it. "You're very kind to think of it," she said, "but I +believe it will be better if Jacqueline and I make our own friends now, +thank you." + +Cut to the quick, Kate made no further effort to promote the social +campaign. But it went on without her. + +One evening Professor Thorpe, after his weekly supper at Storm, followed +her into her office with an air of mingled embarrassment and importance. + +"Oh, dear!" she thought. "It's coming again." + +But she was mistaken. He had a proposal of another sort to make; in fact +an announcement. + +"I am about to give an entertainment," he said, clearing his throat. "A +party. A dancing party." + +She looked at him in amazement. "You? A dancing party?" + +"Why not? It is to be for your girls, and I shall expect you to chaperon +it." + +She threw back her head and laughed aloud. "Dear old Jim! I should be as +much out of place in a ballroom now as--as a plow horse. But the girls +will be overjoyed. How did you happen to evolve such an idea?" + +"I didn't. It--er--was evolved for me. Jemima--" + +Kate sobered. "I might have known it, Jim! I cannot have you so imposed +upon. You must not undertake such a thing." + +"But I wish to," he insisted stoutly. "I am very much obliged to Jemima +for thinking of it. It is quite true, as she says, that I am under +obligation to many people who have been most kind to me. It is true also +that I have joined a country club, more by way of encouraging an +infant--er--industry than with any idea of pleasure to myself. But, as +Jemima says, when one joins a club one should patronize it. She tells me +that it will be quite possible to make a dancing man of me with a few +weeks' practice, and that in her opinion exercise and young society are +what is needed to--er--to round out my individuality. Jemima is +doubtless right--she usually is. So I shall issue invitations to a +dancing party at the Country Club, preceded by dinner, as is customary." + +Kate laughed again, but with dim eyes. The stanch devotion of this +gentle, kindly scholar was a thing she found very touching. "Dear old +Slow-poke!"--she used the name she and her livelier companions had +given him in the days when he was the dull and quiet one among her +followers. "So you are going to play sponsor to my children once more!" + +Both fell silent, remembering the day when he had followed her down the +aisle of the church that meant home to her, under the blank, icy stare +of an entire congregation. He lifted her hand to his lips. + +"Jim, I am afraid," she said suddenly. "Women--you know how cruel they +can be! Suppose they choose to punish my children for my sins?" With a +fierce upwelling of the maternal instinct, she dreaded to let her young +go out of her own protection, out of the safe obscurity she had made for +them. + +He reassured her as best he could, reminding her of the years that had +passed, and of her daughters' charm. "Why, those girls would bring their +own welcome anywhere! They are exquisite." + +"You are prejudiced, Jim, dear." + +He admitted it without shame. "But those young men I brought here to +supper--they are not prejudiced, Kate, and I assure you they dog my +footsteps begging to be brought again." + +"Oh, men!--I am never afraid of men. It is the women I dread." + +"Then we won't have any women," cried the Professor. + +Kate smiled. "Oh, yes, you will! Jemima has read about chaperons in +novels. She'll see to that." + +"Wouldn't I be a sufficient chaperon?" + +"You can't be a chaperon and a dancing man as well," she teased him. +"Take your choice. Oh, I foresee a strenuous career ahead of you, my +friend! Think of the invitations, and the decorations, and the favors, +and the menu!" + +"I had not thought of it in detail," admitted the Professor, rather +nervously. "You--you alarm me. Still, I shall go through with it." + +"You will indeed, with Jemima at the helm," she murmured. "You poor +lamb! Perhaps the famous nephew will be of some assistance? I dare say +he knows a good deal about balls, and things of that sort." + +"Unfortunately, J. Percival is no longer my guest"--the Professor spoke +a little stiffly. "At present he is visiting your neighbor Mr. Farwell, +at Holiday Hill--an old acquaintance, I understand. You have seen +nothing of him?" + +She shook her head. "We do not know Mr. Farwell, and we are rather +simple folk to appeal to the literary palate." + +"Humph!" said the other dubiously. "I should not call Jemima, for +instance, exactly a simple person. Look out for him, Kate!" + +She raised her eyebrows. "You speak as if your famous nephew were a +ravening wild wolf, Jim!" + +"He's worse--He's a--temperamentalist," said the other, grimly. It was +not the word he had started to use. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +The old hall of Storm, with its memories of many a wild festivity, had +never served as background for a prettier sight than Jemima and +Jacqueline Kildare, coming shyly down the steps in their first +ball-dresses, followed by a girl in gingham, equally young and pretty, +with an anxious proprietary eye upon the hang and set of their fineries. + +"Don't you hug 'em, please, Miss Kate," warned this girl as they +descended. "Tulle musses so easy." + +There was a long "A-ah!" of delight from the foot of the stairs, where +the entire household was assembled, to the youngest pickaninny from the +quarters. Jemima, exquisite and fragile as a snow-spirit in her white +tulle, descended with the queenly stateliness that seems possible only +to very small women; but Jacqueline, pink as a rose, flushed and dewy as +if she had just been plucked from the garden, took the final steps with +a run and landed in her mother's arms, despite Mag's warning. + +"Aren't we perfectly grand?" she demanded. "Did you ever see _anything_ +as beautiful as us? See my gloves--almost as long as my arms! And my +neck doesn't look so awfully bony, does it? There's lots of it, anyway, +and it's white." She inflated her chest to full capacity, and looked +around the circle for approval. Philip was there, as well as Professor +Thorpe, who had come to fetch them in the Ark. Each had boxes in their +hands. + +"O-oh!" cried Jacqueline in delight. "Presents! What have you brought +us?" + +Professor Thorpe's boxes proved to contain flowers, and Philip presented +to each of them a charming antique fan. + +"Why, Reverend! How did you know girls used such things? It must be your +French blood cropping out." + +"I found them among mother's things," he explained, "and I knew she +would like you to have them." + +The girl sobered, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Jemima thanked +him quietly, and laid her fan on a table. Philip and Kate exchanged a +quick glance of understanding. It was evident that she meant to accept +nothing from a Benoix. Young Jemima Kildare was of the stuff that makes +the Kentucky blood-feuds possible. + +There was an awkward pause, broken by Professor Thorpe. "We ought to be +starting, I think. The Ark, while willing, has its little weaknesses, +and it would not do for my guests to arrive and find neither host nor +guests of honor present." + +"Wait a moment," said Kate. "I, too, have presentations to make." + +She produced two white velvet boxes bearing the name of a famous New +York jeweler. + +"Oh, what pretty little pinky-white beads!" cried Jacqueline, clasping +hers about her throat and prancing to a mirror to observe the effect. + +Jemima examined hers, and then looked quickly at her mother. + +"Are they pearls?" she asked. + +"Yes," said Kate. "Small ones, but a good investment, I think. Some day +when you're older, girlies, perhaps you'll like to remember that your +mother earned the money that bought them." She spoke to both of them, +but it was to Jemima that her unconscious plea was made. + +The older girl hesitated. Then she murmured, "Thank you, Mother. They +are beautiful," and fastened them about her throat. + +Kate gave a little sigh of relief, echoed by James Thorpe. Both had +feared for a moment that she would refuse her mother's gift as she had +refused Philip's. + +"Come, come," said Professor Thorpe, "we really must start. Two hours' +drive before us!" + +Jacqueline clung to her mother. "Oh, if you were only coming too, Mummy! +If you only were! Just say the word, and I won't go. Why, you'll be here +alone, Mummy, darling, alone all night! You'll miss us _dreadfully_. +What do I care about beaux and balls. I'd rather be with you than with +any one else in the world--_Almost_ any one else," she added honestly, +flushing. + +Kate laughed, and pushed her away. "Mag is looking daggers at us. We +mustn't crumple that finery any more, precious.--Remember not to talk at +the top of your lungs.--Have you got a pocket-handkerchief?" + +She followed them out to the waiting automobile, smiling; but Philip +noticed that her lips moved now and then silently, and he suspected that +she was praying. He was right. It was the first time in their lives that +her children had gone out of her own protection. + +Mag shrouded them in long dust garments, tucked the robes about them +solicitously, having first wrapped each white-slippered foot in tissue +paper. The passionate interest of the girl in the pleasures of these +other girls, pleasures she could never hope to share, struck two at +least of the onlookers as a rather piteous thing. + +"Good-by, good-by!" Jacqueline leaned out to throw last kisses +impartially. "How I wish you were coming too, Mag and Mummy and Phil, +you dears! I'll remember everything to tell you, compliments, and all, +and dresses especially, Mag. I'll bring home all the goodies I can stuff +into my pockets, too--oh, dear, there aren't any pockets to a ball +dress! Never mind--I'll put 'em in Goddy's pockets. Good-by! When next +you see us, we'll be real young ladies." + +Kate stood gazing after them as wistfully as Mag, both following with +their thoughts two happy young adventurers into a happy world forever +closed to themselves. "You'd like to be going to a ball yourself, +wouldn't you?" said she, to the girl beside her. + +"Would I? Oh, my Gawd! _Would_ I?" gasped Mag, and ran into the house. + +The repressed intensity of the reply startled Mrs. Kildare. She looked +at Philip. "Did you hear that? I wonder if the girl isn't happy here." + +The past few months had done a great deal for Mag Henderson's body, +whatever they had accomplished for her soul. Maternity had developed her +lissome figure into beautiful lines; health, the result of care and good +feeding, colored her lips and her cheeks and her pretty, shallow eyes; +she had learned not only the trick of dressing becomingly, but of +keeping her hair, her hands, and her feet as neat as those of a lady. +Even her voice had lost something of its uncouth drawl, and its lazy +softness had a charm of its own. She was very imitative. + +For some time Philip had been aware that his lady's protegee was +developing into an attractive young woman. + +"You say she seems devoted to the child?" he asked thoughtfully. + +"I think so, yes. She is always making clothes for the baby, and playing +with it, and petting it--when Jacqueline will let her. But,"--Kate +sighed faintly--"maternity isn't enough for all women, it seems." + +It was such remarks as this that gave Philip his strong hope for the +future. + +But now he put himself aside to consider the problem of Mag Henderson. +From the first he had foreseen that it was not a problem to be handled +as simply as Kate thought to handle it. The psychological instinct of +the priest was very strong in him--doubtless there had been many a good +cure of souls among past generations of Benoixes, professing an older +faith than his. In moments of clear vision that came to him he battled, +as all thinkers must battle, with a great discouragement, a sense of +helplessness that was almost terrifying. Of what use man's puny human +endeavors against the forces of predestination arrayed against him--the +forces of heredity, temperament, opportunity? + +Mag Henderson cost him a wakeful night; and from her his thoughts kept +straying oddly and unaccountably to Jacqueline, little Jacqueline, his +playmate and pupil and chum, with her mischievous, daredevil impulses +and her generous heart. He jerked his thoughts back angrily to poor Mag +Henderson. + +Why should he bracket the two together thus, the one a weed shooting up +in a neglected fence corner, the other the loveliest and most lovingly +tended blossom in a garden?--why, indeed, except that both were come, +weed and flower alike, to the period of their blooming. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Kate's thoughts, too, were busy with her young adventurers into the +world, throughout a wakeful night; only her anxieties did not concern +themselves with Jacqueline. A nature so trusting, so unconscious, so +bubbling over with friendliness toward all mankind, could not fail to +make friends for itself among strangers, among even enemies. She had +smiled to notice Jacqueline's success with the young men Thorpe had +brought to supper. Her own girlhood had been a succession of just such +triumphs. But belle as she was, many a ballroom had been spoiled for her +by the sight of girls to whom it was not a scene of triumph, to whom it +was no less than a battlefield, where the vanquished face defeat with +the fixed and piteous smile of the hopeless wallflower. + +Her heart yearned over her eldest daughter. Poor, clever, pretty Jemima, +who knew so well what she wanted of life, and wanted it so determinedly! +A world of which carefree gaiety is the essential element might be very +cruel to Jemima. If Kate could have plucked out her own charm by the +roots and given it to her child for a weapon, she would have done it +thankfully. + +She fell asleep at last over one of the prayers that had been +unconsciously upon her lips that day: "Make people nice to them, God! +You must see that my girls have partners, both of them, since I am not +there to attend to it myself." + +Kate's relations with her Creator, while informal, were remarkably +confident, for a woman who believed herself non-religious.... + +It was a worn and leaden-eyed professor who returned the adventurers to +Storm late the next day. + +"Take me to a bed," he demanded wearily. "No, I shall not have supper, +nor a julep, nor anything but a bed. I'd like to sleep without stirring +for a week!" + +Jacqueline embraced him with the arm that was not at the moment +embracing her mother. "Poor old Goddy! Was it done to a frazzle, +turkey-trotting with all the chaperons? You ought to have seen 'em, +Mummy! Ladies as old as you are, yes, and older! hopping about like +Dervishes. I'm glad you don't do such things.--But it was glorious! +Crowds of beaux, and I tore all the lace off my petticoat, and we made +the band play 'Home, Sweet Home,' five times. You know that is what they +play when the party is over." + +"Still?" murmured Kate, smiling. She had a momentary recollection of +times when she, too, had made the band repeat "Home, Sweet Home," she +with Basil Kildare.... + +"As for Jemmy," went on the eager, excited voice. "You just ought to +have seen her! My, my!" + +"What about Jemmy?" asked the mother, quickly. + +"Why, she gathered in the handsomest man in the room, simply annexed +him. He broke in on every dance and took her to a corner to talk! All +those snippy girls in the dressing-room were wild with jealousy. Don't +ask me how she did it. _I_ don't know! Tell mother how you did it, Jem." + +"Oh, it was simple enough," said the other, shrugging. "I saw that I was +not going to have a very good time unless I had somebody to fall back +on, so I selected him. He wore his hair rather long and romantic. I told +him he had the face of a poet. He spent the rest of the evening reciting +original verses to me. That was all. But it looked well." + +Kate gazed at her daughter with respect. Her anxiety for Jemima's future +died on the spot. + +"And Jacqueline?" she murmured. "Did she, too, manage to distinguish +herself?" + +"Oh, Jacky never needs to manage," said the older girl, with a pride in +her little sister that was not lacking in nobility. "Whenever I wanted +to find Jacky, I looked for the nearest crowd of men. They were like +flies around a honey-pot." + +Thorpe nodded smiling confirmation. "It was like old times. More than +one person said to me, 'Kate Leigh is back again!'" + +She flushed, incredulously. "They spoke of _me_?" + +"Of course they did," cried Jacqueline, hugging her. "I was so proud. +All the old men told me I looked like you, and most of them tried to +kiss me when they got me alone." + +"Great Heavens! I hope they didn't succeed?" + +"Not all of them," said Jacqueline, demurely.... + +But her mother was not laughing when she followed Jemima into her room, +and closed the door behind them. + +"Now tell me everything that happened. What did Jacqueline mean by +'snippy' girls? Were any of those women rude to you?" + +"Oh, no, Mother, not rude, of course." The lift of Jemima's chin said +quite plainly, "I should not have permitted that." + +"But they were not nice to you?" + +The girl hesitated. Slowly the blood mounted up her delicate cheeks to +the roots of her hair. Kate saw with dismay that her lips were +trembling. + +"My child!"--she took a step toward her. + +But Jemima drew back, mastering herself. "Somebody ought to have told +us, you or Professor Jim, or somebody," she said, quaveringly, "Perhaps +you didn't know, but--Oh, Mother we made a dreadful mistake!" + +"In going?" Kate clenched her hands. The look on her set face boded ill +for people who had hurt her children. + +"Those ball dresses!" Jemima brought it out with a despairing sob. "How +was I to know? The magazines didn't say anything about it, and nobody +told me. But all the other girls wore hats and high necks! Some of them +even had on coat suits!" + +Kate stared. "Is that all?" Suddenly she threw back her head, and +laughed until she cried. She tried to stop, realizing that the thing was +no less than a tragedy to ambitious Jemima. But the relief after what +she had feared for them was too great. + +"It seems to amuse you, Mother," said the girl, with dignity. "Perhaps +you are above such things. Jacqueline and I are not. It was not pleasant +to be thought country green-horns by all those strange, staring people. +That author, Mr. Channing, was there, too,--and never came near me, +though I think he did dance once or twice with Jacqueline.--There is +nothing, nothing in this world," she said passionately, "as terrible as +being different!" + +Somewhere in Kate's reading she had come across a phrase that stuck, +"The Herd-spirit, which shuns abnormality." She searched for the words +to comfort her child, and found them. + +"My dear, since the world began people of unusual ability have found +themselves 'different,' and have suffered because of it. It is not a +matter of dress, or manner, or any outside thing, and assuredly it is +not a difference to be ashamed of. People like us," she said quietly, +"must learn to smile at the Herd-spirit." + +Jemima's eyes met hers squarely. An answering gleam came into them; and +for the moment the barrier between mother and daughter was down. They +recognized each other. + +The following week brought a pleasant surprise, and Jemima was comforted +further. It was a letter from an old school friend of Mrs. Kildare's, +Mrs. Lawrence, reminding her of their early intimacy, speaking of the +pleasure it had been to meet her two lovely daughters, and inviting them +to visit her in Lexington at a date named, that they might share with +her own daughters some of the gaieties of town life. + +Kate suspected Thorpe's hand in this invitation. For twenty years Mrs. +Lawrence had lived within an hour's railroad journey of Storm, and this +was the first reminder of their friendship. But far from resenting the +belated kindness, she was deeply grateful for it; a fact which caused +young Jemima's pride to wince for her mother. She herself, in such +circumstances, would have returned the letter without comment. + +Nevertheless, it was she who decided her mother to accept the +invitation. Kate had hesitated, dreading to expose her children for the +second time unprotected to the mercies of people who had ostracized her. +But Jemima said with her usual decision, "We must go, of course, since +you have no personal objection. It would be foolish to decline any +opportunity that offers. That is what Professor Jim gave us the party +for; to create opportunities." + +"Is it?" asked Kate. "I thought it was to make friends." + +"The same thing," explained Jemima. "One has to consider the future." + +To the amaze of both, however, Jacqueline flatly declined to visit Mrs. +Lawrence on any terms whatsoever. + +"I'd rather stay here," was her calm response to all her sister's +pleading. + +"But, Jacky, we must get to know some girls!" + +"Why must we? Silly, giggling, whispering creatures--you go and make the +girl friends, Jemmy! I'd rather have beaux." + +"And how are you to find any around here, I'd like to know?" + +Jacqueline smiled demurely. "Perhaps they'll come and find me." Jemima +could cheerfully have shaken her. "Anyway, I'd rather stay with mummy, +and baby Kitty, and the colts, and all. You go and do the society act +for both of us, sister," she coaxed. "You do it so beautifully. Think +how you annexed that beautiful young man all those girls were smitten +with! And you know how to be politely rude to people. I don't." + +Occasionally her young sister's powers of observation surprised Jemima. + +She heaved a sigh. "I suppose I shall have to go alone, then," she said. +"Somebody will always do your share of the world's work, Jacky,"--but +she kissed her sister even as she scolded her. + +Kate was more than a little puzzled. With a return of her old +shrewdness, she sought for possible reasons that might be keeping this +joyous, pleasure-loving replica of her young self from the scene of +further triumphs. Was it simply shyness? But Jacqueline had never been +self-conscious enough to be shy. Had something occurred to rouse in her +the fierce Kildare pride? Kate dismissed that fear promptly. Snubs and +slights would fall harmless from such an armor of confidence in the +world's friendly intentions toward her. Jacqueline would not recognize +an insult if she saw it. + +Her study of the girl made her aware for the first time of the change +that had taken place in her. She saw, startled, that tender, radiant, +exquisite young woman who had replaced her little daughter. + +Instantly her thoughts went to Philip. Could it be Philip who was +keeping her at home? + +Kate's heart leaped in her breast. This marriage, planned in +Jacqueline's infancy to clear her name and her children's from at least +one stigma that rested upon it, had never been out of her mind. Now it +was the one thing toward which her hopes, so lately torn from their +rooted hold, were still straining. Jacques' son and her daughter--at +least there should be that tie between herself and the man she loved. +Some day perhaps her grandson would look at her with the eyes of +Jacques.... + +The girl, she had believed, must be still too young for any thought of +marriage. But was she? Was she? The Leigh women matured early. She +herself had been quite ready for marriage at seventeen. As for Philip, +how was it with him? + +From the day she had brought him home with her from his boarding-school, +a sensitive, lonely lad of fourteen, he had been like a big brother to +her children; at first their guardian playfellow, sharing with them his +lore of field and wood and stream; later their tutor, during the months +when he was not absent at the seminary which the old rector of the +parish had persuaded him to enter; later still, their spiritual adviser +and director, exercising over them a certain quiet authority which +amused their mother but which was not resented in the least by either of +the high-spirited girls. He and Jemima were excellent friends, or had +been until her recent discovery about his father. It was to the older +girl he turned for assistance in parish matters, and Kate realized that +Jemima was far better fitted than her light-hearted sister for the +manifold duties of a clergyman's wife. But from the first, little +Jacqueline had been his especial pet and comrade--possibly because of +her resemblance to her mother. They rode together, sang together, read +together, even quarreled together, with a familiarity which shocked +Jemima's inborn respect for "the Cloth".... Had there been always in +this marked favoritism the germ of love? the mother wondered. + +Of late Philip had been more at the house even than usual. He dropped in +at all hours of the day with the excuse of books to be brought, new +music to be tried, matters of many sorts to be discussed. It reminded +Kate a little sadly of the days when his father had found just such +excuses to spend his time at Storm. To be sure, he rarely found +Jacqueline at home, and as Jemima systematically avoided him nowadays, +he was thrown almost entirely upon her own companionship. But Kate +easily persuaded herself that this was merely an accident, and one which +she might in future control. + +Now that she had thought of it, she had twice lately met Philip with +Jacqueline, riding very slowly and in earnest conversation--those two, +who usually took the roads and the fields at a flying gallop, daring +each other on to further recklessness. Also, she recalled the last miles +of that journey from Frankfort, when the girl sat between them, playing +with hands, lips, and crooning voice her self-appointed role of +comforter. It would be a stony-hearted celibate indeed who resisted +little Jacqueline in the role of comforter. + +Kate Kildare smiled to herself, content. At least one of her dreams was +coming true. The old lying scandal would die in time and be forgotten. +Fate, her enemy--what match was it for three such allies as propinquity, +nature, and a wise mother? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +The fact was that Philip, in his double capacity of priest and of +bodyguard to the household of his liege lady, had been for some time +aware of a thing that troubled him deeply. It was Philip who brought to +the Madam's notice much that required her attention in her domain, but +this he did not bring to her attention. His hands were tied. + +Shortly after the episode of the Night Riders, he had happened to be +driving in an adjoining county, when to his amazement a large automobile +flashed by with Jacqueline at the wheel, speaking over her shoulder to a +man who sat beside her. In the glimpse he had of them, Philip thought he +recognized the man as Percival Channing. They were too absorbed in each +other to notice him, hidden as he was in the depths of his buggy. +Jacqueline's laugh floated back to him as they passed, a soft little +laugh that brought a sudden frown to Philip's face. Her expert handling +of the great car told its own story. + +"That won't do at all!" muttered Philip aloud. Then he took himself up +sharply--"Why won't it do?" The man was James Thorpe's nephew, a +gentleman, a person of some distinction; certainly a fit companion for +Kate's children. Why should he feel uneasy? That Jacqueline had not +mentioned the further acquaintance with him might be merely an +oversight. After all, the girl must marry some day, though the thought +of losing his little playfellow gave Philip a pang. + +"I see," he said casually at Storm that night, "that the author is still +in our midst. I suppose he has called here, hasn't he?" + +He spoke to Kate, not glancing in the direction of Jacqueline. + +"Oh, yes. We found his cards one afternoon, with Mr. Farwell's," +answered Kate. "I am sorry not to have seen him." + +"He will probably come again," said Jemima, rather importantly. "In fact +I asked him to, the other night at Professor Jim's party." + +Jacqueline made a gleeful face at her sister's back, not unnoted by +Philip. + +"So-o!" he said to himself gravely. "I shall have to make friends with +this gentleman...." + +He was on his way to Holiday Hill the next afternoon, when at the very +gate he met Jacqueline coming out. She laughed; rather consciously for +Jacqueline. "I've been returning that call," she said. + +"So I see. Has Mrs. Farwell come, then?" + +"Mrs. Farwell? Oh, no. She never comes. Mr. Farwell isn't here either, +just now," she said innocently. "So I dropped in to--to keep Mr. +Channing company." She began to flush, realizing that she had betrayed +herself. "We were practising his songs together. We--we often do." She +stammered a little. + +"I see," he said again, lightly. It was not his policy to discourage +confidences. "So Mr. Channing writes songs, as well as novels?" + +"Oh, wonderful ones, Phil! You'd love them. I do wish you could hear +them." + +"I'd like to. Why not bring me the next time you come to practise?" + +She looked down; then her eyes met his frankly. "I'd rather not, Phil. +He wouldn't like it. Geniuses are peculiar. You see, we sing better when +we're not disturbed. You know how that is, don't you?" + +His heart contracted with sudden sympathy. He knew only too well "how it +was." It seemed to him that lately his life was one long conspiracy +against Fate to find Kate Kildare alone. Abroad, the eyes of the world +seemed always turned upon them; at home she was surrounded by an +impregnable barrier of daughters. On the rare occasions when he did +manage to achieve the coveted _solitude a deux_, their talk was of +farming, of the parish, of business, and in the end always of his +father, his father. Her dependence upon him, her affection for him, was +evident, but there was a curiously impersonal, almost absent-minded +quality about it that sometimes chilled Philip and his budding hopes. +When she spoke out her inmost thoughts, even when she took his hand or +laid her arm across his shoulders with the impulsive, caressing gestures +that were as common to her as to Jacqueline, he had the feeling that she +was thinking of another man. + +Philip was well fitted to understand Jacqueline just then. "My dear," he +said quietly, "are you in love with Mr. Channing?" + +The question took her by surprise. She paled, and then the lovely rose +came over her face again in a hot flood. "Oh, yes, _yes_, Phil!" she +cried eagerly. "Do come and ride beside me, and let me tell you all +about it. I've been wanting dreadfully to tell somebody who would +understand. You're _such_ a comfortable sort of person." + +Philip's greatest gift was the art of listening. He employed it now, +turning to her a glance steady and encouraging, concealing the anxiety +that gnawed at his mind, why he could not say. The natural priest is as +intuitive perhaps as the natural woman. + +She took him into her confidence fully, concealing nothing. He learned +about their daily meetings, either at the Ruin, or if Farwell happened +to be absent, at Holiday Hill. She told him of their long automobile +rides together, while she was supposed to be off exercising some of the +horses; of the book he was beginning to write with her assistance; ("I +inspire it," she explained gravely); of his belief in her own future +career as a singer. + +"He's going to help me, to introduce me to singers and teachers +and--impresarios, I think they're called. He's going to make mother send +me abroad to study, first. He says it's wicked to keep me shut up here +away from life. All artists have got to see a great deal of life, you +know, if they're to amount to anything. Oh, isn't it wonderful?" she +broke off, "that such a man as that should ever have noticed me at all?" + +Philip, glancing at the radiant young face, did not find it altogether +wonderful. + +"I suppose he makes love to you?" he asked. + +She dimpled. "Of course! But in such a funny way, Phil. He doesn't seem +to mean to, or to want to, exactly. We read a good deal, and talk about +the world, and things like that, and sing--but all the time I know what +he's thinking about, and--and I'm thinking about it, too! We don't read +and sing and talk _all_ the time--" She clasped her hands ecstatically, +lines and all. "Oh, Phil darling, I wish you were in love, too! It's so +perfect.--But you will be some day, and then I hope," she added +quaintly, "that you'll have somebody as dear and comfortable as you are +to confide in. A spiritual pastor and master is so safe, too. You may +scold me, Reverend, and you may laugh at me--you're doing it now--but +you can never tell on me." + +"No," he admitted, "I never can. But why not tell on yourself, dear? Why +so much mystery? Are you ashamed of being in love?" + +He looked at her keenly. But though she hesitated, she met his eyes +without embarrassment. "I think I am, a little. Not ashamed, exactly, +but--shy. It's such a queer feeling, being in love. I never had it +before. It makes you want not to eat, or sleep, or play with the baby, +or do anything but just think of him; how he looked the last time you +saw him, what he said, and--did. If people knew, they'd tease me, and +watch me, and I couldn't bear that. I just couldn't bear it! Then +there's Jemmy. She's so odd. She doesn't like to see me kissing the +baby, even, or loving it. She thinks it isn't quite nice. If she knew +about Mr. Channing--! Besides, she's so much cleverer than I am, so much +more his sort, really. If he'd known her first he would probably have +liked her best. I'd rather--just for a while, I'd rather--" + +"Keep him out of Jemima's reach?" murmured Philip, amused. + +She nodded. "You _do_ understand things, don't you? Jemmy's so much +cleverer than I am. Just until I'm sure of him, Philip--" + +He asked quietly, "You're not sure of him, then?" + +She gave him a demure glance under her infantile lashes. "Oh, yes, I am! +But he's not quite sure of himself." She chuckled. "Mr. Channing +_thinks_ he doesn't want to marry any one, you see!" + +It was what Philip had been waiting for from the first. His voice +changed a little, and became the voice of the priest. "You need not tell +your sister, Jacqueline; but your mother ought to know of this." + +"I don't want her to know." + +"Why not?" + +"Oh, because," was the purely feminine answer. She added, troubled by +his grave silence, "Mummy might not want me to see so much of him, if +she knew. She can't realize that I'm grown up now. Old people forget how +they felt when they were young." She was vaguely trying to express +love's dread of being brought to earth, of being hampered by the fetters +of a fixed relation. + +"'Old people!' Your mother?" Philip spoke rather sharply. + +"Oh, well, not _old_, of course. Still, she's too old to fall in +love.--Anyway, there are some things a girl can't talk about with her +mother; you ought to know there are." The glance she gave him was both +embarrassed and appealing. + +Alas for Kate's carefully fostered intimacy with her children, vanished +at the first touch of a warmer breath! + +Philip put his hand over hers on the bridle-rein. "My dear," he said +earnestly, "there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you cannot talk about +with your mother. She's that sort. Always remember it." + +She jerked her hand away with a pettish gesture. "For goodness' sake, +stop being so ancient and fatherly! And what right have you to tell me +anything about mother? I don't mind your explaining about God to me, and +Christian duty, and things like that. It's your business, and I suppose +it bores you as much as anybody. But when you talk as if you had a +special vested right in my own mother,--that's _too_ much! As if you +could possibly know her as well as I do!" + +She spurred her horse and galloped ahead furiously. But at the next turn +of the road she was waiting, remorseful. + +"Forgive me for being a crosspatch, Flippy dear?" Her voice would have +coaxed forgiveness from a stone. "I always am sort of--sort of foolish +about mummy, you know." + +"I have no fault to find with you for being foolish about your mother," +said Philip. + +"Then, that's all right!" She blew him a kiss, and prepared to leave +him. "And of course I will tell her everything, soon. When she knows, +she's going to be glad, gladder than anybody. I remember once,"--the +girl's face grew very tender--"we were just little things, Jemmy and I, +but she was talking to us, like she does. She said, 'When the right man +comes along, my girlies, be sure he is the right man, and then _don't be +afraid_. Love him with all your might and main, and be sure he knows it. +There's nothing in the world so mean as a niggardly lover!' I--I am not +a niggardly lover, Philip," she added shyly. + +His throat contracted. Jacqueline's naivete was singularly touching to +him. + +"Wait a moment," he said, detaining her. "Since I must keep the great +secret, I want you to promise me one thing. Do not go to Mr. Farwell's +house alone any more. You see," he explained to her widened eyes, "there +aren't any women there. Girls do not call on men." + +"I go to your house whenever I like!" + +He smiled. "As you yourself said once, I'm 'not men.' But it isn't done, +little girl. Take my word for that, please." + +"Very well!" she chuckled. "You sound like Jemmy!--But I promise. I like +the Ruin better anyway. More private." + +She waved back at him, put her horse lightly over a fence, and was off +across the fields at a full gallop. + +He went his way thoughtfully. Philip was beginning to find his duties as +guardian of Kate Kildare and her children somewhat onerous. He tried to +reassure himself with the thought of Jacqueline's youth. Mature as she +had become in body, in mind she was still a child. At that age, love +could not be lasting. + +But while it lasted, could it not devastate? + +Often in this Kentucky valley he had known languorous Februaries when +orchard and garden, deceived by a fierce-wooing sun, trustingly put +forth their treasures, only to find them blackened and withered when the +true spring came. Dear little Jacqueline, glowing, tremulous, instinct +with the joy and passion of giving--for to Kate Kildare's child love +meant always giving--was she to know so soon the blight of +disillusionment? + +"Not if I can help it," muttered Philip, squaring his jaws, and set his +horse once more in the direction of Holiday Hill. + +He intended to discover just how far and for what reason Percival +Channing was averse to the state of matrimony. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +Jacqueline had presently another confidante, who came to her by chance; +not Kate, still absorbed in her readjustment to life without Jacques +Benoix, and not Jemima, even more absorbed in the preparation for her +approaching visit. Jacqueline, indeed, was somewhat in disgrace with her +sister. "Isn't it just like her," thought the older girl impatiently, +"to go and make such a success of herself, and then sit back calmly and +expect me to do the rest?" + +Jemima had from her mother one gift of the born executive: the ability +to recognize other people's abilities as well as their limitations. In a +quite unenvious and impersonal way, she appreciated the superior charm +of her sister, and intended to use it, backed by her own superior +intelligence, for the benefit of both of them. Jacqueline's complete +lack of interest in the social campaign was a serious blow to her plans, +but she met it with stoic philosophy. + +"I shall have to go ahead as best I can without charm," she told +herself, soberly. "Brains always count, if you keep them hid." + +To the casual observer the ambitions of young Jemima at this juncture +might have seemed somewhat petty; but most beginnings are petty. There +was in the girl's mind a determination that cannot be called unworthy, +no matter how it manifested itself--nothing less than the reinstatement +before the world of the family her mother had disgraced, the once-proud +Kildares of Storm. She was going forth to do battle alone for the +tarnished honor of her name, a gallant little knight-errant, +tight-lipped and heavy-hearted, and far more afraid than she dared +admit. + +Something of this the mother sensed, and her heart yearned over her +daughter. But Jemima rebuffed all overtures. She declined sympathy, and +as far as possible she declined help from her mother. She had offered to +return the check-book Kate gave her when she expected to go to New York, +but her mother bade her keep it, saying, "It is time you learned how to +handle your own money." + +So Jemima did her planning and ordering without interference; and +presently express boxes began to arrive from "the city," which caused +much excitement in the household. + +"Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as these," smiled Kate one +day, looking in at the sewing-room where Mag was installed, adding deft +final touches. "Where's Jacky, Jemima? Why isn't she here helping you +two to run ribbons and whip on laces?" + +"Oh, Jacky!" The other shrugged. "Where would she be? Galloping about +the country, or playing games with herself down at her precious Ruin, I +suppose. Occasionally she wanders into the sewing-room like a young +cyclone, leaving havoc in her wake. I'd rather not have her assistance, +thank you!" + +"Miss Jacky ain't much of a hand with a needle," murmured the girl at +the sewing-machine. + +Kate smiled, as she always smiled when she thought of her youngest +daughter. "Bless her heart! I wonder what she's about down there in the +ravine. We haven't heard her singing lately. Do you suppose she has +abandoned grand opera entirely? I think I must go and investigate." + +Mag Henderson sat suddenly rigid. It was she who had become, +inadvertently, Jacqueline's second confidante. + +A few days before, she had made a discovery which she would have been +torn limb from limb rather than betray; for the weakest natures are +capable of one strong trait, and Mag's was loyalty. Just as she had +tried to defend the father who had sold her into worse than slavery, so +she would defend to the last ditch any member of the family who had +rescued her--more particularly Jacqueline. For Jacqueline had done more +than rescue her; she had kissed her. + +She said with a sort of gasp, "Miss Jacky's awful busy, Miss Kate. She +wouldn't like to be disturbed. She's--she's writin' a book." + +Kate laughed. "Come now, Mag! not a _book_?" + +"Yes'm, she is, 'cause I seen it." + +"Well, well, what next?" cried Kate. "What sort of chicken have I +hatched? There've been queer developments in the family, but never a +genius that I know of. We must leave her alone, by all means. Maybe she +will get over it." + +Mag breathed more freely; and with the departure next day of Jemima, +accompanied by two trunks and wearing an expression that said plainly, +"I shall return with my shield or on it," Mag's fears for her beloved +Miss Jacky were further allayed. Of late the Storm household had begun +to hold Jemima's seeing eye in even more respect than the Madam's. + +Mag had stumbled upon Jacqueline's secret quite by accident. After her +day's work was over she liked to walk the roads with her baby, dressed +in her prettiest finery, with an eager, hopeful eye out for passing +vehicles. On one of these rambles she happened into the lane which +passed the haunted ravine, and there, concealed by the drooping branches +of a willow beside the road, she had discovered a deserted automobile. + +It aroused her curiosity. What could an automobile be doing in that +unfrequented lane, and where was the owner of it? Fearfully she entered +the ravine, and ventured a few steps toward the green tangle that hid +the ruined cabin. When she came in sight of it, panic conquered +curiosity, and she turned to run. It was very dark and hushed there in +the underbrush. + +But one of the young dogs, who had followed her, suddenly pricked up his +ears and nosed his way to the cabin's threshold, where he paused with +one foot lifted, making violent demonstrations with his tail. Mag +followed him, reassured. + +"A dog would have too much sense to wag hisself at ghosts," she +thought.... + +No wonder it was still in the ravine. Birds passing overhead forbore to +sing, out of sheer sympathy. The great trees stood tiptoe, guarding with +finger on lip the love-dream of the little human creature who had played +so long about their feet, and whose playing days were done. Mag and the +young dog were silent, too, and would have gone softly away from the +place where they were not wanted. + +"Miss Jacky's got her a fella!" whispered Mag enviously to herself. +"Ain't that grand?" + +But the baby in her arms had as yet no conception that there might be +places in the world where she was not wanted; poor little waif who had +been unwanted anywhere! She recognized her usual companion wrapped in +the arms of a strange man, and cooed inquiringly. + +The lovers jumped apart. + +"Oh!--It's only you, Mag!" gasped Jacqueline. "I thought Jemmy had +caught us at last!..." + +So it happened that Mag was elevated to the position of confidante; not +a very wise confidante, but a very proud and trustworthy one, eager to +help her Miss Jacky to happiness, such as she conceived the term--a +"fella" to love her and give her presents, which might or might not +include a wedding-ring. + +She was pressed into willing service, carrying notes, arranging +meetings, mounting guard watchfully, thrilled with eager sympathy, and +dreaming a little on her own account; sordid, pathetic dreams they were, +in which, alas! the baby Kitty played no part at all. As Mrs. Kildare +had guessed, maternity was not enough for Mag Henderson. + +Percival Channing, in the midst of the prettiest idyl of his experience, +was bringing to it far more enthusiasm than he would have thought +possible for a mere collector of impressions. He was quite pleased with +himself. + +"Who said I was jaded and world-worn?" he thought amusedly. His critical +faculty did not become atrophied when applied to himself, as is the way +of smaller critical faculties. + +From week to week he prolonged his visit at Holiday Hill, to the content +of Farwell, who was finding the picturesque solitude he had created for +himself rather wearing. Channing thought it necessary to explain that +the country furnished him just the quiet environment he needed for his +work. + +"And eke the inspiration?" murmured Farwell. + +"And eke the inspiration," admitted his guest. + +Farwell puffed at a meditative pipe. He was a tolerant man, popular with +his friends because of his chariness in proffering advice and comment; +so that Channing was surprised when he continued the subject. + +"I fancy the little girl is quite capable of taking care of +herself--these Southern beauties are that way, from the cradle. But +have a care of the old 'un, my boy! There's a glint in that fine gray +eye I wouldn't care to rouse, myself. She's by way of being a queen +around here, you know. I'm told the law asks her permission before it +makes an arrest in this neighborhood. Her subjects neither marry, nor +die, nor get themselves born without her permission--fact! As for her +daughters, hands off! Approach them on your knees. + +"I'll give you a bit of local color, if you like. Have you noticed that +long-tailed whip she carries when she's got the dogs? Well, one day I +saw a couple of negroes fighting in one of the fields; big, burly +brutes, one with a knife, and both full of cocaine, probably. The white +man in charge danced around on the outskirts, afraid to interfere--I +don't blame him! Suddenly there was a cry, 'Here comes the Madam!' And +there she was, galloping into that field, hell-for-leather, unwrapping +her long-tailed whip as she came. When the negroes had had enough of it +and were whimpering for mercy, she turned her attention to the foreman. +But she didn't whip him. She said, her voice as calm as a May morning, +'Go and get your time, Johnson. I've no room on the place for a timid +man!'" + +Farwell's eyes were lit with enthusiasm, but to Channing the story had +been oddly distasteful. "Faugh! What a woman! And yet I'll swear she's a +lady," he said, with an odd thought of introducing Mrs. Kildare to his +rigid family circle in the role of mother-in-law. + +"Of course she is! A great lady, of a type we're not familiar with, +that's all. A relic of feudalism. I give you fair warning--don't monkey +with the buzz-saw!" + +"Nonsense!" Channing flushed. "Who's monkeying with buzz-saws? You're +rather crude, you know." + +"So is she. Don't you make any mistake about that! The Kildare is no +parlor product. A woman who's led the life she has," drawled Farwell, +"would be quite capable of protecting her children, even at the point of +a pistol, I fancy." + +The author gave a short, angry laugh. "You're incurably dramatic, Morty! +You will carry your stage effects into real life. What do you think I'm +up to, anyway? You don't suppose I mean that pretty child any harm?" + +Farwell rolled protesting eyes toward heaven. "The very suggestion +shocks me," he murmured. "But I have noticed that only the juice of the +orange interests you, old man. The rest of it you leave on your plate, +luxurious chap that you are!..." + +His warning had its effect. There were no more stolen drives about the +country in Farwell's automobiles, much to Jacqueline's disappointment; +and once more Channing called in state at Storm, where he was received +cordially by Mrs. Kildare, and took very little notice of demure +Jacqueline in the background. So little, indeed, that Kate afterwards +felt it necessary to apologize for him. + +"You're too young for Mr. Channing, Jacky dear. What a pity Jemima was +not here to talk to him! He's just the sort of man for her," she said. + +Whereat Jacqueline's dimples became riotous, and she kept silence with +difficulty. + +Channing's new caution, however, did not carry him to the length of +giving up his daily visits to the Ruin. He needed the girl too much. His +belonged to the class of creative brain that works only under the +stimulus of emotion. Channing was fond of saying that he took his +material red-hot out of life itself, and his novels represented a series +of personal experiences, psychological and otherwise, which perhaps +accounted for their marked success with a certain public. + +Channing was not without genius. He had to a great degree the poet's +sensitiveness to all things exquisite, and added to that he had a gift +of facile expression. Subtleties of style, that effort to find exactly +the right phrase and shade of meaning which is the stumbling-block of so +many conscientious writers, troubled him not at all. Given the +sensation, words in which to clothe it came instinctively, faster often +than he could write them down. But first he must needs experience the +sensation. This type of brain suffers from one disadvantage. In time the +receptive surface of it becomes dulled, calloused, and as the confirmed +drug-user requires constantly increasing or varying doses to produce +effect, so such an imagination requires constantly increasing or varying +doses of emotion. + +These young Jacqueline Kildare was supplying in full measure. To his +sophisticated palate she was as refreshing as cool spring water. She +roused, among impulses more familiar to his experience, certain others +with which he had not credited himself, impulses of tenderness, of +protection, of chivalry. He began to be aware of a pleasure that was +entirely new to him in the sight of Jacqueline with Mag's baby, their +very frequent companion. + +"I _am_ getting primitive!" he thought. "This is going back to nature +with a vengeance." + +For the first time in his life, the thought of marriage came to him +occasionally and was put away with some regret. "I must not lose my +head," he admonished himself. "It will not last, of course. It never +does." + +Channing knew himself very thoroughly. + +But if he must not offer marriage to the girl, he could at least help +her to a career. It flattered his _amour propre_ to realize that the +object of his present affections, crude young thing as she was, might be +called in a certain sense his equal, a fellow artist, one of the world's +chosen. He spoke very often of her career, and Jacqueline listened, +dreamily. + +Of late she had somewhat lost interest in careers. Or rather, she had +another sort of career in view; that of the lady in the tower, to whom +her knight brings all his trophies. It seemed to her that this might be +the happiest career of all. + +She knew very well what she was doing for Channing. In the morning +hours, and often after he left her far into the night, the author wrote +steadily, with the ease and smoothness of creation that is one of the +most satisfying pleasures known to human experience. Daily, when he came +to her for refreshment, he brought manuscript to read, incidents, +character sketches, whole chapters in the novel he had started. All of +which filled Jacqueline with a new and heady sense of power. If she was +not "writing a book," as Mag reported, she was at least helping to write +one. + +And she gave more to her lover than inspiration. He found her criticism +unexpectedly valuable. There had been no lack of brains in her family, +and the library at Storm was large and excellent. Philip Benoix and +James Thorpe had both supplemented the girls' reading with great wisdom, +so that Jacqueline's taste was formed upon far better literature than +that of the average woman of his acquaintance. She was not easily +shocked--Kate boasted that she had never put her girls' brains into +petticoats--but now and then, despite Channing's growing care, +unconscious product of his new chivalry, matter crept into his pages +which made her shake her head in quick distaste. + +"People might _do_ things like that," she said once, of a particularly +unsavory episode, "but they'd never sit around and talk of it +afterwards. They'd be ashamed!" + +It was a comment on human nature the shrewdness of which he promptly +appreciated. Jacqueline came to represent to him that invaluable portion +of a writer's public, the average female mind. Under her proud guidance, +Channing knew that he was writing the best and by far the cleanest of +his novels. + +It was at such moments that the thought of marriage came to him, and he +reminded himself reluctantly that it would not do. "He travels fastest +who travels alone...." + +"I must speak to your mother about your voice," he said once. "She will +have to let you study in Europe, or at least in New York. You're +seventeen, aren't you? There's a long road to travel. No time to be +lost." + +"New York? But you live in Boston, don't you?" + +"Heaven forbid! I was born in Boston, but one gets over it in time." + +"I'm not sure now that it's worth while taking any more lessons," she +said dreamily. + +"You'll never be a singer without them." + +"Well--sometimes I think I don't want to be a singer, Mr. Channing. +Sometimes I think I'd rather be a--housekeeper, for instance." + +"What! Give up fame and fortune for a hypothetical domestic career?" + +"Not for a hypothetical one, no." She gave him a side-wise glance, +dimpling. "But I _would_ love to have a home of my own." + +He humored her, for the sake of watching her rapt and eager face. "What +would you do with a house of your own?" + +"Oh, I'd have pink silk curtains at all the windows, and loads of books, +and flowers, and a cook who could make things like Mr. Farwell's cook +can--and--and a grand piano, and an automobile, and a stable full of +thoroughbreds and puppies--" She paused for breath. + +"Anything else?" + +"Oh, yes. Babies! All ages and sizes of babies, small red wrinkled ones, +and trot-abouts, and fat little boys in their first trousers--" + +"Help, help!" murmured Channing. "Would there be any room in that house +for a husband?" + +"Yes," she said softly. "I used to think it was a nuisance, having to +have a husband before you could have babies; but now--" she glanced at +him shyly, and looked away again. + +"But now?" he repeated, leaning toward her. + +"I--I've changed my mind," she murmured, her heart beating very hard. +Was he going to say anything? + +The indications were that he was. His eyes had a look that she called to +herself "beaming," and he put out his arms as if to take her into them. +She swayed a little toward him, to make it easier. + +But at the critical moment, discretion came once more to the rescue. He +fumbled hastily in his pocket for a cigarette, and with that in his +lips, felt safer. + +"There is really no reason," he remarked, puffing, "that the operatic +career may not be combined with the luxuries you mention, +Jacqueline--pink silk curtains, infants, and all." + +"Do singers marry?" she asked; and he could not but admire the +nonchalance with which she covered her disappointment. + +"Rather! Fast and frequently." + +"But surely they don't have babies?" + +"Why not? A friend of mine on the operatic stage"--he mentioned her +name--"assures me that each baby improves her voice noticeably." + +"I think it is very hard on her husband," declared Jacqueline. "You +_know_ he'd rather have her at home taking care of the children +properly, and darning the stockings, and ready to greet him when he +comes home tired at night!" + +"Judging from the size of her income," murmured Channing, "I fancy that +he would not." + +Jacqueline jumped up, scarlet. The chagrin of her recent repulse, the +nervous strain of the past few weeks, the reaction from too exalted a +plane of emotion, all found vent in a burst of temper rare indeed to her +sunny nature. + +"That's a horrid thing to say," she flared out, "and sometimes I think +you're a horrid man! Yes, I do! When you're cynical and--and worldly +that way, I just can't bear you. So there! I'm going straight up to the +house. Good-by! You needn't try to stop me." + +She went, but very slowly, regretting already her foolish anger, waiting +for him to call her back. Her feet lagged. She said to herself that +these clever men could be very stupid.... + +But Channing did not call her back. He followed the ascending figure, so +boyishly slender yet so instinct with feminine grace, with eyes that +held regret, and pity, and something else. When it was out of sight +among the upper trees, he heaved a sigh of relief. + +"That was a narrow squeak, Percival, my boy," he admonished himself. +"Another instant, and it would have been all up with you. Time you were +finding pressing business elsewhere!" + +As has been said, Mr. Channing knew himself extremely well; a knowledge +that was the result of expert study. He had learned that men pay a +penalty for keeping their emotions highly sensitized. They react too +readily to certain stimuli; they are not always under perfect control. +There are times when the only safety lies in flight. + +However, he was not quite ready to flee. He had his novel to finish. It +is always a mistake, he had found, to change environment in the middle +of a book. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Philip, true to his promise to himself, deliberately set about the +business of making friends with Jacqueline's lover. He found the matter +less difficult than he had expected. Channing was an agreeable surprise +to him. There was an atmosphere about him, man of the world that he was, +as comforting to the young country cleric as an open fire to one +unconsciously chilled. Philip recognized in the other a certain finish, +a certain fine edge of culture and comprehension, that had set his own +father apart from the people about them, kept him always a stranger in +his environment, even to the perceptions of a young boy. With Channing +he found many tastes in common, the love of books, of music, of art in +every form; as well as a keen interest in the study of humanity, pursued +by both from vastly different angles, but with equal ardor. Philip came +to understand very well the man's fascination for Jacqueline; but the +better he understood it, the more uneasy he became. + +Channing's life seemed so rounded, so filled, so complete--what +permanent place was there in it for a crude, untrained little country +girl? He suspected that the author thought of her, as everybody else had +thought of her, as a charming, impulsive, beautiful child, whose +blandishments were almost impossible to resist; and he knew men well +enough to guess that Channing had not tried very hard to resist them. +Why should he? She was too young to be taken seriously, and she was very +sweet. Philip himself, lover of another woman as he was, had more than +once been quite uncomfortably stirred by the near sweetness of +Jacqueline.... Neither as priest nor as man could he bring himself to +condemn a thing he so well understood. The sense of responsibility +deepened. What was he to do about it? + +Percival Channing, on his part, always sensitive to environment, gave of +his very best to Philip, reason enough for liking whoever brought it +forth. But he had other reasons for liking the grave, simple, courteous +young countryman--a sincere respect for his courage in choosing to live +out his life in the very shadow of his father's disgrace, and also a +very sincere if pagan admiration for the other's physical prowess--the +admiration of the weakling for the man who is as nature meant men to be. + +On the occasion of Philip's initial visit at Holiday Hill, Channing had +stood on the porch watching him ride away, his well-knit body moving in +the perfect accord with his horse that means natural horsemanship, +taking a gate at the foot of the road without troubling to open it, in +one long, clean leap that brought an envious sigh from the watcher. + +"What a man!" thought Channing. "I'll bet he doesn't know what a +headache is, nor a furry tongue, nor a case of morning blues.--Heigho +for the simple life!" + +It was not Philip's last visit to Holiday Hill; and more than once on +returning from his pastoral rounds, he found Channing in possession of +the rectory, deep in one of his father's French books, practising rather +futilely with the punching bag that decorated one corner of the +living-room, or prowling about with an appreciative eye for old bindings +and portraits, and what egg-shell china was left to remind Philip +vaguely of the vague, fragile lady who had been his mother. + +Farwell, too, came to the rectory; an adaptable, friendly soul, +accustomed to fit himself comfortably into whatever surroundings offered +themselves, but underneath his casual exterior extremely observant and +critical of such things as seemed to him important. Philip, having dined +in some elegance at Holiday Hill, had the courage to invite the two to +one of his own simple suppers. And as his ancient negress selected that +occasion, out of sheer excitement, to revert to her unfortunate habits, +Philip himself cooked the meal, serving it without apology or +explanation upon a cloth of fine yellowed damask, with his mother's +egg-shell china, and certain spoons and forks that bore upon their +attenuated tips the worn outlines of a crest. The table was drawn into a +window, through which the scent of Philip's little garden floated in. +There were flowers upon the table, too; garden roses in a low pewter +bowl, and wax tapers in very beautiful bronze candelabra, at sight of +which Farwell's eyes widened enviously. + +The actor, an aesthete to his finger-tips, looked with satisfaction about +the long, low room, wainscoted in vari-colored books, its great +old-fashioned fireplace filled with fragrant pine-boughs, and overhung +by a portrait in an oval frame of a dim gentleman in a stock; the mantel +crowded with pipes, a punching-bag and dumb-bells in one end of the +room, in the other an old square piano, open and inviting, showing +evidence of constant use; shabby, comfortable chairs; a large desk with +many pigeon-holes, very neat and business-like. Indeed, the whole room, +despite its odd agglomeration of furnishings, was neat, meticulously +neat, even to the spotless curtains, darned in many places by Jemima and +the ladies of the Altar Guild. + +Farwell spoke his thought aloud, "There's more character in this room of +yours, Benoix, than in all that fine, self-conscious, art-y house of +mine," he declared. "It could give pointers to any studio I know. It's +the real thing!" + +Philip flushed with surprise and pleasure. His unpretentious household +gods were very dear to him, dear as they are sometimes to women. They +meant more than furniture to the lonely young man; they meant home, and +kindred, and all the gentler things that life had denied him. + +Channing became lyrical over the salad, and was moved to propose a +toast. He lifted his glass of beer--the best Philip's cellar afforded. +"Here's to the greatest nation on earth, one drop of whose blood is +worth more to Art than all the stolid corpuscles that clog the veins of +lesser races. Without it what man can hope to write great prose, or +paint great pictures, or mix a great salad? _Vive la France!_--Benoix, +who taught you how to cook?" + +"My father," said Philip, in a low voice. He had not often occasion to +speak of his father, except to Mrs. Kildare. + +"I knew it! There's nothing Anglo-Saxon or negroid about this cooking. +Again I say, _Vive la France!_" + +After they had gone, Philip did not go immediately to bed. He was too +excited--as excited, he thought, smiling, as little Jemima had been with +the success of her first party. He put out the lights, and sat by his +window in the dark for a long time, going over in his mind the talk of +that night. Good man-talk it had been, touching on all the big things +that occupy the world's thought to-day, which hitherto Philip had got +for himself only out of books and periodicals. He had listened eagerly +to these young men, who were interested in larger matters than crops and +stock-breeding and local politics. And they had listened to him--he knew +that. More than once a remark of Channing recurred to him: "You're too +big for this place, you know. Before long you'll be moving on." + +It was a thought that he had often put deliberately out of his mind. His +bishop had been the first to suggest it, some years before. + +He looked now through the darkness toward Storm. "Moving on"? with his +lady there, alone, deserted? He tried to picture Kate Kildare away from +her environment of field and wood and open spaces, sharing with him that +crowded intense life of cities toward which his mind yearned. But it was +impossible. Once more he put ambition from him--if it was ambition that +called. What right has a priest with ambition? + +No!--exile he might be, but exile he would remain, and gladly. What were +they all but exiles--her daughters, his father in prison and out of +prison, James Thorpe, who stayed because she might miss his +friendship--all exiles from the world that called them, because of Kate +Kildare? + +"It's enough to be near her," he said to himself with a little sigh, +looking once more through the darkness toward Storm. + +With Farwell and Channing, too, on their way home, some glow of that +good talk lingered. + +"There's something about the chap--I don't know what it is," murmured +Farwell, vaguely. + +Channing nodded comprehension. "It's that you want him to like you, +somehow. You want him to--respect you, I think." + +Farwell looked around at him mockingly. "What a novel and virtuous +sentiment! You'll be getting religion next." He added after a moment, +"Can't say you're going about it exactly the right way, if you really +want the dominie's respect, you know." + +Channing flushed. "You mean the girl? It's not his girl, Morty--it's the +mother he's after. If it were the girl--damned if I wouldn't get out of +the way and give him a clear field!" + +Farwell jeered. "Yes, you would! With the quarry in full view?" + +"In full pursuit, you mean," said Channing, ruefully. "I wish I could +make you understand that this affair isn't entirely of my own seeking, +Farwell!" + +His companion yawned. "Awkward to be so damned fascinating, isn't it? +Look out--one of these days some of your fair friends are going to band +themselves together, and catch you unawares, and marry you, my boy." + +"One isn't a Mormon, worse luck," grunted the other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +It was a part of Channing's new policy of caution with regard to +Jacqueline that took him occasionally to Storm in the role of casual +caller, especially now that the older girl was not there to disconcert +him with her oddly observant gaze. Here he frequently found other +callers, young men who since Professor Thorpe's entertainment had +discovered that the distance between Storm and their homes, by +automobile and even by train, was a negligible trifle. + +These young men Jacqueline referred to, with innocent triumph and +evident justice, as "victims." + +"I _told_ Jemmy there was no need of going away from home to get beaux," +she said complacently to Channing. "Here I've sat, just like a spider in +a web, and--look at them all! To say nothing of you," she added, with a +little gasp at her own daring. + +Channing frowned slightly. He was not altogether pleased with the +numbers and the frequency of the victims; a fact which added distinctly +to Jacqueline's pride in them. But she never allowed her duties as +hostess nor her instincts as coquette to interfere with any engagements +at the Ruin. + +It was Channing's custom, when he called at Storm, to bid her a +nonchalant, not to say indifferent, farewell, and repair by devious ways +to the ravine; where some moments later he welcomed a very different +Jacqueline from the demure young person he had left--ardent, glowing, +very eager to atone to him for the enforced restraint of the previous +encounter. The coquette in Jacqueline was only skin deep. + +One day, arriving at Storm at a belated lunch hour, the hospitable +negress who opened to him led him back at once into the dining-room; and +there he found a guest quite different from Jacqueline's victims. He was +a singular-looking old man, clad in worn butternut jeans; an uncouth, +uncombed, manifestly unwashed person at whose side on the floor rested a +peddler's pack. He was doing some alarming trencher-work with his knife, +and kept a supply of food convenient in his cheek while he greeted +Channing with a courteous, "Howdy, stranger!" + +"No, no, darter"--he continued without interruption his conversation +with Jacqueline. "'Tain't a mite of use puttin' that little washtub in +my room no more, bekase you ain't a-goin' to toll me into it. I takes my +bath when I gits home to Sally. She kinder expects it of me. Hit's a +wife's privilege to cut her man's hair and pare his nails and scrub his +ears an' all them little things, 'specially ef she ain't got no chillun +to do hit fur, an' I'd feel mighty mean ef I disapp'inted her. I don't +do much fer Sally, noways. No, darter, oncet or twicet a year's often +enough fer a human critter to git wet all over, 'cep'n in a nateral way, +by swimmin' in the crick. These here baths and perfumery-soaps an' all +ain't nature. They're sinful snares to the flesh, that's what they be, +not fitten' fer us workers in the Lord's vineyard." + +"You think the Lord prefers you dirty?" murmured Jacqueline, with a side +glance at the astonished Channing. + +"I dunno, darter, but some of His chillun does, an' that's a fack. Ef I +was too clean, I wouldn't seem to 'em like home-folks." He added, in all +reverence, "I 'lows the Lord went dirty Hisself sometimes when He was +among pore folks, jes' to show 'em He wa'n't no finer than what they +be." + +"I haven't a doubt of it," said Philip Benoix, beside him. + +Channing suddenly realized who this peddler was. Jacqueline had spoken +of him often--a protege of her mother's whom she called the Apostle, +half fanatic and half saint, who appeared at Storm occasionally on his +way between the mountains of his birth and the city where he had taken +unto himself a wife; bringing down to the "Settlements," for sale, +certain crude handiwork of the mountain women, carrying back with him +various products of civilization, such as needles, and shoe-strings, and +stick-candy, and Bibles. It was his zeal in spreading what he called +"the Word of God" along his route that had won the old peddler his title +of "the Apostle." + +Channing looked at him with new interest, the literary eye lighting even +while he frowned at the sight of so uncouth a creature seated at lunch +with ladies. + +The Apostle suddenly turned to him with a gentle, quizzical smile, and +Channing had the startled sensation of having spoken his thoughts +unwittingly aloud. + +"Stranger, I reckon you ain't never been up in them barren mountings, +whar men has to wrastle with the yearth and the Devil fer every mouthful +of food they puts into their bellies? When I comes down from thar, I +always aims a bee line fer Sister Kildare's house, bekase I'm hongry. +She don't never turn no hongry man away. 'Tain't safe to turn a hongry +man away. You cain't never tell," he added slowly and significantly, +"who He might be." + +There was a little pause, uncomfortable on Channing's part. Mysticism +did not often come his way. He decided that the peddler was a trifle +mad. + +Then Mrs. Kildare said, "Tell this gentleman something about your own +mountain, Brother Bates. He'd like to hear." + +"I'm mighty discouraged about 'em up thar, an' that's a fack." He shook +his head gloomily. "Folks on Misty is hongrier, and drunker, and meaner +than ever--most as mean as they be in the cities. They're pison +ign'rant. That's the trouble. The Word of God comes to 'em, but they're +too ign'rant to onderstand. 'Tain't wrote in no language they knows, and +ef it was, they couldn't read it. Take this here, now--'Love thy +neighbor as thyself.' What does that mean to 'em? They ain't got no +neighbors to speak of, and them they has, ef they ain't kin-folks, is +enemies. Ef the Book was to say 'Git the drop on thy neighbor before he +gits the drop on thee,' they'd understand. That's their language--but it +ain't God's. I goes on totin' 'em the Word of God in my pack, and them +that won't buy I gives it to. But there ain't nobody to explain it to +'em." + +"What about you? Why can't you explain it to them?" asked Kate Kildare. + +He shook his head again. "None of 'em wants to listen to old Brother +Bates. They know I'm as ign'rant as what they be. I used to think ef I +could manage someway to git book-l'arnin', I might be a preacher some +day. But I dunno. Reckon I never could 'a' yelled and hollered loud +enough, nor scared 'em up proper about hell-fire. I ain't so sure I got +convictions about hell-fire," he admitted, apologetically. "Seems to me +it ain't nateral. Seems to me ef there ever was such a thing, the Lord +in His loving-kindness would 'a' put it out long ago.--And I couldn't +ever have started the hymn for 'em--never could remember a tune in my +born days. No, no! The best I can do for 'em is just to keep on totin' +the Word of God around in my pack, hopin' they'll kind of absorb it in +at the skin, like I done." + +Philip said, "What about the Circuit Riders? Do none of them come to +Misty?" He referred to a class of itinerant preachers who are entitled +to as much honor for the work they have done among Cumberland +mountaineers as any missionaries to the heathen of savage lands. + +"Not no more, they don't. The last Circuit Rider that come was a young +fellow who looked upon a woman to lust after her," explained the peddler +with Biblical simplicity, "and her man shot him up, and I reckon he was +too skeert to come back again. Hit's mighty nigh a year sence there's +bin a proper baptizin' or buryin' or marryin' on Misty, with young folks +pairin' off and babies comin' along as fast as ever. They git tired of +waitin' to be tied proper, you see. They've done backslid even from whar +they was at." + +"I had always understood," murmured the interested Channing, "that +jumping over a broomstick was the accepted form of marriage in these +mountains." + +"Well, stranger, a broomstick's better than nothin', I reckon," replied +the peddler tolerantly. "It kinder stands for law and order, anyway. +I've knowed folks down around these parts, whar they's a-plenty of +preachers, to take up with each other 'thout'n so much as a broomstick +to make things bindin'-like." + +Philip exchanged glances with the author. "_Touche!_" he murmured. He +turned to Brother Bates. "If I can manage to get away for a week or two, +will you pilot me up to Misty?" he asked. "I might make up a few arrears +of weddings, funerals, and so forth." + +"You, Philip? Good!" exclaimed Kate, heartily. + +The Apostle for the first time allowed his gaze to rest on Philip. He +chuckled, with the sly malice of a child that has played some trick upon +an elder. "I 'lowed you'd be speakin' up purty soon," he said. "I bin +talkin' at you all the time, son. Hit don't matter what kind of a +preacher you be--Methody or Cam'elite, or what--jest so's you kin give +'em the Word strong." + +"I'll give it to them as strong as I can," smiled Philip, "though I must +confess that I share your doubts with regard to hell-fire." + +"Can ye start a tune? That's what gits 'em every time." + +"I can do better than that." He looked at Jacqueline. + +Even as he spoke, inspiration had come to him. It was the answer to the +problem of how to separate Jacqueline from Channing. "Will you come, +too, and be my choir?" he asked her. + +She clapped her hands. "What a lark! Mummy, may I? You know how I've +always longed to go up into the mountains!" + +Suddenly she paused, dismayed. She had remembered Channing. + +But that gentleman rose to the occasion with promptitude, somewhat to +the chagrin of Philip. + +"How would you like to add a passable tenor to your choir, Benoix? If +you will let me in on this missionary expedition, it would be awfully +good of you. Just the opportunity I've been looking for." + +The Apostle beamed on them all. "They's always room for workers in the +Lord's vineyard," he said solemnly. + +Philip could think of no reasonable objection to offer. He murmured +something vague to Kate about the necessity of a chaperon. + +She stared at him in frank amazement. "A chaperon for Jacqueline--with +_you_? What an idea! You and Mr. Channing will take the best possible +care of my little girl. Of course she shall go! I wish I could go +myself." + +"Why can't you?" he asked eagerly. + +She shook her head. "At State Fair time? Impossible, with my head men +away. It would demoralize the farm." + +Jacqueline caught Philip's eye and winked, wickedly. "You'll just have +to be that chaperon yourself, Reverend Flip," she murmured. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Philip did his best, somewhat hampered by the fact that the girl +regarded his enforced chaperonage as a joke, and flirted with Channing +quite brazenly and openly under his very eye. Even the Apostle shortly +became aware of how matters stood, and remarked to Philip benignly, at +an early stage of their journey, "I like to see young folks +sweet-heartin'. It's a nateral thing, like the Lord intended." + +Philip could not agree with any heartiness; but presently the high +spirits of the other two infected him, and he entered into the adventure +with a growing zest. The clean September air was like wine, and they +chattered and laughed like children starting off on a picnic. + +Channing had spent the night before at Storm, to be in time for a +sunrise start, and he appeared at breakfast in a costume which he and +Farwell had evolved as suitable for mountaineering; an affair of +riding-boots, pale corduroy breeches, flannel shirt, and a silk +handkerchief knotted becomingly about the throat. He was disconcerted to +discover that the suit-case of other appropriate garments he had brought +with him must be left behind, his luggage being finally reduced to a +package of handkerchiefs and a toothbrush. + +"But we are to be gone at least a week!" he pleaded unhappily. "Surely a +change of linen--" + +"There'll be a creek handy," said Jacqueline, "and I'm taking a cake of +soap in my bundle. We can't be bothered with luggage." + +When he saw the mules that were to convey them from the mountain town at +which the railroad left them, up to their final destination, he realized +the undesirability of luggage. He also envied the other two their +horsemanship. + +But the mule proved easier riding than he had expected. They traveled at +a slow, steady lope that ate up the miles imperceptibly, through wild +and beautiful country, always climbing; passing at first occasional +groups of unpainted pine houses which gave way, as they penetrated +farther into the hills, to rough log cabins, growing fewer and farther +apart. These had a bare, singularly unkempt look; and although many of +them were so old as to be tumbledown, they did not fit, somehow, into +their surroundings. It was as if nature had never yet accepted man and +his works, still tolerated him under protest, a blot upon her +loveliness. + +Channing commented upon this. "Why are there no vines and flowers about, +nothing to make these pitiful places look as if people lived in them?" + +"Folks is too busy wrestin' a livin' out of the bare yearth to pretty-up +much," explained the Apostle. + +"But why stay here at all? Why not go down into the valleys, where land +is more fertile?" + +The other answered quietly, "Folks that have lived on the mounting-top +ain't never content to be cooped up in the valleys, son." + +"If you think the outsides are pitiful," exclaimed Philip, "wait till +you see the insides! I was only a child when we lived up here, but I +have never forgotten. I ought to have come back long ago. Frankly, I +have shirked it." + +"When _you_ lived up here? Why, Philip! When did you ever live in the +mountains?" cried Jacqueline. + +"Father and I brought my mother up here to get well. It was before you +appeared on the scene, dear." + +"I'd forgotten. And she didn't get well," said the girl, pityingly, +reaching over to touch his hand. "Poor little boy Philip!" + +Jacqueline could think of nothing more dreadful than a world without a +mother in it. The pathos of that lonely little fellow who was so soon to +lose his father, too, came over her in a wave. + +"I _wish_ I had been alive then to comfort you!" she said, quite +passionately. + +This new thing that had come to her lately had made her heart almost too +big and tender. Since she had learned to love Channing, that always +sensitive heart of hers ached and swelled with every grief or joy that +passed, as a wind-harp thrills to the touch of passing airs. + +She looked back at her lover suddenly, to remind herself of the blissful +fact that he was there, and that presently, somehow, they would manage +to be alone together. + +The two had come to the stage where the world seems crowded with +onlookers, and the silent solitude of the heights beyond lured them on +as to a haven of refuge. Philip could not always be with them during the +week ahead, nor Brother Bates. Meanwhile, the most assiduous of +chaperons was powerless to deflect the precious current of consciousness +that flowed between them, striking out sparks at every contact of touch +or glance.... + +At noon they rested beside a little clear leaping stream, and +investigated with satisfaction the lunch-basket Big Liza had packed for +them at Storm. Afterwards, Jacqueline curled herself up in the leaves +and went to sleep like a contented young kitten, while the three men +smoked in silence, careful not to disturb her. Once, glancing at +Channing, Philip surprised in his face, as he watched her, such a look +of tenderness that his heart smote him. + +"What a fool I am with my suspicions!" he thought. "Of course he wants +her. Dear little thing! How could he help it?" + +After that he was a more merciful chaperon, and rode ahead up the trail +quite obliviously, engaging Brother Bates in conversation. + +It was sunset before they came to their destination, their high spirits +fallen into rather weary silence, all of them glad of the sight of the +cabin where the peddler had arranged for them to spend the night. He had +sent word ahead to friends of his, and they were evidently expected. A +man watching in the doorway called over his shoulder, "Here they be, +Mehitabel," and came forward with the grave mountain greeting, "Howdy, +strangers." + +They were led in at once to supper, an appalling meal of soggy cornbread +and molasses, with hog-meat swimming in grease. Their host and his two +sons ate with them, waited on by his wife and daughter, all five staring +at Jacqueline in unwinking silence, regarding her friendly efforts to +draw them into conversation as frivolity beneath their notice. + +The author glanced around him with a rather alarmed interest. It was +evident that the room in which they were served not only as kitchen and +living-room, but as bed-chamber also. It was the only room the cabin +boasted, with the exception of a small lean-to, devoted, if he could +trust his nostrils, to the family pig. Each end of the room was filled +by a long bunk, and he came to the correct conclusion that one was for +the women of the household, the other for the men. There were no +windows, no means of ventilation whatever except the two doors opposite +each other, and the rough chimney at which the woman Mehitabel performed +her extremely primitive feats of cooking. + +Channing began to wish that he had been less avid for local color; but +at that moment he caught Jacqueline's eye regarding him demurely, and +was of a sudden reconciled to his surroundings. + +While they ate, through the open door they saw a scattering stream of +people pass along the trail below, all going in the same direction; on +foot, on horseback, and mule-back, and ox-back. Many animals carried +more than one rider. One old plow-horse came along, led by a sturdy +patriarch, crowded from mane to crupper with children of assorted sizes. + +"Why, how queer, when we never passed a single soul all day!" said +Jacqueline. "Where do they all come from, Brother Bates, and where are +they going?" + +"To the meetin'-house down the trail a ways," he explained. "I sont word +ahead that a preacher was comin', and all the folks is turnin' out." + +Philip gave a faint groan. "What, to-night?" He had hoped for a few +hours' rest after the day's journey. + +"Why, in co'se! Hit's moonlight to-night, an' the teacher's done let out +school a-purpose. I done sont word," said the Apostle. "'T ain't no time +to waste. 'Watch and wait lest the Bridegroom cometh and find thee +sleepin'.'" + +"So there's a school even in these wilds? A lonely job for a +school-ma'am, I should think. Is she pretty?" asked Channing, hopefully, +with a thought of the accepted mountain school-teacher of current +fiction. + +"'T ain't no her. It's a him," remarked the host; his one contribution +to the conversation. + +"Reckon a her'd have right smart trouble keepin' school on Misty, +wouldn't she, Anse?" chuckled Brother Bates. + +"'Low she would," grunted the other, and relapsed into silence. + +Afterwards, on their way to the meeting-house, Jacqueline inquired into +his meaning. "Why would a woman have trouble teaching school here? Are +the children so very bad?" + +The Apostle explained, "'T ain't so much the chillun as the grown folks, +specially the men folks. You see Teacher makes 'em all come on moonlight +nights; the paws and maws, and the gran'paws and gran'maws, too. He's +got a whole lot of new-fangled notions, Teacher has. They don't allus +take to 'em kindly--you know how old folks are about new-fangled ways. +But he makes 'em come ef they wants to or not, and he larns 'em, +too--not only spellin' and sums and such-like, but how to take keer of +the babies, and the sick folks, and how to git the hens to lay, and how +to cook, and all!" + +"To cook! That is indeed a noble work," murmured Channing, devoutly, +having recourse to his flask of soda-mints. "Would that our hostess +might take advantage of the opportunity!" + +"She have," said Brother Bates, proudly. "She done nussed the whole +fambly through a fever-sickness a little while ago, doin' like Teacher +told her, and nary one of 'em died. But she ain't got so fur as cookin' +yet." + +"I'd like to meet this teacher," said Philip, heartily. "Will he be at +the meeting to-night?" + +The Apostle sighed. "Reck'n he won't. Ain't it queer how a smart man +like that don't take no stock in the Word of God? 'Lows he's scrambled +along without it all his life, and allus will. But I dunno. I dunno. I +expect the Lord's got a surprise up his sleeve for Teacher." + +The door-yard of the rough cabin that was dignified by the name of +meeting-house was quite crowded with men when they arrived. Philip went +among them pleasantly, saying, "Good evening, my friends," shaking hands +where he could find a hand to shake, greeted here and there by a gruff, +"Howdy, Preacher," but for the most part welcomed in solemn, almost +hostile silence. + +"They're just kind o' bashful," murmured the peddler, in apology for his +people. + +"I know," smiled Philip, himself feeling a little shy, and like an +intruder. + +They filed in silently behind him, each depositing a gun in a rack +beside the meeting-house door. + +"I breathe more easily," murmured Channing in Jacqueline's ear. "For +small mercies, let us be duly thankful. Lord, what a crew!" + +The two followed Philip to the bare, uncarpeted platform that was to +serve as altar. The girl saw to her dismay that there was no piano, not +even a harmonium to assist her singing. Brother Bates acted as master of +ceremonies. The peddler was evidently a man of great importance in the +community, its one traveler, acquainted with the ways of cities. + +"Let marryin' couples set on the right-hand, front benches. Preacher +will attend to 'em after meetin'," he announced. + +Four or five couples obeyed these instructions with subdued tittering, +the fact that several of the brides-to-be carried young infants in their +arms not adding appreciably to their embarrassment. + +"Have they licenses?" murmured Philip. + +"I dunno," replied the Apostle, serenely. "Ef they ain't, they kin git +'em afterwards. The Lord knows how fur they be from law-places." + +The little community of Misty Ridge was at that time one of the poorest +and most uncivilized in the Cumberland Mountains; many hours' ride, over +trails that were at times impassable, from the nearest railroad; +entirely unknown to the world below save when one of its sons was sent, +for good and sufficient reason, down to the penitentiary. It is a +literary fashion of the day to laud the Kentucky mountaineer as an +uncouth hero, a sort of nobleman in disguise, guarding intact in his +wilderness an inheritance of great racial traits for the strengthening +of future generations. Unfortunately, with his good old Saxon name and +his good old Saxon customs, he also inherits occasionally something of +the moral nature which caused his Saxon ancestor to be deported +overseas. The mountains of Kentucky, and of Tennessee, were settled to +some extent by convicts who had served their time in the English penal +colonies along the sea-coast. + +Such an origin, doubtless, might have been claimed by the sparse +settlement on Misty, and time had done nothing to mitigate any curse of +inheritance. The beautiful, barren hills, their hidden riches as yet +undiscovered, yielding so meager a livelihood in return for such bitter +labor, served as ramparts between their people and the world beyond. +Little help at that time reached them from without. Solitude, ignorance, +direst poverty, form a soil in which bodies flourish better than souls, +and even bodies do not flourish exceedingly. + +Channing, gazing about at the faces below him, one and all with eyes +fixed upon the fresh loveliness of Jacqueline, had a moment of acute +uneasiness. What right had Benoix, who knew the mountains, to bring the +girl into contact with such bestiality? The odor of packed humanity that +came to his fastidious nostrils was as sickening as the odor of a +bear-pit. He recalled tales of their untamable fierceness. He remembered +the row of guns even now resting in a rack outside the door. His eye, +going inadvertently to the sturdy figure of the clergyman, noticed a +suspicious bulge in the hip-pocket of his riding-breeches. He started. + +"Does Benoix carry a pistol?" he whispered to Jacqueline. + +"Of course! I've got one, too," she answered cheerfully. "Where's +yours?" + +The author felt that he had lost his taste for mountaineering. He looked +in vain for one of the beauteous mountain maids so satisfyingly frequent +in the pages of current fiction. The women were all sallow, stolid, +sullen, old beyond their years. Even the babies were sallow and stolid +and old. Many of the men were muscular and well-grown, but with a lanky, +stooping height that did not suggest health. Inflamed eyes were common +in that congregation, hollow cheeks flushed with the sign there is no +mistaking, faces vacuous and dull-eyed and foolishly a-grin. + +"Ugh! Think of the germs," he said unhappily, under his breath. "Your +friend the peddler is making signs at you." + +Jacqueline, obedient to the signal, stopped to the edge of the platform +and began to sing the first hymn that came to her mind. She found that +she was singing alone. Channing did not know the air. She glanced +imploringly at Philip, but he did not see her. He was studying his +congregation. They sat in solemn silence, staring at Jacqueline. + +At first her voice shook a little with self-consciousness, but she threw +her head up gallantly, and went on, verse after verse. At the end she +was singing as confidently as if Jemima and the little organ and the +faithful choir of Storm church were behind her. Her voice died away in +the final "Amen," and she went to her seat, still amid dead silence. + +"Why didn't you help me out?" she whispered reproachfully to Philip. + +"It wasn't necessary. Look at them!" + +Then she saw that the stupidity, the grimness of all those watching +faces was gone as if by magic. They had become bright, eager, almost +tremulous with pleasure. The girl was touched. She understood why the +peddler had so insisted upon Philip's ability to start a hymn. Music, +such crude and simple music as came their way, meant to these starved +natures all that they knew of beauty, of higher things, perhaps of +religion. + +In the hush that followed, Philip began: "The Lord is in His holy +temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him." + +It was a strange setting for the stately Episcopal service, simplified +as Philip made it for the occasion; a bare, log-walled room, lit by +smelling kerosene lamps, without altar, candles or cross, without +religious symbol of any sort. Only Jacqueline followed the service, +kneeling where the congregation should have knelt, making the responses +in her clear young voice, joining him in the prayers. But Philip was +aware of no incongruity. He gave them what he had to give, and felt none +the less a priest because of his flannel shirt and his shabby +riding-trousers. Cathedral or log-cabin, it was all one to him. He knew +that with Jacqueline's singing, the Lord had indeed entered into His +holy temple. + +Presently he spoke to them as he would have spoken to his Sunday-school +classes at home, earnestly and very simply, with none of the +condescending blandness of the elder. Some of their homely phrases, +their very accent, had crept unconsciously into his speech, a remnant of +the impressionable days when he had lived for a while among mountain +folk. Jacqueline realized that this unconscious adaptability was the +secret of his hold on people, of their confiding trust in him. Whatever +they might be, he was for the moment one of them, looking at their +temptations, their failures, never from the outside but from their own +point of view. + +Brother Bates, a little worried at first by the mildness of his +protege's voice and manner, realized after a few moments the +people were listening to him as they had never listened to the +hell-fire-and-damnation preachers of their previous experience. Not a +man in that room, including Percival Channing, escaped the somewhat +uncomfortable feeling that the text, "Do unto others as ye would be done +by," had been chosen particularly for his benefit--which is perhaps the +secret of great preaching. + +Jacqueline, gazing about with great pride in her friend, saw that not +only was the room crowded with listeners, but that others were standing +outside in the porch. One profile, outlined for a few moments against a +window, attracted her attention by contrast with those about it; an +elderly face, worn by evident illness or suffering, sensitive and +intelligent and refined, despite the gray stubble of beard on his cheeks +and the rough flannel collar about his throat. Jacqueline watched him +curiously, until her gaze drew his and he suddenly disappeared. + +"He looked almost like a gentleman," she thought. "I wonder why he did +not come inside?" + +Her mind reverted to this man more than once. + +When they were on their way back up the moonlit trail, she and Channing +lingering behind the others, an explanation suddenly struck her. + +"The non-believing school teacher, of course!" she exclaimed. "Ashamed +to be caught listening to 'the Word of God.' Well, he may not be +interested in the Word of God," she added musingly, "but he certainly +was interested in the word of Philip. Never took his eye off Phil's +face!" + +Channing had taken her hand, which turned and clung to his with its +usual nestling gesture. Now he put his arm around her, drawing her to +him in the shadow of some trees. But close as they stood, he had an odd +feeling that for the moment, the girl was far away from him. + +"What are you thinking of? Tired, sweetheart?" + +She leaned back against him, nodding. "Awfully. What a day! But wasn't +it worth it, just to see those people listening to Philip? Do you know," +she said, "I believe old Reverend Flip is going to be a bishop one of +these days." + +"Really?" he murmured, kissing her. It seemed an unlikely moment for the +discussion of the clergyman, admirable as the fellow was. + +But Jacqueline had no sense of the fitness of things. She said between +one kiss and another, "Philip's so awfully _good_, you know." + +Channing released her, "I daresay," he remarked with some dryness. +"Being good is his profession, of course." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +It was a sore and weary author who at length, having postponed the +inevitable as long as possible, crept into the bunk where his host and +the two sons slept audibly, with Benoix beside them. The latter stirred +a little, and greeted the newcomer. + +"That you, Channing? This is the real thing in democracy, at last!" he +murmured drowsily, and slept again as soundly as the others. + +But Channing, though every aching muscle cried aloud for oblivion, could +not sleep. He tossed and turned, listened to the heavy breathing of the +men beside him, listened to lighter sounds from the far end of the cabin +where Jacqueline was also tasting true democracy in company with the two +mountain women. He had lingered outside the door until the three women +came in from the lean-to where they had prepared for the night, +Jacqueline a tall sprite between her squat, thick-bodied companions, a +heavy rope of bronze hair over each shoulder, small feet showing bare +and white beneath the severe robe of gray flannel which was the nearest +approach to a negligee known to Mrs. Kildare's daughters. The atmosphere +of Storm did not lend itself to the art of the negligee. + +Moonlight shone full upon her, and Channing, watching with quickened +heart-beat, saw her lips move as she gave a quick, shy glance toward the +bunk where he was supposed to be already sleeping. + +"She's telling me good night, the darling!" he thought, quite correctly, +and blew her an unseen kiss. + +There were times of late when the author almost forgot to analyze his +own sensations. The Overmind that observed and registered for future +reference had grown a trifle careless. Occasionally Channing felt, and +acted, quite like an ordinary young man in love. + +Now he lay quite still, that he might hear that low breathing across the +room, trying to distinguish Jacqueline's from the rest. He had taken the +precaution to open both doors of the cabin wide, after his hosts were +safely asleep, letting in the moonlight and a little breeze that smelled +keenly of pine woods. Now and then a faint bird-note broke the hush, or +the mournful quaver of a screech-owl. The situation was not without +picturesque piquancy for a collector of impressions. + +Beside him, Benoix and the other man slept with the abandon of tired +animals, and the sound of their sleeping somewhat disturbed the poetry +of the night. On the whole, however, he preferred them sleeping to +waking. He sent his thoughts, on tiptoe, as it were, across the room. +How exquisite she was, with her slim bare feet, and the hint of a chaste +little ruffle showing at throat and wrist! Those drowsy, dewy eyes--the +fluttering pulse in her soft throat--her clinging lips, which kissed as +unconsciously as a child's until suddenly they were edged with fire.... + +Channing's thoughts became so insistent that perhaps they wakened her. +There was a slight stirring in the bunk across the room, a slender gray +shape appeared on the edge of it, feeling about on the floor for shoes. +Still barefoot, with shoes in her hand, Jacqueline crept to the door. + +Channing, all his fatigues forgotten, very carefully extricated himself +from among the slumberers and followed. He congratulated himself upon +the fact that his preparations for the night had been extremely sketchy, +had in fact consisted merely in removing his coat and riding-boots. Once +safe outside the cabin, he pulled on the boots, smoothed his hair with +his fingers, knotted the handkerchief more becomingly about his throat, +and went in pursuit of Jacqueline. + +He had not far to go. She was sitting on the top rail of the nearest +fence, her back toward him, framed in the center of the setting moon. +She turned as he came upon her with a startled gasp: + +"O-oh! You, Mr. Channing!" + +One of the sweetest things about the girl to Channing was the queer +little tender respect with which she always treated him. Even in their +most intimate moments, he was still the great man, the superior order of +being. She could not possibly have called him "Percival." Though he +chided her for this attitude of respect, it did not displease him. + +"I could not sleep in there," she explained, rather breathlessly, "so I +came out to see the last of the moon. Of course I must go in again at +once." + +"Must you? Why, I wonder? I couldn't sleep either. Let's stay where we +are!" + +She asked, blushing: "But would that be quite proper?" + +This first hint of conventionality in the girl surprised and rather +touched him. He saw that she was quite painfully aware of the prim +little wrapper, the unbound hair, the bare feet thrust into her shoes. + +"Why, you little gray nun! Outdoors is quite as 'proper' as +indoors--rather more so, in fact. It's the onlooker that makes things +proper or improper, and here there are no onlookers.--This is all too +wonderful to waste in sleeping!" + +It was wonderful. The girl drew a breath of keen, cold ozone into her +lungs. + +"Isn't it queer," she said with a chuckle, "that mountains smell so +sweet and mountaineers--don't? Ugh! fancy living in that stuffy cabin! +All very well to sleep there once or twice for a lark, but to live +there--!" She rubbed her bare ankles together unhappily. "Mr. Channing, +do you suppose they were mosquitoes--?" + +"Ssh!" he said. "I hold with the ancient belief that 'nothing exists +until it is named.' There'll be several more nights of those bunks, you +know.--If you find log-cabins open to suspicion, you ought to try the +picturesque thatched-roof cots of Mother England! These mountaineers +cling to the old traditions." + +They laughed together, her slight barrier of shyness gone down in the +intimacy of sharing a common peril. + +"But were you ever so close to the moon, before?" she asked dreamily. +"It is right face to face with us now. I believe we could step off into +it." + +"As if it were a great golden door, opening into--who knows +where?--Suppose we try, Jacqueline? If we follow this ravine at our +feet, it will lead us to the edge of the mountain, and so to the +threshold of the moon, without a doubt. Only we must hurry if we are to +get there before the door closes." + +She shook her head. "Too late! Long before we reached the end of the +ravine the moon would be gone, and then it would be dark as a pocket." + +"Pooh! Who's afraid of the dark?" scoffed the city dweller in his +ignorance. + +"It wouldn't be safe," she said seriously. "We'd never be able to find +our way back in the dark. Of course, if we had a lantern--" She dimpled +up at him suddenly. "Do you know, there is a lantern hanging just inside +the cabin door. I saw it." + +Channing tiptoed back and secured the lantern, his heart thumping rather +hard, not entirely for fear of discovery. They had come at last to the +moment that had been in both their minds since the start of the journey, +beneath all their gaiety and laughter--that final desired solitude of +the heights. + +They descended into the shallow ravine--a mere fissure it was in the +surface of the mountain--crossing as they went an almost perpendicular +cornfield of which Jacqueline made mental note as a landmark. They spoke +in whispers, as if fearing to disturb the immemorial silence of the +hills. Here and there a bird woke at their passing, and called a sleepy +note of warning to its mate. Leaves rustled to the touch of the wind +that is never still in high places. Near at hand sounded a sudden eerie +cry, and Jacqueline drew close to Channing with a shudder. + +"Suppose we meet a wildcat, or a bear, or something? What would we do?" + +"Run," he said laconically; but he put a protective arm about her, which +was perhaps what Jacqueline needed. It is usually in the presence of Man +that Woman allows herself the luxury of timidity. + +Soon they ceased to talk at all. He held her very close as they walked, +and sometimes they stood for long moments without moving, embraced. No +talk of Philip or other extraneous matters came between their kisses +now. The young trees with which the ravine was filled hedged them in +close and secret, a friendly guard; and Channing wished to abandon the +expedition to the moon, being well content where he was. But Jacqueline, +impelled by some blind instinct, urged him on toward the open, where a +rim of gold, growing less and ever less, still showed between the +interlacing branches. + +Underbrush impeded them, tore at her skirts and her bare ankles, till +Channing picked her up in his arms and carried her; not easily, for he +was little taller than herself, but very willingly. So with his warm and +fragrant burden, he emerged upon the edge of the mountain. At their feet +was a sheer drop of many hundred feet into a canyon, where a stream +whispered, with the reflection of tumbled stars in its bosom. All about +lay a wide prospect of lesser hills, covered with a mantle of soft and +feathery verdure that stirred very lightly, as if the mountains were +breathing in sleep. As they gazed, the rim of the moon sank slowly, +slowly, till there was nothing left but starlight. + +Jacqueline murmured, "Isn't it lucky we brought the lantern? Let's light +it now." Her voice was rather tremulous. + +"Why, sweetest?" He seated himself in the fragrant pine-needles, and +drew her down beside him. "Look, little girl, how high we are above +earth; out of men's knowledge, all the world asleep. We might be gods on +high Olympus. 'You and I alone in Heaven dancing'"--he finished softly +that most beautiful passage out of "Marpessa." + +But the Overmind chose that moment to return to duty. It suggested to +Channing that he sounded a trifle histrionic, a trifle as though low +music were about to be played by the orchestra. He caught himself +murmuring inwardly, "What a setting! What a perfect setting!" + +"For what?" inquired the Overmind, not at all in disapproval but with a +sort of impersonal interest. + +Just then the gifted Mr. Channing would have traded temperaments with +the dullest lout that ever lost his head over a woman. + +His self-consciousness reacted upon Jacqueline. All her earlier shyness +returned. She drew the prim little wrapper down over her ankles, and sat +quite stiffly erect, submitting to his embrace, but no longer returning +it. + +"I think we'd better be going back now," she said. "Suppose Philip were +to wake up and miss us?" + +Channing had an odd and perfectly irrelevant thought of that bulge in +the clergyman's hip-pocket. + +"Bother Philip! You'd suppose the man was a sort of watch-dog. I believe +you're afraid of me to-night," he teased, turning her face to his. + +Her lips trembled as he kissed them. "It is so dark," she whispered. + +"Little goose! Why should the darkness make a difference to you and me?" + +"I don't know--but it does." Suddenly she pushed him away, and jumped to +her feet. "Give me the matches, Mr. Channing. I want to light the +lantern and go back." + +He obeyed with a shrug, wondering just where and how he had blundered. A +sense of artistic incompleteness mingled with a keen personal sense of +chagrin. Did the girl care less for him than he had thought? Or was it +merely the instinct of self-preservation that had warned her? + +Now that the blood ran more coolly in his veins, he blushed to realize +that the instinct had been right. + +They went back into the ravine, which, as Jacqueline had prophesied, had +become as dark as a pocket. Without the lantern they could not have seen +a foot ahead of them, and even with the lantern their way was not easy. +They stumbled along, still hand-in-hand and silent; but it was no longer +the delicious, thrilling silence of the earlier adventure. The glamour +of it seemed to have departed with the moon. + +Jacqueline, stiff with an embarrassment she did not understand (she +thought it the fault of the negligee and the stockingless feet) was +eager to get back to the shelter of the crowded cabin. Channing was by +this time as eager as herself, having discovered that riding-boots are +not the most comfortable equipment for mountain tramping. + +"There's our cornfield, at last!" said the girl, and both heaved sighs +of relief. + +They climbed laboriously toward the outline of corn stalks against the +starlit sky, with a darker outline looming behind; but as they came into +better sight of the cabin, she gave a cry of dismay. + +"It's all lighted. Oh, Mr. Channing! They've missed us!" + +"Damn!" said the author. + +At that moment voices reached them: loud, drunken voices, mingled with +laughter, and a snatch of song. + +"Why--why!" muttered Channing, blankly. "That can't be our cabin!" + +Nor was it. They had trusted to the wrong landmark. + +They turned and hurried down into the ravine again. But Channing +stumbled, and the sound reached the quick ears of the mountaineers +above. There was a shout, in a voice suddenly sobered. + +"Who's down thar?" + +It was followed by the sharp ping of a bullet. + +"Good gad, but they're shooting!" gasped Channing. + +"They certainly are," said the girl, with a giggle. "It must be a still +or something, and they think we're revenue officers!" + +"Wh-what shall we do?" + +"Run," she quoted him, laughing, and seizing his hand suited the action +to the word. She seemed perfectly unafraid. "They won't get our range in +the dark. Isn't this exciting?" + +But the bullets followed them, too close for comfort. + +"It's the lantern!" exclaimed Channing, and was about to drop it when +the girl seized it out of his hand. + +"Here--don't do that! We'd be wandering about in this ravine all night +without it." + +She looked at her companion in sheer surprise. It was her first +experience of the type of man who loses his head in the presence of +danger. Her voice became all at once quite motherly and kind. + +"It's all right. You go ahead and I'll carry the lantern. They're +probably too drunk to follow us," she reassured him. + +Channing, to the after mortification of his entire life, obeyed without +demur. + +"It's all right," she repeated. "But go as fast as you can." + +Shots were flying thick and fast about the lantern she held at arm's +length. More than one grazed her closely. + +"You great cowards up there!" she cried out in sudden anger. "Do you +know you're shooting at a girl?" + +There was a sudden silence. Then the shouts began again with a new note. +"A gal, be ye? Boys, hit's a female down thar. Come on up, gal! Let's +see what ye look like." + +But the shots ceased, and the shouts came no nearer. + +"Just as I thought--they 're too drunk to follow us," she said +triumphantly. "Better get out of this neighborhood, though. Hurry on, +Mr. Channing!" + +"I'm afraid I can't," he said faintly. "You go without me." + +She turned the light of the lantern full upon him, and saw that he was +holding to a tree, swaying where he stood. There was a dark stain on his +breeches, just above the knee, which spread even as she looked. + +Without a word, she turned and began to run up the hillside again. + +"Where are you going?" he cried. + +"To get help. You are hurt." + +"Those drunken brutes? Never!" + +"They'll help us. I'm a woman." + +"All the more reason--" he conquered his growing weakness, and put what +force he could into his voice. "Jacqueline, I forbid you to go! Come +here!" + +She obeyed, wringing her hands. "But I don't know what to do for you!" +she quavered. + +"Listen! I must walk as far as I can, and when I'm done, you leave me, +and run ahead for help. We can't be far from our own cabin now." + +Channing had resumed his manhood, and it did not occur to the girl to +argue with him. He was not a coward. He had merely been startled +momentarily out of his self-control, unaccustomed as he was to physical +danger. She realized this thankfully. The literary life does not prepare +a man for the emergency of finding himself a target for bullets out of +the dark. + +Arm-in-arm they stumbled along the ravine. Soon he was obliged to lay an +arm across her sturdy young shoulders, leaning upon her more heavily +with each step. She felt the effort of his every motion, was aware of +the labored breath with which he fought back his weakness. Still he +struggled on. If she had loved him before, she adored him now. + +"Oughtn't I to bandage it, or something?" + +"No," he gasped. "It's not an artery, I think. Must get on. Almost +done." + +She was terrified. All the tenderness she had denied him that night rose +in her, an overwhelming flood. As he faltered she urged him forward with +crooning words, with caresses. "Just a little farther, that's my brave +dear! We're almost there. It can't be far now, darling, beloved, my +precious!" + +He grew too faint to understand her words, but her will toward the last +carried him on, step by step, she staring desperately at the skyline, +looking for the cornfield that was to be her landmark.--Could they have +passed it? Surely they had not come so long a way as this? + +Suddenly the thought occurred to her that in starting back they might +have entered the wrong ravine. There must be many such shallow fissures +on the mountain-side. She heard near at hand the trickling of a spring, +and stopped aghast. They had passed no spring on the way out. She was +too thoroughly country-bred not to have taken note of running water +instinctively, as animals do. + +"Lost!" she whispered to herself; lost in wild country, between midnight +and dawn, with a wounded man on her hands and--no stockings on! The +choking giggle she gave was more than half hysteria. + +Then, without a word, Channing pitched forward on his face. + +That steadied her. In a moment she had brought water in her cupped hands +from that providential spring, had found his pocket-knife, ripped up his +trousers-leg, and bandaged the wound as coolly as Jemima herself might +have done it, though the sight of the blood nauseated her. She bathed +his face with a wet handkerchief, but his eyelids merely fluttered once +and were still again. In a panic she lifted his head to her bosom, +trying to warm his cheeks; kissed him on the lips again and again, +violently, begging him to wake and speak to her. It is a pity that the +collector of impressions was unable to appreciate these manoeuvers. + +"What shall I do? What _shall_ I do?" she moaned. + +He had bade her leave him and run for help--but did she dare? Even as +she considered it, there was a rustling in the underbrush, and +startlingly near at hand sounded the eerie cry that had frightened her +earlier in the night. It did not frighten her now, oddly enough. She +regretted the pistol she had left in the cabin. Her hand tightened on +the pocket-knife, however, and she placed herself between Channing and +the direction of the sound. + +"Go away! Get out of this! Scat!" she said firmly, flourishing her +lantern. + +For a tense moment she waited; but the cry was not repeated. It had put +out of the question, however, any thought of leaving Channing there +defenseless. There were wild-cats in these mountains, she knew, +rattlesnakes, too, possibly bears; and even the foxes that barked far +away at intervals were not to be trusted with an unconscious human +smelling of fresh blood. + +There seemed nothing better to do than shout for help, on the chance of +somebody hearing her in this wild and desolate place. Through the ravine +rang the golden voice that might one day enthrall the world, pitched to +fill a wider auditorium than it had ever filled before. From side to +side it rolled and echoed in musical cadences: "Help! Come! Somebody +please hear me! Help!" + +Birds awoke with startled twittering, and various creatures of the +underbrush, which had been attracted to the light of the lantern, fled +away in terror. She sent her voice in the direction of the cabin they +had mistaken for their own. Drunk or not, there were men there, and she +needed them. + +But after some time, an answer came from the other side of the ravine, a +little way beyond. A bobbing light appeared on the edge, and a faint +halloa reached her. + +"What's wrong down there?" + +Jacqueline shouted: "Man hurt! Bleeding! Awfully!" + +The lantern bobbed rapidly downward. Presently a man came into sight, +stoop-shouldered and spectacled, and roughly dressed. He knelt beside +Channing and examined him. + +"Nothing broken. Just loss of blood. That's not a bad bandage. It will +last till we get him up the hill. No need to cry, young lady," he added; +for at the first sound of that pleasant, crisp, gentleman's voice, +Jacqueline had broken into sobs. She knew that her immediate troubles +were over. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +The newcomer asked no questions, then or afterwards, but busied himself +with a little satchel he carried. "Drink this, please," he said to +Jacqueline in a moment. + +It was aromatic ammonia, and she spluttered over it and stopped crying. +Then he forced some between Channing's lips; and presently the wounded +man's eyes opened, to Jacqueline's almost sick relief. + +"There! Now you will do nicely, though you will not feel like climbing +my hill, perhaps," the stranger said to him. He eyed Jacqueline +speculatively. "Are you a muscular young lady? I think so." + +"Yes, indeed!" She doubled up her arm boyishly to exhibit the swelling +biceps. + +He nodded. "Excellent. Then we must make him a ladies' chair, you and I. +Fortunately he is not a large man." + +Channing, however, was heavier than he looked. He was only conscious +enough to keep his arms over their shoulders, otherwise unable to help +them at all. They made slow progress. Frequently they had to put him +down and rest, more for the stranger's sake than for Jacqueline's. + +"I fear my biceps are less creditable than yours," he smiled once, +panting a little. "Or it is the breath, perhaps. One grows older, +unfortunately." + +As he spoke he coughed slightly, and Jacqueline looked with quick +understanding at his thin face. She had heard such a cough before. The +White Plague was one of the enemies which Mrs. Kildare fought untiringly +and unceasingly in her domain. + +"I am afraid this effort is not good for you," she murmured. + +He shrugged deprecatingly, as if to say, "What does it matter?" + +The gesture was oddly familiar to Jacqueline. She had seen Philip Benoix +shrug in just that way. Indeed, there were other things about this man +that seemed oddly familiar. She looked at him, puzzled. The lantern +showed him dressed in coarse jeans, unkempt, unshaven. Yet his clear, +well-modulated, slightly accented speech proved him no genuine +mountaineer. Perhaps the cough accounted for his presence in the +mountains.--But his appearance of familiarity? + +Suddenly Jacqueline placed him. It was the man she had seen outside the +window of the meeting-house, listening so absorbedly to Philip's sermon. + +"You're the school-teacher, aren't you?" she asked. + +"At your service," he replied with a slight, courteous formality that +again reminded her of Philip. + +"I saw you at church to-night, and wondered why you did not come in." + +"I am not a Christian," he explained. + +"Oh, but that doesn't matter! That is just why Philip--Mr. Benoix, I +mean--has come up here. To make Christians." + +The other smiled faintly. "The few Christians of my acquaintance have +been born, and not made.--Now, shall we start again?" + +They came at last to the first of two small cabins, whose door the man +kicked open. They deposited their now unconscious burden upon a bed, one +of several that stood in a neat, white row, each with curtains about it. + +"Why, it's a regular dormitory! Is yours a boarding-school?" + +He shook his head. "My hospital extension. It is easier to take care of +sick scholars here than at their homes, and I have often sick scholars. +None at present, however. We have room here for several patients, as you +see, and soon I hope to be able to build another house for women. +Obstetrical cases," he explained, rather absently. While he spoke he was +removing Channing's bandage. "Hum! The shot has fortunately missed the +patella, but it must come out." He rose and began to build a fire in a +small cook-stove at one end of the room. "When I have sterilized these +instruments, young lady, we shall have a try for that bullet." + +Jacqueline paled. "You mean you are going to--to cut him? Are you sure +you know how?" + +He smiled at her, "Quite sure. We mountain teachers have opportunity to +learn many things." + +"Including cooking," she said, with a wan attempt at raillery, +remembering Brother Bates' gossip. + +"Including cooking," he admitted gravely. "Wait until this coffee has +boiled, and you shall see that I know one branch, at least, of my +profession thoroughly." + +He brought her a steaming cup in a moment, which she drained gratefully. +"It's heavenly! May I have some more? Where did you learn to cook--from +books?" + +"From necessity. When I first came to the mountains, it seemed safer to +cook than to be cooked for." + +The girl was paying little attention. She watched Channing fearfully. He +was still unconscious, livid; but the school-teacher appeared to feel no +alarm. He went deftly and quite unhurried about his preparations, +getting out a hypodermic syringe, a bottle of chloroform, placing +certain instruments in the oven, others in boiling water. + +Jacqueline shivered; but she went on with the conversation gallantly, +striving to face the situation as her mother or Jemima would have faced +it. + +"I know one other man who can cook, but he's a minister, and they're +always different, somehow. He learned in the mountains, too, by the way, +because there was nobody but himself and his father to take care of his +sick mother. He learned all sorts of things to help her ... how to sew +on buttons, and mend clothes, and sweep--He can even darn stockings! And +he's not a bit ashamed of it." + +"I should think," murmured the other, "that he might be even proud of +it. You find him unmanly, perhaps?" + +"Unmanly! Philip?" The tone of her voice answered him. "Why, he's the +manliest man I know!" + +The teacher said nothing further; but she got the impression that he was +listening, waiting for her to go on. + +"Do you know," she said, "I feel as if I knew you, as if I might have +known you all my life. Have I never seen you before?" + +"I think not," he replied, in a low voice.--Who can tell how much is +seen by little eyes newly opened upon the world? Perhaps vision is +clearer then than afterwards, when speech and sound and crowding +thoughts come to obscure it. + +"Have you always lived in these mountains?" + +He answered with a slight hesitation. "I came here seventeen years ago." + +"And do you never go down to the lowlands?" + +"No." + +"Then I can't have known you before," she said disappointedly, "because +I am only seventeen myself." + +A shrewder observer--Jemima for instance--might have noted his +hesitancy, might have realized that coming to a place does not imply +remaining there continuously. + +But Jacqueline was not shrewd. She took people literally, and understood +just what they intended her to understand. The art of prevarication was +unknown to her; though, as has been seen, she could lie upon occasion, +with a large and primitive simplicity. + +"Now then," said the teacher briskly. "If you are ready, young lady, we +shall go after that bullet." + +She shrank away, quivering, all her fine pretense at composure +shattered. "O-oh, but you don't expect _me_ to help you? I can't, I +never can help with things like that! I'm not like mother and Jemmy. I +couldn't bear it. He might groan! I can't stand it when they groan!" + +The other frowned. "You are not a coward, I think, afraid of a little +blood?" + +"It's not the blood--though I don't like that a bit. It's the pain. It's +when they groan. Please, please!--It's horrible enough when you don't +care for them, but when you do--" + +His face softened wonderfully. "Ah!--Yes. It is worse when you care, my +dear; but all the more reason for helping. Come, I have no one else. You +shall keep me from hurting him by holding this little cone over his +face--see, how simple. He will certainly groan, and you will certainly +bear it. Come, then!" + +Jacqueline, sick and shivering, stuck to her post. "If Jemmy could only +see me now!" was the thought with which she stiffened herself. She tried +not to listen to the moaning voice--"They're killing me! Take it away. +Oh, _don't_ hurt me any more--" + +"You said it wouldn't hurt him!" she muttered once, fiercely. + +"And it does not--only his imagination. He has a vivid imagination, this +chap." + +"Of course he has!" She scented disrespect, and was quick to resent it. +"He's a very famous author,--Mr. Percival Channing." + +"So?" But the school-teacher did not appear to be greatly impressed. "A +healthy-looking author, at least, which is in his favor. This should not +give him any trouble.--Aha! Now we have it." + +He held up the bullet for her to see. + +"Now then," he added in a moment, "you shall go into my little +guest-room there while I watch over our patient, and sleep like the +heroine you are for many hours." + +Jacqueline demurred indignantly. "Leave him? Indeed I won't! It's my +place to nurse him, not yours. Go to sleep yourself!" + +He did not venture to drive Woman out of her natural sphere. + +"As you like. Just rest on one of these cots, then, while I attend to +some further matters. I shall rouse you when I am ready to leave." + +"You won't go far?" + +"Oh, no. I shall be within call." + +Jacqueline stretched herself luxuriously. The cot was very comfortable. +"I shan't go to sleep, of course," she said.... + +Once during the night she stirred suddenly. "Philip will be worried," +she murmured. + +A quiet voice answered beside her, "No, I shall send word to him." + +She lifted her heavy lids. "Oh, is that you, Phil?" she muttered +contentedly, and dozed off again.... + +It was not such an odd mistake. The school-teacher, sitting there beside +her, had taken off his spectacles, and the eyes she met when hers +opened, were eyes she had known and trusted all her life; gleaming, +kindly, quizzical eyes, astonishingly blue by contrast with a dark face. + +He tried not to cough for fear of disturbing her. Until dawn and +afterwards he sat there between the two beds, sometimes rising quietly +to minister to Channing's needs, but for the most part gazing at the +sleeping girl, hungrily, wistfully, often through a mist of tears; +searching for resemblances, and finding them. + +"Her child!" he whispered to himself. "Her little girl, the babe that +was on her breast!--So like, and yet unlike. A hint of pliancy here, of +weakness perhaps, that is not Kate. Wilfulness with Kate, never +weakness--And already a woman, already come to the time of sacrifice. +Her little girl!--" + +He leaned over Channing, studying intently and anxiously the nervous, +sensuous, intelligent face in its betraying relaxation of slumber. He +shook his head presently, as if in doubt. + +"But she will not see; perhaps she will never see. Yes, she is Kate's +own child!" He sighed, and shrugged. + +"At least there is Philip on guard," he said to himself, finally. "My +sturdy, pious young Atlas, with the world so heavy on his shoulders!--" + +The smile on the teacher's lips was mocking and sad, and very tender. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +It was broad daylight when Jacqueline was awakened by some one calling +her by name, and shaking her none too gently. + +"Come, come, Jacqueline, you must wake up, please! I have no time to +waste." + +She rubbed her eyes, yawning. "Let me alone, Phil! I'm half dead with +sleep.--Heavens, where am I? Why are you so cross? Oh, Phil," she +gasped, memory returning in a flood. "How is he? Is he conscious yet?" + +"Who, Channing? Extremely conscious, I should say, and very much ashamed +of himself. He is making an excellent breakfast in the next room." + +His stern voice caused her to hang her head. "I suppose you're +dreadfully mad at us, Reverend! Were you anxious?" + +"Fortunately I didn't miss you till the school-teacher's messenger woke +us with the news that you and Channing had been found lost in the woods +somewhere. I've brought your clothes. It is a wonder you did not take +pneumonia, wandering about half-dressed!" + +She winced, and put out a wheedling hand, "My wrapper is just as warm as +a dress, and--and it looks almost like one. See! it's--it's quite long, +too, Phil!--I don't think he even noticed that my stockings weren't on." + +"No?" He looked at her searchingly, and his face softened. The gaze that +met his was deprecating and embarrassed, but frank as a child's. + +"Still," she admitted, "it was a dreadful thing to do." + +"It was a very silly thing to do, and as it turned out, very dangerous. +These mountaineers are a wild lot, especially with a little moonshine in +them. You might very well have been shot, instead of Channing." + +"I wish I had been--oh, I _wish_ I had been!" Her lip quivered. "You're +so cross to me," she wailed, "and I've been through _such_ a lot!" + +He relented. "I don't mean to be cross, little girl. But you must see +that I can't take the responsibility of such a madcap any longer. You +will have to go back to civilization." + +Her face fell. "Oh, Phil! You don't mean that you are going to give up +the missionary expedition because of what I've done?" + +"I do not," he said crisply. "I came to accomplish certain things up +here, and I shan't leave till they are done. But I shall have to manage +without my choir. You are going back to Storm, you and Mr. Channing." + +"When must we go?" she asked meekly. + +"To-day. At once." + +"Oh, but Philip, we can't! Mr. Channing couldn't be moved so soon. His +poor leg--" + +"I'm afraid he will have to risk that valuable member for the good of +the common cause. He is going to need much attention, that is plain, and +we can't impose on this school-teacher." + +"Oh, _he_ won't mind!" interposed Jacqueline, eagerly. "He's as good as +a doctor, and a perfect dear." + +"'Dear' or not, he is a busy man, and we have no claim on his time. +Channing himself wants to go down to the neighborhood of genuine +doctors, I fancy. He seems to be alarmed for fear of blood-poison +developing." Despite himself, Philip's lip curled a little. + +"I don't believe you're one bit sorry for Mr. Channing!" + +"Now that you mention it," murmured Philip, "I don't believe I am. It +serves him damned right!" He turned on his heel and left the room. + +But later when she came out to him, dressed and abjectly penitent, he +spoke more gently. "Jacky dear, I've got to interfere once more in +something that is perhaps not my business. How do matters stand between +you and our author friend? Has he decided yet whether he wants to marry +you?" + +The hot blood rushed into her cheeks. "Why--why, I don't know," she +stammered, "He never--Philip Benoix, that certainly is _not_ your +business! The idea!" + +"Whatever is your mother's business I make mine," he said quietly. +"Jacqueline, since you have tied my hands, I want you to promise me one +thing. As soon as you get back, I want you to tell your mother +everything about this affair with Channing." + +Her head went up angrily. "I'll promise no such thing! What has mother +to do with it? When Mr. Channing is ready," she said very stiffly, "I +daresay he will speak to my mother himself, without any prompting from +you." + +It was her turn to walk away, outraged dignity in every motion. + +Philip looked after her ruefully. "Of course she won't tell Kate, and I +can't, and it would never occur to that dear woman to watch one of her +own daughters.--I do wish," he muttered, "that Jemima were at home!" + +It was an odd fact that many people who usually took young Jemima +Kildare's existence very much for granted had a way of wishing for her +suddenly when any emergency arose. + +Jacqueline's dignity did not carry her far. She came back in a moment to +ask humbly, "How am I ever to get Mr. Channing down to the railroad? He +can't ride, and wheels are out of the question on that rough trail. +Philip, really, he'll _have_ to stay here till the wound is healed. It +won't be any trouble for the teacher. I'll look after him myself." + +"I think not," said Philip, grimly. "You will be safe at Storm by +nightfall." + +"You don't seem to realize that he is terribly wounded!" + +"By no means 'terribly.' The school-teacher--who seems to be a capable +person as well as a 'dear'--has made a very good job of removing the +bullet, and there's no temperature. Believe me, your imaginative friend +will manage to survive this affair. Everything is settled. Brother Bates +will stay and see the school-teacher, and arrange with him about the +mule-litter for Channing. He will go down with you himself, and see you +safely into the train. Sorry I can't, but I'm expected on the other side +of the mountain this morning for a 'buryin,' and as the deceased has +been awaiting the occasion for several months--underground, I trust,--I +don't like to postpone it any longer." + +"Won't you even wait till we start?" she asked forlornly. + +"I can't. Sorry not to see that school-teacher, too. He has gone off +somewhere on an errand, the old woman in charge here says. Doesn't know +when he will be back. I must be off." + +"Aren't you going to say good-by to Mr. Channing?" + +"I have already said good-by, and other things, to Mr. Channing," said +Philip, grimly. "_Au revoir_, little girl." + +He rode up the trail at a lope, passing as he went a group of laurel +bushes, behind which, had he looked more closely, he might have detected +the crouching figure of a man, who watched him wistfully out of sight. +The teacher's errand had not taken him far. + +When Philip stopped at the schoolhouse again that evening on his return +from the "buryin'," he found it deserted. There was a sign on the door. +"School closed for a week. Gone fishing." + +"A casual sort of school-teacher, this," said Philip, disappointed. "A +regular gadabout! I'm afraid I shan't see him at all. What did you say +his name was?" + +The man Anse, who was his companion, eyed Philip impassively. "Dunno as +I said. Dunno as I ever heerd tell. We calls him 'Teacher' hereabouts." + +"Do you mean to say you've never _asked_ his name?" demanded Philip. + +"Folks hereabouts ain't much on axin' questions," remarked Anse. "'T +ain't allus healthy, Preacher." + +Philip felt oddly rebuked. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +As if Philip's wish had materialized her, it was Jemima herself who met +Jacqueline and Channing at the Storm station late that night; Jemima, +fully equipped for the occasion, ambulance and all, brisk and important +and even sympathetic in a professional sort of way. + +Jacqueline hailed her with mingled feelings of relief and sisterly +pleasure, complicated with certain misgivings as to her future freedom. + +"Why, Jemmy! I thought you were going to stay with that Mrs. Lawton at +least three weeks." + +"Lucky I didn't," remarked her sister succinctly. "I had just got home +when your telegram to mother came, telling about the accident, so of +course I took charge of things. Mother wanted to come herself, but she +seemed rather tired, so I made her stop at home. The doctor will be +there to meet us." + +Channing saw the improvised ambulance with thanksgiving. The journey +back to civilization was a chapter in his experience which he had no +wish to repeat.... + +It had started gaily enough, Channing quite comfortable in a sort of +litter swung between two mules, led at a foot-pace by the versatile +peddler and a silent young mountaineer, a son of their former host, +Anse. The school-teacher rode with them to the foot of the mountain, to +make sure of the bandages, and Jacqueline brought up the procession on +her mule. + +Before they started, Channing spoke a few appreciative if rather +patronizing words to the school-master. "You've been awfully kind and +clever about this. A surgeon could not have done better. You really +ought to charge me a whopping big price, you know." He put his hand into +his pocket, suggestively. + +The other raised his eyebrows. "My services were not professional, Mr. +Channing. I make no charge for them. It is all part of my day's work." + +"Oh, but really--" insisted the author. + +"Of course if you've plenty of money, you may pay what you like," added +the teacher indifferently, and went back into the schoolhouse for +something he had forgotten. + +Channing grinned. "Of course! I've never seen services yet, professional +or otherwise, that could not be paid for. What do you think I ought to +give him?" + +It was to Jacqueline he spoke, but the Apostle answered: "You don't give +him nothin', son. You puts what you kin in this here box for the +Hospital." + +He obligingly lifted down a box with a slit in it, that hung beside the +schoolhouse door, bearing the inscription, "Hospital Fund." He rattled +it as he did so. "It's gettin' real heavy," he commented with +satisfaction. "Reck'n there must 'a' bin a lot of sick folks lately. +Teacher must be pleased." + +Channing lifted his eyebrows at Jacqueline. "Do you mean to say he +leaves a box of money hanging outside his door at the mercy of any +passing stranger?" + +"Why not?" asked the teacher himself, reappearing. + +"Very few strangers do pass, and though my neighbors have their +failings, dishonesty is not one of them. Besides, it is their own money. +They have given it." + +"Rather an ambitious idea of yours, isn't it, a hospital in these +wilds?" + +"The name is more ambitious than the idea, Mr. Channing. What I hope to +build is merely another small cabin for women, on the other side of my +schoolhouse, and perhaps later an isolated building for contagious +cases." + +"And who is to care for your patients?" + +"Oh, I have plenty of assistance. Some of the women have become +excellent nurses, and one or two of the boys show a distinct aptitude +for medicine. We shall make doctors of them yet." He broke off +apologetically. "You will think that I have a partiality for hygienic +matters, and perhaps I have. It is my theory that most crime is +traceable to physical causes; to disease; and as most disease is the +result of ignorance--" he shrugged. "You will see why I consider hygiene +an important part of my school curriculum." + +Channing was looking at him curiously. His manner had lost its +patronage. "May I ask," he said, "whether the State finances this +institution of yours?" + +"No. The nearest school supplied by the State is miles away, over roads +which for part of the year are almost impassable. That is why I happened +to settle here." + +"Then who does finance it? Yourself?" + +The teacher smiled. "It is not 'financed' at all, nor does it need to +be. My pupils supply me with food and fuel and free labor, in return for +which I share with them what 'book-larnin'' I happen to possess. And I +wish there were more of it! What few books are needed I manage to +provide. Mine is more a practical course than an academic one, you see." + +Jacqueline had been listening with deep interest, her face a-glow. "And +yet you think you are not a Christian!" she said softly. "Why, you are +doing just such a thing as Christ might have done Himself." + +"In a more up-to-date manner, I hope, young lady," shrugged the teacher. +"We have gone far in 1900 years." + +Jacqueline subsided, shocked. She wished Philip were there to put this +irreverent person in his place. + +"Have you never," questioned Channing, "considered asking for help from +outside? Rich people go in for this sort of thing a great deal nowadays. +It is quite a fashionable philanthropy." + +"I have no acquaintance among rich people," said the other, "and I do +not think my neighbors would care to accept philanthropy. They are +proud." + +Channing said, rather nicely, "If they are proud, they will understand +that I prefer to pay for value received." He slipped into the box a bill +whose denomination made the Apostle's eyes open wide. + +"Fifty dollars!" he exclaimed in awe, "That's right, son--'Give up all +thou hast and follow Me.' 'It is harder fer a rich man to enter into +heaven than fer a camuel to go thoo the eye of a needle.' That's the way +to git religion!--" + +The teacher bowed, gravely. "The Woman's Ward is now an accomplished +fact. Thank you, Mr. Channing." + +For the first part of the journey down the mountain, the author had +rather enjoyed the novel role of uncomplaining sufferer. The teacher's +presence was both stimulating and reassuring. After he turned back, +however, with a final look at the bandages, reaction set in. The +sufferer's cheerfulness relapsed into a wincing silence, broken +occasionally by faint groans, when a stumble on the part of his bearers +set loose all the various aches that racked his body. + +These aches were the result of exhaustion rather than of his wound; but +he did not know this, nor did Jacqueline. The literary imagination +pictured him in the last stages of blood-poison, and groans became more +frequent. He could have found no surer way of appealing to Jacqueline's +tenderness. She was one of the women to whom weakness is a thing +irresistible. Her moment of ugly doubt when her lover showed panic under +fire had passed instantly with a realization of his dependence upon her. +To give is the instinct of such natures, maternal in their very essence. +The fact that Channing seemed to need her had always been his chief hold +on her fancy. + +She walked beside him most of the way, leading her mule, so that she +might hold his hand; yearning over him, suffering far more than he +suffered, crooning tender words of encouragement. + +"I wish," she said once, passionately, "that you were littler, that you +were small enough to carry in my arms, so that _nothing_ could hurt +you!"--a sentiment which drew a glance of sympathy from even the stolid +young mountaineer at the mule's head, and which set old Brother Bates to +thinking wistfully of the long, long road that lay between him and the +ministrations of his wife, Sally. + +But the author was too far gone in anxiety and bone-weariness to care to +linger just then in any primrose path of dalliance. He even wished +heartily, if inaudibly, that the girl would be quiet and leave him +alone. + +Therefore, the final sight of Jemima and her business-like ambulance was +a most welcome one. + +He demurred politely when he heard where he was to be taken. "I ought +not to impose on your mother's hospitality! Couldn't you get me to +Farwell's house?" + +"And who would take care of you there--men-servants? Nonsense!" said +Jemima, briskly. "Mother wouldn't hear of it, and neither would I. Don't +talk now. Just drink your coffee." (She had brought it hot in a thermos +bottle.) "And thank your stars you weren't killed outright in those wild +mountains. What an expedition!--feckless Jacky, that dreamer Philip, and +a mad peddler! It never would have happened if I'd been at home.--Get up +in front with the driver, Jack." + +But this usurpation of her rights and privileges was more than the +younger one could bear. + +"Feckless I may be, Jemmy Kildare," she cried hotly, "but it was me who +defended Mr. Channing from bears and things, me who helped with the +operation, me who brought him home all by myself! And it's me he wants +now--don't you, dear? Sit up in front yourself, smarty!" + +Jemima obeyed, lifting astonished eyebrows. All the way to Storm her +eyebrows fluttered up and down like flags in a gale of wind. She +listened with straining ears to certain whisperings behind her; to +certain silences more pregnant than whispering. + +"So-o!" she thought. "_That's_ what the child is up to! Calling him +'dear!' _That's_ why she wouldn't go visiting.--Have mother and I been +blind?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +Channing began to be aware, despite the hospitality and comfort which +were provided for him in overflowing measure, that he was seeing very +little of Jacqueline under her mother's roof. In the ten days he had +been there they had managed hardly more than as many minutes alone +together. It was as if the entire household were entered into a +coalition against them. + +No sooner would Jacqueline slip into his room in the morning, bearing a +dainty breakfast tray upon which she lavished all of her growing +domestic artistry, than the series of interruptions began. First it +would be the Madam herself, off on her rounds of inspection, but +stopping long enough for a few minutes' chat with her guest. She would +be followed by the elderly, apologetic housewoman, to put his things in +order, answering Jacqueline's imperious demand for haste with an humble +"Yais 'm, Miss Jacky, I's hurryin' fas' as a pusson kin go, but de Madam +wouldn't like it a bit ef I skimped comp'ny's room." + +Then would come, perhaps, Big Liza the cook, to enquire for "comp'ny's" +health with elephantine coquetries; then Lige, erstwhile stable-boy and +butler, now promoted to the proud role of valet, requesting orders for +the day, and lingering with an appreciative ear for the conversation of +his betters. + +When these were out of the way, a firm tap at the door revealed Jemima, +book in hand or with a basket of sewing, announcing quietly that she now +had an hour or so at Mr. Channing's disposal; whereupon Jacqueline would +give up in despair and flounce away, or resign herself to listen, seated +behind her sister's back where she could make faces at it unseen except +by the invalid. + +The afternoons were quite as bad, the family solicitude being augmented +by the presence of visitors, the most frequent of whom was Farwell; and +in the evenings all sat together about the great fireplace in the +hall--for the nights were growing chill--playing games, or listening to +Jacqueline's music, or telling stories like children, until nine +o'clock; at which hour Mrs. Kildare assembled her household, white and +black, read a few prayers in a firm but inattentive manner, and sent +everybody to bed. + +The life had a simple charm which Channing savored with due +appreciation; but it gave him very little of Jacqueline, and both +thought longingly of the Ruin, at present inaccessible. In one thing +Jemima's inexperience played her false. To a man of Channing's +temperament, occasional and tantalizing glimpses of the _inamorata_ had +an allure that unrestricted intercourse might soon have lessened. But +considering her youth, Jemima was doing very well indeed. + +Mag Henderson was the lovers' only ally. Notes still passed between them +with a frequency which eluded Jemima's vigilance; and notes make very +good fuel for a fire, if there is none better available. + +One of these, extracted by Channing from his napkin under the very eye +of the enemy, read: + + Jemmy is certainly taking notice. Look out! We must put her off the + track somehow. Couldn't you make love to her--a little? Not much, + and, oh, please, _never_ before me, because I just couldn't bear + it!--This is a kiss. O + +Channing appreciated this Machiavellian policy, and endeavored to put it +into practice; but without success. + + Nothing doing! (He wrote in answer). There's a look in that cool, + greenish eye that sheds Cupid's darts like chain armor. If I must + make love to any one but you, darling, it will have to be your + mother. She's human. I tell you no man living would have the + courage to breathe airy nothings into your sister's ear more than + once.--Here's two kisses. O O + +"Poor Jemmy!" thought Jacqueline, gently, when she read this. + +"Poor Jemmy," indeed. Possibly she had made some such discovery for +herself. + +The time came when the author reluctantly admitted to himself that he +had no further excuse to trespass upon Mrs. Kildare's hospitality. From +the first he had been able to limp about the house, pale but courageous; +now he found it difficult even to limp with any conviction. At last +Farwell quite bluntly advised him that he would better be moving on. + +"Your book is calling you, eh, what? If not, it ought to be. The old 'un +is looking rather firm, if you ask me. Polite, of course, even +cordial--it would not enter the creed of these people to be anything +else, so long as one is under their roof. But firm, nevertheless." + +Channing started. "You don't think she's on?" + +Farwell shrugged--a gesture carefully done from the model of Philip +Benoix. "How did you explain your accident up there?" + +"Told her we happened to be prowling about the hillside, and ran upon a +moonshine still that didn't like us." + +"Did you mention the hour of your innocent ramble?" + +Charming flushed. "It _was_ an innocent ramble, you know.--I did not +mention the hour, however." + +"What about Benoix? He and Mrs. Kildare are very thick." + +Channing flushed again. The memory of his last conversation with the +clergyman rankled. "Benoix's not the talking sort," he muttered. +"Besides, he's still up in the mountains, arranging about a mission or +something." + +Farwell looked at him thoughtfully. "Not the talking sort--you're right, +he's the acting sort. Typical Kentuckian and all that. His father's a +convicted 'killer,' by the way." + +"Oh, shut up!" said the author, inelegantly. "What if I have made love +to Jacqueline? Does every girl who gets love made to her have to be led +forthwith to the altar? The notorious Mrs. Kildare would hardly be a +squeamish mama, I think. Why, she's got a common woman of the streets +here in the house as a sort of maid-companion to her young daughters! +What can you expect?" + +"Nevertheless," demanded his friend, significantly, "how much have you +seen of the girl since you have been here? You know, and I know, that +the most squeamish of mamas are ladies who happen to be acquainted with +the ropes themselves. _Verbum sap._--Besides, there is your uncle. Might +he have--er--conversed too freely, perhaps?" + +Channing stirred uneasily. "He regards the recent episode, to which I +suppose you refer, as somewhat of a blot upon the family escutcheon. It +isn't likely he would mention it. But you're right--perhaps it behooves +me to be moving before all is lost.--Damn it, Morty," he said savagely, +"what an ass I have made of myself!" + +He put his face in his hands, and groaned. + +The actor regarded him curiously. + +"Hard hit, eh? But you've been hard hit before, and got over it. Cheer +up!" + +"That's it," grunted Channing. "I will get over it, and--I don't want +to, Morty! Every fellow's got a best time in his life. This is mine, and +I know it. I want it to last. She's--she's sweet, I tell you! I could +marry a girl like that...." + +The other whistled. "Well, why not? She'd wait." + +"She might--but what about me?" Channing spoke with a sort of +desperation. "You know me! If I go away from her, I'm bound to get over +it. If I don't go away from her--" he broke off, and walked restlessly +around the room, limping occasionally from force of habit. "It's easy +enough for a cold-blooded chap like you to say 'wait.' But she doesn't +help me, she doesn't help me! You phlegmatic people don't know how +emotion, even the sight of emotion, goes to the head--or you'd never be +actors. You wouldn't dare.--I am mad about her now, absolutely mad about +her. Absurd, isn't it?" He gave a forlorn laugh. "In the words of the +classic, 'I want what I want--when I want it.'" + +Farwell was quite unconsciously and methodically making mental notes of +his friend's gestures and expressions for future use. "The old boy's in +earnest for once," he thought; and congratulated himself anew that he +himself was no genius, merely a person with a knack for imitation, and a +habit of keeping his finger on the pulse of the public. It puzzled him +that a man who knew his own weaknesses so thoroughly should make no +effort to deny or conquer them. Channing seemed to observe his ego as +casually as if it belonged to a stranger; and with as little attempt to +interfere with it. That, thought Farwell, must be one of the earmarks of +genius. Mere men like himself, when they choose to fracture what rules +have been laid down for them, do it as blindly as possible, with an +ostrich-like hiding of their heads in the sand; but genius sees exactly +what it is about, and does it just the same.--So ran the cogitations of +Mr. Farwell. + +"What would you do if you were I?" asked Channing, appealingly. + +"Me? I'd go away from here while the going is good." + +"Away from Storm, you mean?" + +"Away from Kentucky." + +Channing groaned. "Damn it all, I will, then! Though it's going to play +hob with my book.--No time like the present. I'll go back with you +to-day, Morty, and put my things together.--It 's been the best time of +my life!" he sighed, already beginning to dramatize himself as the +self-denying Spartan. + +He sought out his hostess in her office an hour later, and confessed to +her that he had no longer any excuse for remaining under her roof. + +"We authors are such slaves," he murmured. "I must get back to my native +habitat, like a bear to its cave." (he had almost said "wounded bear.") + +"You are leaving Kentucky, then?" + +"Yes, after a few days at Holiday Hill to get my things together." + +"You are sure you are quite well and strong again?" she asked slowly. + +"I fear I am. Better than I've ever been in my life, and fatter, alas! +thanks to your excellent cook." + +She did not give him an answering smile. "I am glad of that, because I +should not like any guest, above all Jim Thorpe's nephew, to leave my +house until he was quite ready to do so.--And I have been waiting," she +added, very quietly, "until you were quite well and strong to speak to +you about a certain matter." + +His tongue went dry in his mouth; a sensation that reminded him of +episodes in his schooldays, when circumstances led him not infrequently +into the office of the headmaster. + +Mrs. Kildare said quite suddenly, "I understand that you are courting my +daughter Jacqueline, Mr. Channing." + +For the moment a reply failed him. He had not expected quite such a lack +of delicacy. + +She went on. "Something my daughter Jemima noticed led us to that +conclusion. Perhaps she was mistaken? You will understand, Mr. Channing, +that I must be father as well as mother to my children." + +She paused again; and still the usually fluent Channing had not found +his voice. + +"I thought it best," she went on, "to write to my friend Professor +Thorpe, who introduced you to our house. Be kind enough to read his +reply." + +Channing took the letter, and made pretense of reading it, though he was +only too well aware of its contents. + + MY DEAR KATE: + + Your letter overwhelms me. I had no idea that my nephew was on + terms of any intimacy in your household. Jemima, in fact, assured + me that the contrary was the case, and Jemima is not often + mistaken. + + I blame myself deeply for having introduced Percival at Storm + without explanation. It is painful for me to have to inform you + that my sisters son is at present under somewhat of a cloud. To be + frank, he recently made a journey to Canada in company with a + certain young person whom he had the hardihood to introduce at + various hotels, clubs, etc., as his wife. When he wished to + terminate the arrangement, he found himself unable to do so because + the woman entered claims upon him as what is termed a common-law + wife. + + The matter has with some difficulty been kept out of the public + prints, and is now in the hands of lawyers for adjustment. My + sister meanwhile claimed my hospitality for her son until such time + as the scandal shall have blown over. I need not say that I regret + having acceded to her request. + + My nephew, being in no position to marry, was of course culpably + wrong in offering attentions to any young girl. I can only hope + that the peculiarities of his temperament prevented him from + realizing what he was doing, and that he possibly regards + Jacqueline merely as an extremely charming child, which she is. + Surely the affair cannot go deeply with one so immature as + Jacqueline. + + On my return to Kentucky, I shall hasten to make apologies to you + in person for myself and for my nephew. I do not trust myself to + communicate with Percival at present, lest I forget what is due the + undeniable ties of blood. + + Your devoted servant, + THORPE. + + Postscriptum: Percival is an egregious young ass. + + J. T. + +Channing finished the letter, adding to it a heartfelt if unspoken +"Amen!" + +"Well?" asked Mrs. Kildare. "What have you to say, please? Do you regard +Jacqueline as merely a charming child?" + +"No," he was impelled to answer. "Not--not now." + +"Ah! Not now." Kate's lips set grimly, but she continued in a very quiet +voice, "Have you anything to say, perhaps? I do not wish to be unfair." + +Channing had a great deal to say, but he found some difficulty in saying +it. He found some difficulty in meeting Mrs. Kildare's eyes. He felt +more and more like a schoolboy who is about to receive a well-deserved +whipping.--And then, quite suddenly, he recalled the past career of this +outraged mother, with her righteous indignation; and fluency returned to +him. + +"My dear lady, it's all such a tempest in a tea-pot! My uncle's an old +fogy. But you're a woman of the world--you will understand.--I made a +fool of myself in that affair, of course. Still, who would have supposed +the woman wouldn't play the game? She's an old hand, an ex-chorus girl, +and all that--Fay Lanham--any one can tell you about her. I don't know +what got into her, except that I'm making a good deal of money nowadays, +and I suppose she's ready to settle down. It was all quite understood, I +assure you--" + +Mrs. Kildare suddenly rose, and he saw for the first time how tall she +was. "I am not and have never been a woman of the world, but I know men, +if that is what you mean. And I know"--her voice cut like a whip--"that +when these things occur among men of honor, at least the names of their +victims are not mentioned." + +He stared at her in genuine surprise. Chivalry in connection with Fay +Lanham!--the combination was fantastic. "Oh, but--professionals!" he +murmured. "I assure you she was no 'victim'--not as much a victim, +perhaps, as myself." + +"That does not interest me. What I wish to know is whether you are free +to marry or not." + +"Frankly, I don't know, Mrs. Kildare. The lawyers are to settle that." + +"And not knowing, you have dared to court my daughter Jacqueline?" + +The repetition of the old-fashioned phrase jarred his over-strung +nerves. "My dear lady, if you mean by 'courting,' Have I proposed +marriage to your daughter? I have not. If you mean, Have I made love to +her? Yes. Naturally. Why not? I assure you, she has met me more than +half way." + +The instant the words were out, he would have given much to recall them. +Why could he not have been simple and natural, told her that he loved +Jacqueline, and that he was most heartily ashamed of himself? + +Kate reached for the bell-rope and jerked it. When Lige came +running--the service at Storm was not elegant, but it was prompt--she +said, "Pack Mr. Channing's bag, and bring it down at once." + +Then she spoke to Channing without looking at him. "My little girl is +only seventeen. You are the nephew of my oldest and most trusted friend. +It has never occurred to me to warn my daughters against gentlemen. I +had forgotten it was necessary. I blame myself very deeply.--Now you +will give me your word to make no effort to communicate with Jacqueline +again in any way." + +He protested. "Surely you will let me see her once, Mrs. Kildare! To +explain?--to--to say good-by?" + +"Certainly, in my presence. Your word of honor, please." + +He gave it with as much dignity as he could muster. + +She immediately opened the door and led him out into the hall, where +Farwell and the two girls were amusing themselves with the graphophone. + +"I know you will be sorry," she said from the threshold, "to hear that +Mr. Channing is leaving us at once." + +At the tone of her voice, Farwell gave a startled glance toward his +friend, and Jemima suddenly put an arm around her sister, further rising +to the occasion with polite murmurings of regret. But Jacqueline with +one gesture brushed aside tact and subterfuge. She ran to Channing and +caught his hand. + +"Why, what's the matter?" she cried. "What has happened? Why is mother +sending you away?" + +"Jacqueline! Am I in the habit of sending guests away from my house?" + +"You're doing it now, and I know why!" She threw back her head and +laughed. "It's too late, Mummy dear! I suppose the fat's in the +fire--but it was fun while it lasted! You didn't suspect your little +girl was big enough to have a real sweetheart, did you?" A lovely blush +spread over her face. She tugged at Channing's hand. "Come, why don't +you tell her everything? Time to 'speak for yourself, John!'" + +The silence puzzled her. She looked from one to the other. "Mummy, +you're not really angry because we kept it a secret? Remember!--didn't +you keep it a secret from your mother, too, just at first? It's a thing +girls _have_ to keep to themselves, just at first, till they're used to +it--Jemmy," she cried, suddenly turning on her sister, "_why_ are you +looking so sympathetic at me?" + +Channing lifted the little hand that was clutching his to his lips. +"This is good-by," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry--Your mother will +explain.--I must go away." + +"But you're coming back soon?" + +He shook his head. + +"Why, but--I'll see you again before you go, won't I?" Her voice was +piteous. + +"Mr. Channing has given me his word," said her mother, "to make no +further attempt to communicate with you." + +The girl took a long breath. Her chin lifted. "Oh! So you are still +going to treat me as a little girl?" she said. "That's a mistake, +Mother!" + +Without any further effort to detain Channing, she walked to the stairs +and up them, her chin still high. + +Channing looked back once from the door. Mrs. Kildare, standing in the +center of the hall, bowed to him gravely, as a queen might in dismissing +an audience. Jemima, on guard at the foot of the staircase, also bowed +in stately fashion. + +But halfway up, Jacqueline paused and turned; and as his miserable gaze +met hers, she distinctly winked at him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +More and more, as the days passed, Kate congratulated herself on having +taken Jacqueline's affairs in hand before any harm was done. Startled +out of her own preoccupation by Jemima's discovery of how matters stood +between Jacqueline and the author, she continued to watch the younger +girl narrowly; but she saw no signs of secret grief, nor even of wounded +pride. The girl had never been more radiant, her cheeks a-glow, her eyes +so soft and lustrous that sometimes her mother's grew dim at sight of +them. She remembered a time when her own mirror had shown her just such +a look of brooding revery. + +"Channing has done nothing more than wake her womanhood," thought the +mother. "And now, now it is Philip's turn!" + +Philip, since his return from the mountains, spent more time than ever +at Storm. Kate noted with satisfaction the added gentleness of his +manner with Jacqueline, and threw them together as much as possible. +Jemima, too, seemed to have a great deal of time to give her younger +sister in those days. Between them all, Jacqueline was rarely alone; but +she had no longer any wish to be alone. She avoided the Ruin now, and +took no more long rides about the country, except with Kate. She clung +to her mother with the persistency of a child who is recovering from an +illness. + +Jemima had taken it upon herself to watch the mails, and reported that +there were no letters for Jacqueline. Channing evidently intended to +keep his word implicitly. + +Jacqueline had received her mother's explanation of his conduct quite +calmly. + +"Let's not discuss it, Mummy," she begged, flushing a little. "Of course +if Mr. Charming was already married, that way, he couldn't ask me to +marry him. I understand." She attempted one little apology for him. +"Geniuses aren't quite--quite like other men, and they ought to be +judged differently, Mummy." + +Her sister, who was present at the interview, came over to her here, and +bestowed one of her rare kisses. Pride and dignity always had a strong +appeal for Jemima.... + +When she had first gone to her mother with her suspicions, Kate was +aghast. "In love with each other, child! Why, that's impossible. Where +have they seen each other? He is an intellectual, sophisticated young +man of the world,--and our Jacky--!" + +"The attraction of opposites," Jemima reminded her. + +For just one moment, the mother's thoughts were selfish. If Jacqueline +after all did not marry Philip, what would become of her own +vindication, that triumphant answer to the world for which she had so +patiently waited? She put the old plan from her with a sigh. + +"Of course Channing would be a good match for little Jacqueline. But I +had hoped," she said, half to herself, "that my child might marry +Philip." + +Jemima gave her a queer, quick glance. "You think Philip wants that?" + +Kate nodded. "Perhaps he does not know it yet, though." + +The girl said haltingly, "I have always thought that Philip was rather +fond of--you, Mother." + +"Of me? So he is. Philip has loved me since he was a little boy," she +answered, smiling tenderly. "All the more reason for him to love my +Jacqueline. We are very much alike, only that she is prettier, and +younger--which counts, of course.--But now you say she wants to marry +this Channing." + +"I do not say that he wants to marry her." + +"Jemmy!" + +"Well, why should he?" asked the girl, evenly. "It would not be a good +match for Mr. Channing. His family are conservative Boston people. Can +you imagine Jacky among conservative Boston people? Sliding down +banisters, riding bareback, making eyes at all the men--" + +"That is not what you mean," said her mother, rather white about the +lips. "You mean the scandal about me. Yes, that would make a +difference.--You think it is only a flirtation, then?" + +"On his part, yes. On Jacqueline's--I don't know. But even flirtation is +not very safe for Jacqueline. Remember her inheritance." Jemima met her +mother's wincing eyes firmly. + +"What do you mean?" gasped the older woman. + +"I mean--that Jacqueline is oversexed." She had no intention of seeing +her little sister come to grief for lack of frankness. "I know it, and +you know it, and we both know that it is not her fault." She added after +a moment, "I have reason to believe that Mr. Channing is not a marrying +man. There was talk in Lexington--If I were you I should write to +Professor Jim and ask him." + +Kate promptly took her advice, with the results that have been seen; and +her respect for the acumen of her elder child became somewhat akin to +awe. + +Nor was Jemima at the end of her surprises for her mother. + +One morning she followed Kate rather aimlessly into her office; a thing +almost unprecedented, for Mrs. Kildare was rarely disturbed in her +sanctum except upon matters of business. + +"You wish to see me about something, daughter?" + +"Oh, no, I just wanted to talk." + +Kate's heart thumped suddenly. It was a long time since the girl had +sought her out for one of their old confidential chats about nothing in +particular. She had been almost glad of the trouble about Jacqueline +because for the moment it had brought her close again to her other +child. The newly formed alliance was evidently to continue. + +She said lightly, "Talk away, then!" + +Jemima wandered about the room, examining this thing and that, without +attention. "You've never asked me a question about the visit to Mrs. +Lawton, nor why I came home sooner than I had expected to." + +"I did not dare," admitted Kate, smiling a little. "I was afraid the +great experiment had not proved a success." + +"Oh, but it was. A great success!--That is not why I came home so soon." + +"Why, then?" + +Jemima gave a most unexpected answer. "Because I was homesick." + +Tears of pure pleasure came into Kate's eyes. + +"You see, I'd never been away from home before, and I had no idea how +much I should miss you-all. But people were very kind to me; on +Professor Jim's account, I think." + +"Dear old Jim!" said Kate, softly. "He deserves loyal friends, because +he knows so well how to be one.--I have missed him lately. When is he +coming home again?" + +"To-day. He will be out to-morrow for supper, as usual." + +"Oh, yes, it is Friday, isn't it? What an odd idea, that lecture +tour!--so unlike Jim. He has always been so shy and retiring. I wonder +what made him undertake it?" + +"I did," said Jemima. + +"You?" + +"Why, yes. Some of his lectures seemed to me most unusual, much too good +to waste there in Lexington. So when the opportunity was offered to him +to speak in several other places, I persuaded him to accept it. We went +over the talks together and made them simpler; more popular, you know. +Sometimes he forgets that every audience is not composed of scholars." + +Kate stared at her child in amused respect. "Do you mean to say you have +added literary censorship to your various other accomplishments?" + +Jemima smiled deprecatingly. "I was glad to be able to help him a +little, after all he has done for us.--Look here, Mother,"--she began to +finger the papers on the desk--"do you care at all for Professor Jim?" + +"Of course I do!" + +"No--I don't mean that way. I mean--Are you ever going to marry him, do +you think?" + +Kate's speechless surprise was sufficient answer. + +"Because if you're not,"--the girl cleared her voice--"don't you think +it would be kinder to say so once and for all? You see, if he were sure +you would not have him" (suddenly hot color surged over her face), "he +might want to marry some one else." + +"Old Jim marry! Jemima! What are you driving at? What can you mean?" + +"I mean--me," gasped the girl, and suddenly turned and fled from the +room. + +It took Kate some moments to regain sufficient presence of of mind to +follow her. She found her level-headed daughter face downward among the +pillows of her bed, sobbing most humanly. + +Kate sat down beside her and pulled the golden head over into her arms, +where she smoothed and caressed it as she had rarely done since the +girl's babyhood. + +"Now tell mother all about it. What put such a strange idea into your +wise little old pate? Not Jim himself--I'm sure of that." + +"Oh, no!--But it isn't a strange idea," protested the muffled voice from +her lap. "I don't want to be an old maid--" (sniff, sniff). "He hasn't +asked me yet, exactly--but he would if he were quite sure you didn't +want him--" (sob). "And I'm twenty years old, now. I want to be married, +like other women." + +"Only twenty years old!" repeated her mother, gently. + +"Oh, I know it sounds young, but it isn't always as young as it sounds" +said the girl with unconscious pathos. "Look at me, Mother--I'm older +than you, right now! I don't believe I ever was very young." + +"But you may be yet," said Kate. "With your first lover, your first +baby--Ah, child, child, you _must_ not run the risk of marrying without +love! You don't know what love can do to you." + +"Yes, I do," whispered Jemima. + +"What! You can't tell me you're in love with old Jim?" + +The girl sat erect, and propounded certain decided views of hers on love +and marriage as earnestly as if her little nose were not pink with +embarrassed tears, and her eyes swimming with them like a troubled +baby's. + +"Being in love doesn't seem as important to me as it does to some +people. Of course it's necessary, or the world would not go on. There +has to be some sort of glamour to--to make things possible.--But I'm +sure it's not a comfortable feeling to live with, any more than hunger +would be.--Being in love does quite as much harm as good, anyway. Half +the crimes in the world are the result of it, and all the unnecessary +children. I don't want love, Mother! It hurts, and it makes fools of +otherwise intelligent persons. I shouldn't like, ever, to lose my +self-control.--And the feeling doesn't last! Look at you, for instance. +I suppose once you were in love with my father?" + +Kate nodded. + +"And then in a very little while you were in love with--some one else. +Did it make you any happier, all that loving, or any better? I think +not. Only unhappier, in the long run.--No, no, Mother! I don't want it. +I don't want _any_ emotions!"--She spoke with a queer distaste, the same +fastidious shrinking with which she had often watched Jacqueline +cuddling Mag's baby. "I only want to be safe." + +"Marriage isn't always safe, my little girl." + +"Mine will be. That's why I've chosen Professor Jim." + +Kate made a helpless gesture with her hands. "Child, you don't know what +you're giving up! You can't!" + +Jemima swallowed hard. The confession she had to make was not easy. +"Yes, I do. Because I tried love first, to be sure." + +"My dear! You--tried love?" + +"There was a young man--You remember, Jacqueline called him 'the most +beautiful man in the room'? He was very handsome, and--nice to me. +That's why I went to visit Mrs. Lawton, chiefly. I wanted to see more of +him.--Whenever he touched my hand, or even my dress, little shivers ran +up my back. I--I liked it. That's being in love, isn't it? Sometimes we +went driving, in a buggy. Once it was moonlight, and I knew when we +started that something was going to happen.--I meant it to. I flirted +with him." + +"Did you, dear!" murmured the mother, between tears and laughter. "I +didn't suppose you knew how!" + +"Oh, those things come, somehow. I've watched Jacky.--After a while, he +kissed me. But do you know, Mother, that was the end of everything! I +stopped having thrills the minute he did it. His mouth was so--so mushy, +and his nose seemed to get in the way.--Still, I went on flirting. I +wanted to give him every chance.--He didn't kiss me again, though. When +we got home I asked him why that was. He said it was because he +respected me too much." + +She made a scornful gesture, "You see, it's just as I thought! Kisses +and all that sort of thing have nothing to do with respect, with real +liking. And if my own thrills couldn't outlast one moonlight buggy-ride, +they would not do to marry on. It will be better for me to marry on +respect." + +"But poor Jim!" said Kate, unsteadily. "Must he, too, marry on respect?" + +Jemima met her gaze candidly. "Why, no. Men are different, I think, even +intellectual ones. He has thrills. I can feel him having them, when I +dance with him. That's how I knew he wanted me. And I'm rather glad of +it," she finished, her voice oddly kind. + +Kate at the moment could think of nothing further to say. The thing was +incomprehensible to her, appalling, yet strangely touching. This +twenty-year-old girl, groping her way toward safety, that refuge of the +middle-aged, as eagerly as other young things grasp at happiness, at +romance!--She recalled phrases spoken by another startled mother to +another girl quite as headstrong: "You are only a child! He is twice +your age! You don't _know_!" + +She did not give them utterance. What was the use? In this, if in +nothing else, Jemima was her mother's daughter. She would always make +her own decisions. + +The girl went on presently to mention various advantages of the proposed +marriage. + +"Of course Professor Jim is quite rich--Oh, yes, didn't you know that? I +asked him his income, and he told me. With that, and the money you have +promised me, we can travel and see the world, and keep a good house to +come back to. I could do a good deal for Jacqueline, of course. You will +visit us, too, whenever you like. It may be my only chance of getting +away from Storm, you see. I do not meet many young men, and I'm not the +sort they are apt to marry, anyway." + +"Are you so anxious to get away from Storm?" interrupted poor Kate. "You +said you were homesick for us." + +"And will be again, often. But that's a weakness one has to get over. +And then, though I have been happy here, I've been unhappy, too. Lonely +and a little--ashamed, lately." She forgot for the moment to whom she +was speaking. Kate had ceased to be a person, was only "mother" to her, +a warm, enfolding comprehension, such as perhaps children are aware of +before they come to the hour of birth.--"Oh, it _will_ be good to live +among people who don't know, who aren't always staring and whispering +behind their hands about us Kildares!" she sighed. + +Kate forced herself to say, impartially, "Lexington is not far away. I +am afraid there will always be people there who know about us Kildares, +dear." + +"Lexington?" The girl's lip curled. "You don't suppose I shall let my +husband spend the rest of his life in a little place like that! He has +been wasted there too long already, he is a brilliant scholar, Mother, +far more brilliant than people realize, too modest and simple to make +the most of himself. You wait! I'll see to that." + +Kate gave up. She lifted her daughter in her arms, and held her close +for a long moment. + +"You must do whatever you think best, my girl." + +"Yes, Mother. I always do," said Jemima. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +And so Mrs. Kildare had her second interview with a man who wanted, not +herself, but one of her children. It made her feel very old, as if she +were becoming a looker-on at life, almost an outsider. + +Jemima had firmly led her choice to the door of the office and left him +there, with reassuring whispers that were quite audible to the mother +within. It was evident that she was bestowing counsel, and straightening +his tie, and otherwise preparing him for conquest. + +"Well, old Jim?" Kate looked up as he entered with a tremulous smile +that drove from his mind irrevocably the fine speech he had prepared. + +The professor was attired in new and dapper tweeds; the eye-glasses upon +his aristocratic nose had dependent from them a rather broad black +ribbon; and the shirtfront across which it dangled was of +peppermint-striped silk, its dominant color repeated in silk socks +appearing above patent-leather shoes. But dazzling raiment did not seem +to produce in the inner man that careless courage which, as a +psychologist, he had been led to expect. + +"To think of coming to this house, to this room, and asking your +permission to--to marry some one else! Kate," he blurted out, "I never +felt such a fool in all my life!" + +"And you never looked so handsome. Why, Jim, you're a boy again!" She +rose and put her two hands on his shoulders, studying his sensitive, +plain face, forcing his embarrassed eyes to meet hers. "My dear friend, +my dear friend--So after all I am able to give you your happiness," she +said softly, and kissed him for the first time in their acquaintance. + +In such fashion was her consent to his marriage with Jemima asked and +granted; and with it full forgiveness for his treachery to a devotion of +over twenty years. + +They turned their attention hastily away from sentiment to settlements. +Thorpe was astonished by the amount of the dower Kate spoke of settling +upon Jemima. + +"Why, it is a small fortune! How did you make all this money?" + +"Mules," she said. "Also hogs and dairy products, my three specialties. +Mustn't the old horse-breeding Kildares turn over in their graves out +there at the desecration? When I came into the property, I soon saw that +racing stock was a luxury we could not afford, so I used the grass lands +for mules instead. We have been lucky. Storm mules have the reputation +now that Storm thoroughbreds used to have in Basil's day: and they sell +at a far surer profit. + +"Then I sent to an agricultural college for the best scientific farmer +they had, and the best dairyman--a big expense, but they have paid. +Also, we sell our products at city prices, since I persuaded the +railroad to give us a spur here. We've cleared most of the land that +Basil kept for cover, now, and are using every acre of it.--Oh, yes, I +have made money, and I will make more. When I die the girls are going to +be rich. The original Storm property will be divided between them then, +according to Basil's will, you remember." + +"I do remember it," said Thorpe, quietly. "There was another provision +in that will.... The girls will never inherit Storm, my dear, because +some day Benoix will come back to you." + +She looked away out of the window. "I have given up hope, Jim. Months +now, and no word from him. He has gone. Philip thinks so, too.--But you +are right. If he does come, the girls will not inherit, because I shall +marry him. Even if we are old people, I shall marry him." + +She had lifted her head, and her voice rang out as it had rung through +the prison when she cried to her lover that she would wait. + +Thorpe kissed her hand. "And when that happens," he said gently, "I want +you to know that Jemima will understand. I can promise that. I shall +teach my wife to know her mother better." + +She smiled at him, sadly. She suspected that he was promising a miracle +he could not perform, counting upon an influencing factor that did not +exist. "Was he fatuous enough to believe that Jemima loved him? Her +fears for her child's happiness suddenly became fears for the happiness +of this life-long friend. She felt that she must warn him. + +"I wonder if you know just the sort of woman you are marrying, Jim? +Jemima is very intelligent, and like many intelligent people she is a +little--ruthless. Honorable, clear-sighted; but hard. She is more her +father's child than mine. I do not always understand her, but--I do know +that she is not sentimental, Jim dear." + +He touched her hand reassuringly. "She has told me that she is not +marrying me for love, if that is what you are trying to say. She has +given me to understand, quite conscientiously, that she is merely +accepting the opportunities I can offer her--I, a dull, middle-aged, +dyspeptic don in a backwater college!" he chuckled. "But," he added--and +the glow in his eyes was quite boyish--"I have had occasion to observe +in Jemima certain symptoms--a proprietary interest in my belongings, for +instance, my rooms, my welfare, my health, my--er--personal +appearance--which lead me to believe that her regard for me is not +entirely intellectual. In fact, I know rather more about Jemima's inner +workings, so to speak, than she knows herself. One is not a psychologist +for nothing! The--er--the tender passion manifests itself in various +ways. Some women love with their emotions, as it were; some, God bless +them! with their capable hands and brains." + +Kate was deeply touched. "Perhaps you're right, Jim. I hope so, my dear. +I do hope so!" + +Jacqueline received the news of her sister's engagement with shouts of +glee. "What a joke on you, Mummy! _What_ a joke! Old Faithful carried +off under your very nose, by your own child! And Jemmy, of all people! +That's the way she did to that young man at Goddy's party. Good old +Jemmy! When she warms up, I tell you she can trot a heat with the best." + +"Jacky, hush!" Kate laughed despite herself. "You're getting too big to +use that stable-talk. You would suppose Jemima had actually tried to +entice him out of my clutches!" + +"And didn't she, didn't she just? Why, you blessed innocent, she's had +this up her sleeve for some time! I _thought_ she was being mighty +attentive to Goddy, teaching him to dance, and making him ties and +all--only it never occurred to me she'd want--this!--Gracious!" she +said, suddenly grave, "you don't suppose she kisses him, Mummy?" + +"I hope so, dear. Why not? You've kissed him often enough yourself." + +"And shall again, the funny old lamb! But not that way. Ugh!" + +Mrs. Kildare winced to realize how far the education of her youngest had +proceeded without her supervision. + +Jacqueline's volatile thoughts had taken a new direction. "That means +Jemmy is going away to live. 'Way off to Lexington." + +Kate sighed. "Farther than that, if I know Jemima." + +"Then," said the girl, slowly, "when--if--I ever go away, you'd be here +all alone, Mummy!" + +"Mothers expect that, dear. Always we know that some day we shall be +left alone. But we do not mind, we are even glad. We risk our lives to +give life to our children, and we want them to have it all, life at its +fullest. Otherwise we feel that we have been failures, somehow. Breath +is such a small part of life!--So when your time comes, too, my girlie, +you are not to hesitate because of me. Take your future in your two +hands--just as all your many mothers have done before you.--Women have +even less right to show cowardice than men" (it was a favorite theme +with her), "because they have to be the mothers of men, and the maternal +strain is nearly always the dominant--or so Jim Thorpe says--But I don't +believe that you, at least, will ever go very far away from your +mother!" + +She was thinking, of course, of Philip. + +Jacqueline was rather pale. Her eyes dropped. "I'm not so sure. I've +been thinking lately--Mummy, could I possibly go to New York? I'm _so_ +tired of home!" + +Kate was troubled. This restlessness was the first indication she had +noticed that the affair with Channing might have left its effect. But +she said, as if the girl's wish were very natural, "To New York? That's +not impossible. It's a long time since I have been out of the State +myself, and I've been thinking for some time of taking you and Jemmy for +a trip. Suppose we go to New York, all three of us, and buy Jemmy's +trousseau? And we'll take Philip, too--it's always pleasant to have a +man about. We'll have a regular old orgy of theaters and shops and +galleries, such as I used to have sometimes with my father and mother, +years ago. Would that please you?" + +"Oh, it would be wonderful! But--" the girl crimsoned, "that is not +quite what I meant, Mummy darling. When I go to New York, I want to +stay. For years." + +"_Years!_ But why?" + +"To study music. To begin my career." + +Kate sat down in the nearest chair. Since childhood Jacqueline had been +talking at intervals about this career of hers, an ambition varying in +scope from journalism to, more latterly, the operatic stage. It was a +favorite family joke, Jacqueline's career. And here it stared her +suddenly in the face, no longer a joke. Jacqueline was in earnest. + +She watched her mother's face anxiously. "I know it would be horribly +expensive, lessons and all. But we can afford to be expensive, can't +we?" + +Kate's lips set. "We can, but we won't. Not in the matter of careers. +What put this into your head, my girl?" + +"It's always been there, I think. But you remember Mr. Channing spoke to +you--" + +"Ah, yes, Mr. Channing! I do remember; but that is hardly a +recommendation that appeals to me," said Kate, drily. + +"Mr. Channing has heard all the great singers of the world, and knows +them, too." Jacqueline spoke with a firmness new to her. "And if he says +I have a voice, I have. I ought to waste no more time, Mother." + +"I also have a 'voice,' my dear, and I've found it extremely useful +without having recourse to a career." + +"How--useful!" + +"Singing lullabies to my children, for one thing. It did not seem to me +a waste of time--No, no, my girlie, no stage women in this family! We've +been conspicuous enough without that." + +"Would you really mind so very much?" asked Jacqueline, wistfully. + +"So much," answered her mother, smiling but grave, "that I should lock +you into the cellar on a bread-and-water diet, at the first hint of such +a thing! Understand me, I forbid it absolutely. You may put this +nonsense out of your head." + +Kate had rarely occasion to speak to her children in such a tone, and +Jacqueline looked at her, rather frightened. But she said nothing. + +"Why, Jacqueline, little daughter, why should you spend your youth and +your loveliness on a public that will cast you aside like an old glove +when it is worn out? No, no, there's a larger purpose for you in life +than any mere career. Careers are for the women who miss the other +things, and who use in default the best they have. Fame, bah! It does +not outlast a generation--or if it does, you will not know it. What you +have to give will outlast many generations, will never die, will become +part of the muscle and sinew and back-bone of your nation. Sons! Big, +clean, lusty, well-born children!--Why, don't you suppose you and my +clever Jemima--yes, and even my little crippled Katharine--were better +gifts for me to bring the world than a mere passing pleasure in my +voice?--Ah, Jacky, there's just one career open to women like you and +me. You know very well what it is." + +The girl was oddly stirred. When her mother spoke like this, she always +thought, for some reason, of a statue she had never seen, a great bronze +Liberty, with torch aloft, lighting into her safe harbor the ships of +all the world. + +But she said, after a moment, "You put me on a par with Mag Henderson, +Mother. Has she fulfilled the purpose of her creation, then?" + +Kate was startled anew. Jacqueline in the role of thinker was +unexpected. But she answered, honestly as always, "I believe she has. +Nature often makes use of unworthy vessels to accomplish her own +ends--poor little vessels! Mag is waste, perhaps. Her child will not be +waste.--I'll see to that. So the balance of economy is kept.--But you +are no unworthy vessel, Jacqueline, thank God!" + +The girl went to the window and stood looking out, over the garden that +merged into a pasture, and so down gradually into the ravine where the +ruined slave-house stood. + +"Suppose," she asked in a muffled voice, "suppose I couldn't marry? What +then?" + +Kate believed she understood. The affair with Channing had left more of +a hurt than she had realized. Jacqueline, at seventeen, doubtless +considered herself a blighted being.--She controlled the smile that +twitched at her lips, and said cheerfully, "Then you will just have to +be a prop for my declining years. You won't begrudge me a prop, dear? +Surely _you_ don't want to go away from me?" + +The unconscious emphasis on the pronoun went to Jacqueline's heart. She +remembered the day Jemima had shut them out into the world of people who +were not Kildares, she and her mother together.... + +She came back at a run, and plumped herself down on Kate's knees, great +girl that she was, hiding her face in that sheltering breast, holding +her mother tight, tight, as if she could never let her go. + +Kate returned the embrace with interest. She, too, remembered. + +"It will be something bigger than a career that takes you away from your +mother!" she whispered. + +"Something bigger than a career," echoed Jacqueline, clinging closer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +Kate broached the subject of the New York trip at supper that night, but +met with no encouragement whatever from her elder daughter, somewhat to +her surprise. + +"What is the use of buying an expensive trousseau? Mag sews quite well +enough, and anyway I have more clothes now than I know what to do with," +she argued practically. "If you think I haven't enough lingerie and all +that, I can take some of Jacky's. It seems rather mean to desert a man +just as soon as you get engaged to him. Besides, James and I shall be +going to New York next month, on our wedding-trip." + +"Next month?" cried Kate. + +"Why, yes, Mother. There's no use putting it off, I think. James has +been alone so many years; and he certainly needs some one to look after +him. If you could see the pile of perfectly good socks in his closet +that only need a little darning!" She spoke unsentimentally as ever; but +there was a tone in her voice that made her mother give her hand a +little squeeze. + +"Very well, dear. You shall be married to-morrow, if you like." + +"To-morrow is a little soon. Suppose we say three weeks from to-day?" + +Kate gasped, but consented. + +Preparations for the wedding went on apace at Storm, though it was to be +a very quiet affair, not the fashionable ceremony, with bridesmaids and +champagne, for which Jemima's heart privately yearned. + +"I don't know any girls well enough to ask them to be bridesmaids," she +explained wistfully to her fiance, who made a mental note to supply her +with young women friends hereafter, if he had to hire them. + +Nevertheless, it was something of a ceremony. The Madam did not have a +daughter married every day. For days beforehand the negroes were busy +indoors and out, cleaning, painting and whitewashing, exhibiting a +tendency to burst into syncopated strains of Lohengrin whenever Jemima +or the Professor came into view. The kitchen chimney belched forth smoke +like a factory; for though no invitations were sent out, it was +inevitable that the countryside, white and black, would arrive to pay +its respects to the newly wedded, and Big Liza, with an able corps of +assistants, was preparing to welcome them in truly feudal fashion. + +Gifts began to arrive, silver and glass and china from friends of the +Professor and business connections of Mrs. Kildare. A magnificent +service of plate came from Jemima's great-aunt, for whom she was named. +("We must make friends with Aunt Jemima, James," was the bride's +thoughtful comment on the arrival of this present.) Philip could not +afford to buy a handsome enough gift, and so parted with the bronze +candelabra which Farwell had so covetously admired; a sacrifice which +did much to break down the hauteur of the bride's recent manner with +him. She knew how well he loved his few Lares and Penates. + +There were other presentations of less conventional nature. These +Professor Thorpe, whom the panting Ark conveyed nightly from the +university to Storm and back again, eyed with a mixture of interest and +dismay. + +"This suckling pig, now," he murmured. "How are we to accommodate him in +a city apartment, Jemima? And that highly decorative rooster--I fear we +shall have some difficulty in persuading my janitor to accept him as an +inmate. Do you suppose _all_ your mother's tenants will feel called upon +to supply us with livestock?" + +"Oh, no, Goddy! Look at this crazy quilt," chuckled Jacqueline, busily +unwrapping parcels, "It is made of the Sunday dresses of all Mrs. Sykes' +friends and relations. She thought it might remind Jemmy of home. It +will. Oh, it will! You've only to look at it and you'll see the entire +congregation nodding over one of Phil's sermons!" She made a little face +at the cleric, who responded by rumpling her hair. "Then the Housewives' +League mother organized has crocheted enough perfectly hideous lace for +all the sheets and things. Your bed-linen is going to bristle with it +like a porcupine." + +"It's very good of them," said Jemima, reprovingly. "As for the +livestock, James, we can eat it.--Look at this barrel of potatoes, and +these home-cured hams, and all the pickle. Stop laughing at my friends!" + +Thorpe murmured meek apologies. + +The evening before the wedding, Big Liza came striding into the hall +where the family sat assembled, bearing aloft a large round object +wrapped in newspaper. + +"Huh! Look at what dat 'ooman Mahaly had the owdaciosity to bring fo' a +bridal gif'!" she snorted, swelling with indignation. "Reck'n she 'lows +dey ain't nary a cook at Sto'm good enough to make no bride-cake. Allus +was a biggity, uppity piece, dat Mahaly!" + +She placed it on a table, and waddled scornfully out again. + +The professor undid the wrappings in a somewhat gingerly manner. There +was an element of the unexpected about his wedding-gifts which intrigued +curiosity. This time he gave a rather startled exclamation, blushed and +backed away. + +It was a mammoth white cake, which bore, besides certain garlands and +other decorations of a distinctly Cubist tendency, the legend done in +silver candies: FOR THE BABY. + +"D-dear me!" murmured the professor, hastily shrouding it once more in +its wrappings. + +"That means Jemima," smiled Kate. "To Mahaly, Jemmy has always been 'The +Baby.' She nursed her, you know." + +"Nursed me--that mulatto woman who lives in the white people's +neighborhood? I never knew that," said the girl. "How strange! She never +comes here with the other old servants, even at Christmas time, and I've +never gone to see her. Why was I not told?" + +Kate did not answer. + +"Did you have to dismiss her, Mother--was it that? Was she dishonest, or +something of the sort?" + +"No," said Kate, with an odd reluctance. "She was a very good servant in +every way, and perfectly devoted to you and to little Katharine." + +Jemima looked at her in surprise. It was very unlike the Madam to lose +touch with any creature, human or otherwise, who had once faithfully +served her. She waited for an explanation. + +"Mahaly has never come to Storm," said Kate in a low voice, "since your +father's death. She was his servant for many years before I came here." + +"Oh!" said Jemima. The negress had evidently been one of her father's +loyal supporters, resenting what she must have seen at Storm. "I see! In +that case, Mother, I should like to do something for her. People who are +faithful to my father--" + +There was an uncomfortable stir in the room. + +"Mahaly has been given the cottage in which she lives, as a present from +you and little Katharine," interrupted Kate. + +"I am glad of that," said the girl with a certain stateliness. "I was +going to say that people who are faithful to my father must never be +forgotten by his children." + +"Nor by his wife," said Kate, with quiet dignity.... + +Despite the preoccupation of the wedding, Kate did not make the mistake +of neglecting Jacqueline's affairs. She had had her warning. Moreover, +though she would have denied it even to herself, the younger girl had +come to occupy a far larger share of her heart than had even been given +to the self-reliant Jemima. She had felt, lately (and the thought +frightened her) that in watching Jacqueline she was watching her own +youth over again. What possibilities lay in the girl's nature for +strength and weakness, for hot-headed folly, for sacrifice and passion +and unselfish service, she knew as do those who have been the victims of +such natures themselves. Jacqueline, if it were in human possibility to +compass it, should profit by her mother's bitter mistakes. + +She redoubled her vigilance on learning that Channing had after all not +left the vicinity. Philip had passed him one day in one of Farwell's +machines, and hastened to report the encounter at Storm. + +"Perhaps he has come back for your wedding," she said thoughtfully to +Thorpe. + +The Professor's lips closed grimly. "He is not invited to my wedding. J. +Percival and I have, so to speak, severed diplomatic relations. Look out +for him, Kate!" + +Philip, too, was not so certain as she that Channing was keeping to his +promise with regard to Jacqueline. + +But the girl was under her mother's eye all day long, excited as Jemima +herself over the preparations, stitching with unwonted diligence on the +bridal finery, running errands, seeing visitors, happy and busy and +asking nothing better than to be with Kate or her sister whatever they +were about. It was a little touching to both, as if the madcap girl had +suddenly realized that the old companionship of home was about to be +broken up, and wanted to have as much of it as possible. + +There was no hour in the full days when she might have seen Channing, +even had she wished. And Jemima continued to watch her mail with a +hawk's eye. + +Channing's word of honor not to communicate with the girl would have +seemed, in itself, an insufficient safeguard to Kate, had not her +knowledge of men reassured her. She believed that her daughter was not +the type to arouse more than a passing interest in such a man as +Channing. Her beauty, her flattered response to his attentions, her +fresh, unsophisticated charm of gaiety, might well appeal to him for a +time, adding the fillip of the unaccustomed to a jaded palate. But it +was an appeal that must be constantly renewed, that would not outlast +any continued absence. She believed that Channing, while he would accept +with eagerness whatever good thing came to his hand, was too indolent +and too self-centered to overcome many obstacles in the pursuit of a +fancy. + +Jacqueline herself was reassuring, too. Her manner of receiving the news +of Channing's perfidy had showed her no stranger to the Kildare pride. +She seemed to regard the affair as a closed incident. + +"Do you think," said Kate proudly to Philip, "that my daughter would +care to have anything to do with the man, now that she knows his utter +unworthiness?" + +"It is just possible that she was attracted to Channing by other +qualities than worthiness," commented Philip. "Weakness, for instance. +Women have been attracted by weakness before this." + +"Phil, Phil," Kate laughed, "you are an 'elderly young man,' as Jacky +says! Almost as elderly and wise as our Jemima. Stop croaking and come +and see the new wedding garments Mag is putting on my old chairs." + +She flung an affectionate arm about him, and led him indoors, his heart +beating too hard and suddenly to make further speech possible just +then.--Yet there was much he wished to say, and not about Jacqueline. +These wedding preparations stirred certain yearnings in his breast, +certain eager hopes. It seemed to him that his lady was warmer lately, +more approachable, more present, somehow. Was she, too, stirred by all +this thought and talk of marriage? It was hard to wait patiently. Yet he +was too good a horseman to rush his fences. + +Mag on her knees, her mouth full of pins, was cleverly fitting slips of +gay-flowered cretonne over the masculine chairs and sofas, assisted, or +at least not hindered, by Jacqueline. + +"The old hall won't know itself, will it?" cried the latter, waving them +a welcome. "All got up in ruffles and things, looking as frivolous as +the lion in the circus with a bow on his tail!" + +She ran after her disappearing mother with some question, and Philip, +finding himself alone with Mag, was reminded of a certain duty he had to +perform. + +He stood a moment gazing down at her, she so intent upon her labors that +she did not notice he was there. As always, the pathos of the girl moved +him strongly; so young she was to be already one of life's failures, so +helplessly a victim of early environment. Believed from care and +hardship, well-fed and well-clothed and sheltered, she had grown sleek +and soft and pretty as a petted kitten, and there should have been a +look of content about her which he missed. Her mouth drooped a little, +and now and then a visible shadow crossed her face. + +He sighed. Rumor was once again busy with the name of Mag Henderson. +Sometimes Philip wearied of his job as the neighborhood's spiritual +policeman. + +He asked gently: "Mag, you're not happy here at Storm?" + +She looked up with a start. "Why--I didn't know no one was there! Why, +yes, sir. They're real good to me and baby here." + +"And you like your work, don't you?" + +Again he noticed the shadow on her face. "I reckon so--as well as I'd +like any work." People were always frank with Philip. "A gal gits kind +o' tired of workin' all the time, though. I make dresses and trim hats +for most of the ladies round about, now, and they pay me good, too. +But...." + +"But it's all work and no play, eh?" + +"That's it," she said, grateful for his understanding. "I don't never +have no fun. I ain't got no gen'leman friends, nor nothing. What's the +use of havin' good clothes, and lookin' pretty and all, ef you don't get +to go somewhere so that folks kin see you? I'm _tired_ of bein' looked +down on," she complained fretfully. "I ain't got a friend on this place +'cep'n Miss Jacky, and now she--" + +Mag stopped short. Philip wondered what she had been about to say, but +he was too good a confessor to force confidences. + +"You've always got the Madam," he said. + +"Yes, but she don't care nothing about _me_. She's kind enough, but so's +she kind to any cur dog that comes along. What am I to her?" + +"You've got your baby, Mag." + +But the childish, fretful face did not soften. "Babies are more trouble +than company to a person. Besides, she likes Miss Jacky now bettern't +her own mammy. She cries to go to her from me.--It's fun I want, like +other gals. Everybody, it seems like, has fun but me, even the niggers. +Parties, and picnics, and weddin's and all--Oh, my, but don't I _wisht_ +I was Miss Jemmy!" + +Evidently the wedding preparations had stirred longings in more hearts +than Philip's. + +"Even if she is marryin' an old man an' a cast-off beau of her ma's, +look at the ring he give her! A di'mon' big as my thumb-nail. She let me +put it on my finger once, and it looked grand. Oh, my, I'd do 'most +anything for a ring like that!" + +"Would you, really, Mag?" he asked curiously, wondering at the +fascination shining bits of stone possess for women far more civilized +than this little savage. "Do you think a diamond ring would make you any +happier?" + +"In co'se it would," she said, impatiently. + +"Why?" + +"Oh, I dunno--it would make me look prettier, I expect." + +He said, kindly: "You do not need to look any prettier. You are quite +pretty enough, as it is." + +Her whole expression changed. She gave him a conscious upward glance. +"Am I? Why, Mr. Philip, I never thought a preacher'd notice how a gal +looked!" + +It told him all and more than he wanted to know. He continued to meet +her gaze with grave eyes, and after a moment her own dropped. + +"'T ain't much use bein' pretty round here," she muttered. "The city's +the place for pretty gals." + +"Who told you that? The drummer I saw you talking with behind the +village store a few days ago?" + +She tossed her head. "Well, what if it was? I got the right to pass the +time o' day with a fellow, ain't I? You'd suppose I was in prison!" + +Philip sought out his lady again with a troubled heart. "Sorry to croak +any more at this busy time, but Mag will bear watching. She's been seen +about with men once or twice lately." + +Kate sighed with exasperation. "'Give a dog a bad name.' I shall have to +acquire the hundred eyes of Argus to keep up with my household nowadays, +it seems!" + +It was not the first warning that had come to her about her protegee. +Big Liza, for years her confidential friend and ally, had said to her +one day: "Dat white gal ain't keerin' so much about de chile no mo', +Miss Kate. She's allus a-leavin' her with me, ef Miss Jacky ain't got +her. Gawd He knows I ain't complainin' about havin' a chile aroun', +seein' as how I done raise nine of my own, right heah under ma kitchen +stove, like so many little puppy-dawgs. But dey wuz cullud chillun, an' +dat's diffunt. Is dishyer hot kitchen any place to raise up a w'ite +chile in? Now I ax you! 'Pears to me like dat gal don' keer for nothin' +no mo' but traipsin' down to de sto' an' gallivantin' roun' de roads wid +her fine clo'es on. She ain't no better'n a yaller nigger gal!" + +Kate asked reluctantly (she did not take kindly to spying), "Have you +ever seen her with men, Liza?" + +The black woman compressed her lips. "No'm, Miss Kate, I ain't nebber +prezackly _seed_ 'em--but laws, honey, dat kin' ob goin's-on don't aim +to be seed!" + +Now that she had a more definite rumor to go by, Kate said sorrowfully +to Philip, "You told me it was a mistake to bring her here in the first +place. It seems to me I make a great many mistakes!" She sighed again. + +"At least," said he, "they are the sort of mistakes that will get you +into heaven." + +She laughed mirthlessly. "You always talk, you clergymen, as if you had +special advices from heaven in your vest-pockets!" + +But she was comforted, nevertheless. She would have found it hard to do +without Philip's steady adulation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +The night after the wedding proved to be for Kate Kildare one of the +_nuits blanches_ that were becoming common with her in the past few +weeks. For many years the cultivated habit of serenity had carried her +through whatever crises came into her life, following her days of +unremitting labor with nights of blessed oblivion. But lately she found +herself quite often waking just before daylight, with that feeling of +oppression, that blank sense of apprehension, that is the peculiar +property of "the darkest hour." + +This night she occupied her brain as soothingly as possible with details +of the wedding; smiling to remember the unaccustomed frivolity of the +old hall, which the negroes had decorated with flowers and ribbons +placed in all likely and unlikely places. Every antler sported its bow +of white; the various guns which hung along the walls, as they had hung +in the days of Basil's grandfather, each trailed a garland of blossoms; +even the stuffed racehorse was not forgotten, so that he appeared to be +running his final race with Death while incongruously munching roses. + +Jacqueline as bridesmaid was, oddly enough, the only one of the +wedding-party who seemed in the least upset. She was white as a sheet +and trembling visibly, and when Philip greeted Jemima formally as "Mrs. +Thorpe," she suddenly burst into tears, and refused to be comforted. + +"He's so _old_!" she sobbed on her mother's shoulder. "Oh, poor Blossom! +He's so _old_!" + +Yet the bridegroom had looked to Kate's eyes amazingly young; and as he +stood gazing down at the exquisite little white-clad figure beside him, +there was such an expression of pride in his face, of incredulous, +reverent happiness, that it was all his new mother-in-law could do to +keep from kissing him before the ceremony was over. + +Jemima herself was as calm as might have been expected; perhaps calmer. +At the critical moment, when Philip's grave voice was beginning: "Dearly +beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God"--the bride +was heard to murmur to her attendant, "Jacky, pull my train out +straight." Thereafter, she fixed her eye upon a certain flintlock rifle +over the mantel-piece, which had won the first Kentucky Kildare his way +into the virgin wilderness, and went through the ceremony with the +aplomb of a general directing his forces into battle. The mother +wondered what the girl was thinking of, staring so fixedly at the old +rifle. Perhaps she was vowing to be worthy of it in the new wilderness +she was about to tread. + +Afterwards for an hour or so Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe had graciously received +the uninvited guests of both colors who had come "to see the bride off." +Then the two sisters went upstairs together to change into the +going-away dress; and Kate, presently following, found Jemima alone. + +"I thought you would come, Mother. That's why I sent Jacky away." + +Kate, a little tremulous herself, had counted upon the bride's composure +to carry the day; but behold! it was suddenly a thing of the past. She +ducked her head and ran into her mother's arms as if she were trying to +hide from something, breathless, panic-stricken; and Kate soothed her +silently with tender hands. + +Presently Jemima whispered in a queer little voice, "Mother? Now that we +are both married women, tell me--Was my father--was my father good to +you?" + +"My little girl! You need never worry about Jim's being good to you." + +"Oh, Jim--of course!--I'm not thinking of him, I'm thinking of you. +If--if my father was not good to you, I can understand--I see--" + +Then Kate realized what she was trying to say. This cold, proud child of +hers was willing to give up her pride in her father, if so be she might +hold fast again to the old faith in her mother. + +The temptation was great, but Kate put it from her. She could not rob +dead Basil of his child's respect. + +"You must never blame your father, dear, for any weakness of mine," she +said, steadily. + +But the girl still clung to her, whispering another strange thing. +"Often, when I am half awake, I remember some one--Not you, Mother. Some +one with a deep laugh, whose coat feels smooth on my cheek--who used to +toss me up in the air, and play with me, and pet me if I was frightened. +I always want to cry when he goes.--Is that my father, Mother?" + +A pulse beat thickly in Kate's throat. She had some difficulty in +answering. "Perhaps. Who knows? A baby's dreams, dear. But cling to +them, cling to them--" + +She knew very well it was not Jemima's father, but the man who should +have been her father, Jacques Benoix. So, after all, the first loves of +life are not forgotten, even by Jemimas.... + +Lying there, despite the depressing hour, content stole over her; a +feeling that all was well with her elder child, at least. + +She turned her thoughts to Jacqueline. There, too, things were going +better. None of Philip's growing interest and tenderness for his little +playmate had escaped her notice. Motherwise, she exaggerated these into +symptoms of greater import. Blunderer that she was, she had at least +managed to bring the child safe through the perils of a first passion, +that rock upon which so many young lives wreck, even as hers had +wrecked. In the rebound from the affair with Channing, the girl could +not fail to appreciate the superior charm of Jacques' big and simple +son, who was so much like Jacques himself. She was sure that Jacqueline +already loved Philip without suspecting it. Women ere this have loved +two men at once. + +Then, as suddenly as pain that has been waiting for the first motion on +the part of its victim to pounce, the apprehension she had been fighting +came back upon her, twofold.--_Was_ she so certain? And had she not in +her blundering life been certain of too many things? That she would be a +true wife to Basil Kildare, for instance; that she could justify Jacques +before the world; that at least she might atone to him for all he had +lost through her. And in each of these things she had been wrong. She, +with all her boast of efficiency, she the successful Mrs. Kildare of +Storm, what was she in the end but a failure--a wife whose husband had +not trusted her, a woman who had ruined her lover's life, a mother whose +daughter married without love, to get away from her? + +She wondered, as at all such moments, what was the purpose for which she +had been created; or whether there had indeed been a purpose. This +humanity that takes itself so seriously, may it be after all only a +superior sort of spider-egg, hatching out in due season, spinning busy +webs for the world to brush away, laying other eggs, and so on, _ad +infinitum_? Perhaps the God of simple people, such as her mother and +Philip Benoix and Brother Bates, the God upon whom she herself called at +times because of the force of early habit--perhaps He was only +life-principle--the warmth of the sun, for instance--an impersonal, +intangible something which started the universe as one winds a clock, +and left it to go on ticking till the mechanism runs down.... Good or +bad, wise or foolish--what difference? Spin our webs no matter how +carefully, they are only gossamer, visible for a moment with the dew or +the frost upon them and then--vanished. Human and spider alike, unnoted, +innumerable, self-perpetuating.... + +Poor Kate Kildare! When natures such as hers lose their self-reliance, +life becomes as unsubstantial as an opium dream. If they cannot count +upon themselves, what then may they count upon? + +She jumped out of bed, and went to the window, where she stood for a +while in the cold starlight, letting the wind blow in across her +feverish face. She wrapped blankets around her, and sat listening to the +sounds of the sleeping country; an owl mournfully hooting, a premature +cock crowing lustily, the drowsy whickering of horses stirring in their +stalls; for it was two o'clock, and the countryside was beginning to +dream of day. She stayed for a long while brooding over the land she +loved, as over a sleeping child. Always the great out-of-doors had its +balm for her.... + +Suddenly she sat erect. In the shadows back of the stables something had +moved. One of the dogs, perhaps? Then out into the starlight, crossing +rapidly toward the house, flitted the slight figure of a girl, with +several of the dogs leaping and gamboling about her in a silence that +showed her to be no stranger. She was shrouded in a long hooded cape, +and passed out of Kate's range too quickly lo be recognizable. + +"Now which of the wenches was that?" thought Kate, frowning. The amorous +adventures of their black servants have come to be accepted by Southern +housekeepers with unenquiring philosophy. "But why was she coming to the +house at this hour?" she wondered further. + +The negroes had their quarters well at the back, and no one slept in the +"great house" with Kate and her daughters, except the housewoman, Ella, +too elderly for midnight adventure, and Mag Henderson, who with her baby +occupied a room in the guest-wing, under the Madam's immediate +supervision. + +She listened acutely. Her bedroom door rattled a little in the draught +of another door which opened and closed. She heard an unmistakable +creaking of the back stairs that led to a hall behind her room and the +girls' rooms, and which also led to the guest-wing. + +"It's Mag!" she thought. + +In the morning, anxious and distressed, she hurried to consult Philip. +He shrugged. "I'm not surprised, but I honestly don't know how to advise +you, Miss Kate. I never wanted you to take her to Storm, but now that +she's there, I suppose only the devil himself would get her away from +you." + +"It looks as if the devil were going to have a try at it," she +commented, grimly. + +"Are you perfectly sure it was Mag?" + +"No, I'm not. It was too dark to see her face, and she was wrapped in a +big cape.--Now that I come to think of it, it was the cape we always +keep hanging by the side door for whoever happens to be going out. None +of the negroes would dare to put that on. So it must have been Mag." + +"At least we must be definitely sure before we say anything to her. It +is a delicate matter. Sometimes a lack of trust at the wrong moment.--Be +very sure, Miss Kate!" + +"I'll watch to-night. Perhaps the poor little fool will try to slip off +again." + + * * * * * + +Midnight found the Madam seated at her dark window, dressed and fully +prepared for any emergency--except that she happened to be asleep. Black +coffee had not been sufficient to offset the treacherously soothing +effect of a rain-laden breeze full of soft earth-odors, that blew across +her eyelids. She might have slept there placidly till morning, had not a +clap of thunder awakened her with a start. + +The night had become very tense and still. The trees seemed to hold +themselves rigid, as if they listened for something. Now and then, +lightning stabbed viciously through the dark. Beneath her the old house +creaked, bracing itself once more to meet the onslaught of its life-long +enemy, the wind. Far away across the plateau came a faint rushing sound, +that grew in volume rapidly. Once again the thunder boomed. + +Kate rose, yawning. "No amorous adventures for Mag to-night, that's +certain! It's going to be the first big storm of the season. There's +bite as well as bark in that sky." + +But at the moment, a flash of lightning showed her a slight girl's +figure running, not toward, but away from the house. + +Kate was startled. "It's serious then, poor silly creature, if she goes +out on a night like this!" For Mag had even more than the usual +cowardice of her class. Thunder-storms reduced her to abject terror. + +For a moment Kate thought of following, before she realized the folly of +the idea. How could she hope to catch so fleet a pair of heels, already +lost in the darkness? Then a faint cry came to her, the sound of a child +wailing forlornly. + +She slipped out into the passage, careful not to wake Jacqueline. +Whatever was to be done with Mag, one duty lay plain before her--to +comfort the deserted baby. + +She opened Mag's door without knocking.--The baby was not deserted. Mag +herself stood at the window in her nightdress, cringing from the +lightning, and wringing her hands and weeping. The baby wept in +sympathy. + +When she saw who had entered, Mag ran forward with a terrified cry, and +fell on her knees, clinging to Kate's skirts as a dog crouches against +its master to escape a beating. + +"'T ain't my fault, 't ain't my fault! I done begged her not to go +to-night, I done prayed her, Miss Kate! Oh, oh, look at that lightnin'! +She'll be kilt!" + +"What are you talking about? Pull yourself together, Mag!" Even then the +truth did not dawn on Kate. She thought she must have been the victim of +some optical illusion. Mag had to tell her in so many words. + +"Miss Jacky's gone to meet her fella again, and I _know_ she's goin' to +git kilt!" + +Kate reeled against the wall. "Again?" she whispered. + +"I done begged her not to, no more. I knowed he'd git her into trouble +if she kep' it up.--Oh, I helped 'em, and toted notes for 'em, an' all, +'cause I liked to see her so happy--but I didn't never think it would +come to this! I'd 'a' tol' you if I dared, Miss Kate, but I dassent, I +dassent. She liked me--she kissed me once. Oh, oh, and now she's gone!" + +Kate forced her stiff lips into speech. "This--has been going on for +some time?" + +"Yes'm, right smart. Ever since he was sick here. I took'n him a letter +from her the day he went away." + +Even in that moment, Kate's whirling brain did Channing justice. He had +kept his word, the letter of it, at least. He had not sought Jacqueline. +It was she who had sought him. + +She was getting back her breath. "Now," she said, "where shall I find +them?" + +Mag's wails broke forth anew. "I dunno! Reckon it's too late. Oh, my +Lordy! I took'n her bag to the Ruin before supper, and he was to come +for her there at midnight. Reckon it's past that now. They've done +gone!" + +"Gone?" The word was a gasping cry. "Gone--where?" + +"I dunno. The city, I reckon, or wherever he lives at.--Oh, my Gawd, +lissen at that!" The wind struck the house a great buffet, and the +thunder was rattling steadily as artillery now. + +Kate's knees refused to support her. She held herself upright by +clinging to the bed. + +The sight of the Madam thus stricken and speechless sobered Mag out of +her own fears. She bethought herself suddenly of the letter Jacqueline +had left for her mother. + +"Here! Maybe it says in the letter where she's gone at. Don't look that +way, Miss Kate! I wa'n't to give you the letter till mornin', but here +it is. You kin have it now, see, Miss Kate!" + +Only a few sentences of the long, incoherent screed in her hand +penetrated to Kate's brain. + + I can't bear to leave you, I just can't bear it; but I love him so, + Mummy!--He needs me, and you don't. He can't finish his book + without me.--We're going abroad, and I'll study my singing while he + writes. Some day you'll be proud of your little girl--You said when + the time came to take my life in my two hands, and it's come. You + know it is not his fault that we can't be married right away--but + what does all that matter? You'll be the first to understand, + because I'm doing just what you would have done for Philip's + father, if it hadn't been for us children. I know! I understand you + so well, darling Mummy. I'm your own child.--We're not niggardly + lovers, you and I! We're not afraid to give all we have-- + +Kate uttered a hoarse exclamation, and dropped the letter. Her moment of +helplessness had passed. She ran down stairs, two steps at a time, Mag +at her heels. She jerked open the side door, and was almost driven from +her feet by a great gust of driving rain. It was Mag who wrapped around +her the first cloak that came to hand, the big, hooded cape Jacqueline +had worn the night before, Kate stopped for nothing except to seize the +rawhide whip which hung on its accustomed nail beside the door. + +"What you goin' to do with that?" gasped Mag. + +"My pistols are upstairs," muttered the other. + +Mag stood at the door as long as she could, catching glimpses as the +lightning flashed of a shrouded, hooded figure running with the wind, +fast, fast, like some wild witch abroad upon the elements. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +It seemed to Kate presently, as she ran, that the wind was a friend, +trying to help her. The driving rain on her face cleared her brain. Even +the lightning was a friend, for without it she could not have seen a +foot of her way ahead in the blackness. + +Each time it flashed she stared about her, hoping to catch sight of +Jacqueline. Suddenly she lifted up her voice and prayed aloud: "God, if +You are up there, if there really is a You, now's Your chance to prove +it! You hear me, God?" It was more a challenge than a prayer. + +She knew that the girl had perhaps twenty minutes' start of her, but she +might yet overtake her, and in this storm Channing might well be late. +She slipped as she started down the ravine, and fell and rolled half +way, bruising herself on tree roots and boulders, the wet grass soaking +her to the skin.--No matter, it lost her no time. She fought her way +through dripping, clinging underbrush to the ruins of the slave-house. +The lightning showed it empty.--Could she have passed Jacqueline somehow +in the darkness? She dared not wait to see, but ran on into the lane +beyond. Nobody was in sight. + +"I am too late!" she moaned, wringing her hands. "What shall I do now?" + +She was convinced that Channing had already come for Jacqueline. She +started running down the road, as if she might overtake the automobile +on foot. + +If she had waited at the cabin for a second lightning flash, she could +not have failed to notice the traveling-bag left by Mag beside the door. +Jacqueline, slipping into one of the stables to escape the first brunt +of the storm, had lingered a moment to say good-by to her friends the +horses; and it was at that moment that her mother passed. Kate had +reached the Ruin first. + +But she did not know it. When at the turn of the road she saw the glare +of a headlight, she thought, "He's got her!" She was nearly exhausted by +this time, too dazed to realize that the machine was approaching, not +leaving, Storm. She gripped her rawhide whip and stepped directly into +the path of the automobile. + +It swerved violently, and came to a stand not a foot from her. + +"Good God, Jacqueline! I almost ran you down," cried Channing. "Quick, +jump in. You must be soaked to the bone, you plucky little darling!" + +Quick as thought, Kate pulled open the door of the tonneau and slipped +in behind. His mistake had stimulated her failing wits. Let him think +her Jacqueline as long as possible! She choked back a laugh of rising +excitement. + +"You're wise--it's drier there than in front. Gad, what a storm! I was +almost afraid it would scare you off. But I might have known better!" + +Kate, listening acutely, detected a rather odd expression about the last +words, and wondered suddenly whether Jacqueline's nonappearance might +not have been something of a relief to Mr. Channing. Her eyes glittered, +and she drew the shrouding hood closer about her face. + +He had started the engine, and was turning the machine around. So far he +had given her no opportunity to speak, and had to shout himself to be +heard above the noise of the engine and the storm. + +"We're going to have a run for it. I've arranged to have the 12:45 stop +a second to take us on, and I'm late--This damned wind!" + +The powerful car leaped forward. On two wheels it made the turn of the +road, full into the teeth of the storm. Channing bent over his wheel. +"Plenty of time to talk afterwards. Hold on tight!" His voice blew back +to her, faint in the roar of the blast. + +Kate settled back for the wild ride with a smile on her face, just such +a grim, gay little smile as her daughter had worn when she led her +cavalry charge against the Night Riders. She was secure from discovery +for a few precious moments; while back there at the mouth of the ravine +the real Jacqueline waited, bag in hand, anxious, crying a little +perhaps, watching for a lover who would not appear.--Let her cry! She +was safe there, safe with the friendly storm, the wind, the rain, and +the lightning that do nothing worse than kill. + +Far away across the wide plateau before them sounded the shrill whistle +of a train. It shot into sight, a long, slim, glittering thing, flying a +pennant of fiery smoke. Kate laughed exultingly. She never heard these +trains shrieking their way through the darkness without a shuddering +memory of her night of vigil in Frankfort, listening for the one which +was to carry away her child, and which had taken instead the man she +loved better than any child. She was a little beyond herself now, a +little _exaltee_, as the French say, with the excitement of the moment; +and it seemed to her that the approaching train was an old enemy upon +whom she was about to be avenged by robbing it of its prey. + +"Hurry, hurry!" she cried, leaning forward, forgetting in her excitement +that she must not speak. + +Charming laughed back over his shoulder. "You joy-rider! We're doing the +best we can now--but we'll make it." + +They drew up at the platform just as the train paused, a grinning porter +waiting on the step with his box. + +"Got your bag? Run for it," cried Channing, and followed through the +pelting rain with his own luggage. + +The train started even as the chuckling porter helped her on. + +"Stateroom fo' N'Yawk,--yessir, yessir! Right in dis way, miss. I done +seed you-all comin'. You suttinly did tek yo' foot in yo' han' an' +trabbel--yessir! yes, _suh_!" + +"Lord, what a run!" Channing was saying behind her. "I left the engine +going, too--old Morty will be furious when he finds her! You must be wet +as an otter in spite of that great cape.--Well, little sweetheart, here +we are! Let 's--" + +He stopped short. Kate had turned, slipping the cape from her +shoulders.--There they were, indeed. The train sped on, gathering speed +with each mile. + +She began to laugh, softly at first, then more and more heartily, till +her whole body shook and the tears streamed down her face. The +romance-loving porter, listening outside, chuckled in sympathy. Channing +essayed a sickly smile. + +She stopped as suddenly as she had begun, and a silence fell. + +Channing broke it, of course. It was his misfortune in moments of +emergency always to become chatty. + +"You have taken me by surprise, really!--I--I didn't recognize you at +first. That cape--Look here, this isn't entirely my fault. You must know +that! I meant to keep my word, I tried to. But Jacqueline would insist +upon seeing me to--to prove that she trusted me. I _told_ her it +wouldn't do. She said she had made no promise.--Oh, hang it all, how +could I help myself, with the girl throwing herself at my head like +that? I'm no anchorite." + +"No?" murmured Kate. + +"No, certainly not! That is.--Look here, it's not what you think at all! +I've been meeting her at night--it was the only way we could manage. But +I _am_ a gentleman, you know." + +"Yes?" murmured Kate. + +He tried again, perspiring freely. "This looks bad, I know, but I assure +you--Jacqueline understands that I mean to marry her as soon as things +are definitely settled. She understands me absolutely, the only woman, +perhaps, who ever has. She has temperament herself. Why, that's the +reason I consented to take her away," he continued eagerly, gaining +confidence from the other's silence. "She really ought to have her +training for opera. You don't realize what a voice it is, Mrs. Kildare! +I could offer her certain opportunities, lessons abroad, introductions, +a career, in fact--" + +"And meanwhile you were going to act as her protector?" broke in Kate. + +"Why--why, yes. Exactly!" + +The faintest smile just lifted her lip. "From yourself?" she murmured. + +Channing's eyes dropped. He would have given years of his life to meet +without flinching that little smile. "I repeat, I would have married +Jacqueline as soon as it was possible." He spoke with an effort for +quiet dignity that was not convincing, even to himself; perhaps because +he noticed just then, for the first time, the dog-whip which Mrs. +Kildare was twisting and untwisting in her strong fingers. + +"I suppose that dream is over now," he added sadly--a little hastily. + +"I think we may safely say," she admitted, "that that dream is over." + +He could not lift his eyes from those slender, muscular fingers. Across +his too-vivid imagination had flashed Farwell's picture of the Madam +going to the rescue of her fighting negroes. A little shudder went down +his back. He wondered what he should do if she suddenly attacked him. +Could he lay his hands upon a woman? Should he call for help? Must he +simply stand there and let her--whip him?... + +At that moment a whistle sounded, and the train began to slow down for a +station. To his almost sick relief, Mrs. Kildare drew her cape about her +shoulders. "I get off here," she said. + +He rushed into speech. "Will you please tell Jacqueline how miserably +sorry I am--how I regret--" + +She cut him short. "I will tell Jacqueline nothing, and neither will +you. All this"--she waved an inclusive hand about the stateroom--"_it +never happened_." + +"What! You mean--she is to believe I did not come for her?" + +"Exactly. You have disappeared. And without any explanations to +anybody." + +"But, Mrs. Kildare! Good Lord! What will she think of me?" + +"That you have simply broken your word again; which," said Kate, "is +what I intend her to think. She shall not be further humiliated by the +knowledge that there has been--an audience." + +He began to understand. Kate knew her daughter. Pride was to be called +to the rescue, and he himself would play a very sorry part hereafter in +the memory of Jacqueline. + +"But, Mrs. Kildare!" his vanity protested. "Really, I can't--" + +His eyes dropped again, as if magnetized, to that twisting whip. + +The author was not of the material out of which he created his heroes. +He had a dread, an acute physical dislike, of what is called "a +scene."--Very well! (he thought); if it helped poor, dear little +Jacqueline to remember him as a cowardly wretch, as the sort of +ungentlemanly villain of the piece who made engagements to elope with +young women and then broke them--very well, let her so remember him. + +Also, the thought occurred to him that if no explanations were to be +made to any one, Philip Benoix would perhaps never hear of the thing he +had tried and failed to do this night. For some odd reason, not entirely +connected with the pistol he had seen in the clergyman's pocket, +Channing wanted to be remembered as pleasantly as possible by Philip +Benoix. + +He sighed. "I see! You mean that Jacqueline shall learn to hate me.--As +you wish, of course. I will make no explanations. I give you my word of +honor never to write to her, or--" + +"Your word of honor!" For one moment he met the full blast of the scorn +in Kate's eyes, before his own fell again. "Never mind promises, sir. It +will be to your advantage, Mr. Channing, to keep out of my way. +Hereafter I take care of my own!" + +For the first time her gaze followed his to the whip in her hands, and +once more she burst out laughing; clear, ringing laughter that wakened +half the car. + +"Just a dog-whip," she explained from the door, reassuringly. Her voice +was never sweeter. "I find after all that I shall not need it, you poor +little prowling tomcat!--Good-by." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +A rather watery sun was just showing over the tree-tops when Mrs. +Kildare dismissed at her door the automobile she had commandeered, +hoping to slip into the house unnoticed. But the dogs betrayed her. They +were lingering hopefully about the kitchen door, with an eye on Big +Liza, already up and about, for the Madam permitted no shiftless habits +at Storm; and the sound of wheels brought them barking to the front of +the house. Big Liza's curiosity was aroused, and she followed. + +"My Lawdy, Miss Kate! whar you bin at?" she demanded, round-eyed. "You +look lak a ghos', you sholy does!" + +The Madam put her finger on her lip. "Business--I don't want it +mentioned, Liza. You understand?" + +The cook nodded importantly, pursing up her mouth. There is no safer +confidante, as a rule, than a negro servant. The race is very amenable +to the flattery of being trusted, and not too inquisitive about the +doings of a superior order of beings. Kate had no fears with regard to +Liza. It was Mag who bothered her. + +The girl, who had not slept that night, met her at the foot of the +stairs, looking terrified. "Oh, Miss Kate, whatever happened? Miss Jacky +done come back an hour ago, and she's up in her room cryin' fit to break +her heart. You--ain't _killed_ him?" she whispered. It did not seem an +unlikely question to ask of that white, set face with its burning eyes. + +Kate drew her into the office and shut the door. "What have you told +her?" she demanded. + +"Who, Miss Jacky? I ain't told her nothin'. I didn't git a chance." + +"Thank God!" murmured the mother. + +All the way home her head had been spinning like a top with plans for +keeping Jacqueline from knowing of her interference. + +"She came in all wet and lookin' so queer!--No'm, she wa'n't cryin' +then, but she looked kind o' pinched and old-like. She didn't say +nothin' to me, except ask for the letter she done left for you, and when +I give it to her, she thanked me that pretty way she has, for bein' so +good to her.--Me, _good_ to her! when I'd gone and told, and +everything!" Mag began to blubber. + +"Telling," muttered Kate, "was the one good thing you did for her.--What +then?" + +"Why, she went in her room an' locked the door, and when I axed through +the keyhole didn't she want somethin' hot to drink, 'cause she was so +wet, she said no, just let her alone, and please not to wake her up for +breakfas' 'cause she might have a headache." + +Kate's face softened. "Poor child! If it's nothing worse than a +headache!--Now, then, my girl, I want to tell you what your 'goodness' +might have done for Jacqueline." Her voice became harder and sterner +than Mag had ever heard it. "Should you like to see her such a creature +as you were before I brought you here, hunted, looked down upon, ashamed +to face people--the kind of woman that the Night Riders try to drive out +of decent communities?" + +The girl cowered away from her. "Miss Jacky like _me_? Oh, she couldn't +be, not ever! She's a lady," she cried piteously. "Her fella would have +married her--you'd 'a' made him!" + +"He could not, as it happens. He would have turned her, perhaps, into +just such an outcast as you were, and you helping him! This is the +return you have made me for my charity, Mag Henderson!" + +The girl crouched with her face hidden, as if she expected a beating. "I +didn't know, I didn't know!" she moaned. "I just wanted her to be happy +with her fella--What you goin' to do with me, Miss Kate?" + +"God knows," said the other bitterly. + +Mag caught at her skirts, lifting her face in abject pleading. "Whatever +you does to me, don't send little Kitty away! Don't git a mad on the +baby! Say you won't, Miss Kate, say you won't!" + +"Nonsense!" Kate spoke more gently. "Nobody's going to 'do' anything to +you, or to the baby, either. I suppose you cannot help your ignorance. +That's our job.--But it is evident that you can't be trusted." + +"Yes'm, I kin!" sobbed the girl, childishly. "Yes'm, I kin, too! Just +you try me." + +"Very well, I'll try you." Kate made a quick decision. "Listen to me, +Mag! It was I who met Mr. Channing and--persuaded him to go away. But +Jacqueline does not know this, and she must never know it. I will not +have my girl shamed before her mother. She must think he went off of his +own accord, because he was afraid to take her.--Do you understand?" + +Mag nodded, sniffling. + +"You are to say nothing of what has happened to-night, either to +Jacqueline or to any one else. You have been sound asleep all night! Do +you hear?" + +"But supposin'," said Mag fearfully, "supposin' Miss Jacky axes me +questions?" + +"Then you must lie. You know how to do that, I suppose!" said Kate, with +some impatience. + +As it happened, that was one thing Mag Henderson did not know how to do, +certainly not with the clear, candid eyes of Jacqueline upon her. But an +alternative occurred to her, and she made her promise. + +"I won't never tell, I won't never tell nobody, Miss Kate, cross my +heart and hope to die!" + +"Very well, then." Mrs. Kildare was rather touched by the girl's +contrition, her eagerness to be trusted. She held out a forgiving hand. +"Shake hands on it, and remember this is for Jacky's sake." + +Mag, with a gulp, put her hand into the Madam's, and forgot for the +moment that she had been a creature hunted, looked down upon, ashamed to +face decent people. Whatever harm she had done, she intended to atone +for, even with sacrifice. + +Kate patted her on the shoulder. "Now then, run and bring a pot of black +coffee to my room, and see that I am not disturbed for at least two +hours." + +When she emerged at the end of that time, a little hollow-eyed and +stiff, but ready for the day's routine, she found upon inquiry that +Jacqueline had kept to her room with the prophesied headache and did not +wish to be disturbed; also, that Mag had gone down to the village on an +errand. She paused uncertainly at Jacqueline's door, but decided finally +to respect the girl's desire for privacy, glad herself of a little +longer respite before their meeting. Duplicity was not her forte, and +she knew it. Her heart ached with tenderness for her child, a tenderness +that she must not show. + +All day long, as she rode upon her rounds, inspecting the damage wrought +by last night's storm, she was rehearsing inwardly her first meeting +with Jacqueline; planning to show her, without exciting suspicion, the +depth of her love and her understanding. If only practical, unemotional +Jemima were there, to act as buffer between them! She thought of +consulting Philip, but decided that Jacqueline's secret was not hers to +share. + +One friend, however, she did consult, having so recently tested Him and +found Him not wanting. Philip, happening into his always-open church +early in the afternoon, was astounded to discover no less a person there +than the Madam, on her knees, intent upon rendering unto God the things +that are God's, as honestly as she rendered unto Caesar the things that +are Caesar's. + +He withdrew unnoticed; and thereafter, to his great delight, Kate +Kildare was a regular frequenter of the church she had built, sitting +with a rather bored expression through the service from first to last, +while her horse and her dogs waited patiently at the door for their +Sabbath exercise.... + +Kate shared the midday meal that day with workmen who were repairing +damages to a favorite bit of beech-wood--frequently her custom when work +was on hand that required her special attention. So it was not until +dark that she rode wearily back to Storm, to discover her household +seething with excitement. + +Mag Henderson had never returned from her errand into the village. She +had been gone since breakfast. A servant had just discovered, in Kate's +room, a sealed letter addressed to the Madam, and pinned to her +pillow.--Poor Mag had followed as closely as possible the example set by +her beloved Miss Jacky. + +Kate's face was very sad and discouraged as she read the little note: + + I dassent stay cause if Miss Jacky was to ax me questions I'd be + bound to tell and then you wuddent trust me no more but ef i go + away I cain't answer no questions. You kin kepe Kitty. I luv her + but I giv her to you cause I ain't got nothing else nice to give + and you been awful kind to Me. plese let her be yore little Hands + and feet, miss Kate, and kepe her always and fetch her up a lady + like you not like me. plese mam dont you _never_ let her do like + me, and ef my Pappy ever comes to git her and says she's his'n for + Gawds sake she aint no such thing she's yourn. There's a city fella + a drummer been settin up to me right smart, and he says a purty gal + is a fool to stay and not have no fun and just make close for other + gals to ware and in the city ennyway gals have more chanct So he + wanted me to go along with him but I wuddent becos of Kitty but now + I reckon yore glad to git shut of me so no more at present from + yores truly + + MAG. + + Plese tell miss Jaky ef she brushes Kittys hare the wrong way evry + day mebbe it will come curly. + +Kate looked about her at the circle of black faces, all rather pleased +and eager-looking over Mag's downfall, for the "poor white" is never +popular with the better class of negroes, and Mag's position in the +household had aroused some jealousy. + +"I suppose it's too late to catch her," she said dully. "There have been +a dozen trains to the city--we don't even know what city.--Oh, I've done +this, I've done this!" She was speaking to herself, though she spoke +aloud. + +Big Liza took it upon herself to administer consolation. "No you ain't, +honey, no, you ain't! She was jes' nachelly bo'n dat-a-way. In co'se +it's natchel enough fo' a body to take up with a gemman friend, but to +leave her own baby-chile behine her--why, dat gal's aimin' fer hell-fire +jus' as fas' as she kin trabbel!" + +Kate was reminded of poor Mag's parting gift, her "little hands and +feet." She asked, sighing: + +"Where is the baby?" + +"Miss Jack's got her in her room." + +She entered unheard, and found Jacqueline holding the little whimpering +creature tight against her breast, rocking and crooning to it. + +"There, there, precious! Did it miss its mama? Never mind, I know. +They're tired of us, they've left us--I know. They just didn't want us +any more. Never mind, pet! You've got me." + +Kate slipped away again with dim eyes, leaving Jacqueline and the +deserted baby to comfort each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +Jacqueline had waited all that day for news from Channing, disappointed, +more than a little humiliated, to think that he had failed where she had +not, but making every allowance for him as a city-bred man not +accustomed to storms such as that of the night before. Perhaps he had +taken for granted that she would not venture out in it herself. + +Then, as no word came from him, either by note or by telephone, she +began to worry. The lightning had been very bad. After all, storms can +be dangerous. Possibly he had met with an accident. + +At last she could restrain herself no longer, and telephoned to Holiday +Hill. + +A noncommittal man-servant informed her that Mr. Farwell was still away +(he had gone to Cincinnati on business for several days), and that the +other gentleman had left unexpectedly the night before. He did not add +that the household was all agog with the extreme unexpectedness of his +leaving. + +Jacqueline asked, rather tremulously, whether he would be returning +soon. The servant thought not, as he had since telegraphed for all his +luggage to be sent on to New York. + +It was then that she began to realize what had happened to her. She +still made excuses for him to herself. He had been thinking of her--he +had decided that he could not accept her sacrifice. Perhaps he had been +thinking a little of her mother, too, left alone there at Storm. Yes, +she was sure he had been thinking a little of her mother, whom he so +greatly admired, not understanding how eager Mrs. Kildare was for her +children's happiness.--He would write, of course, and explain.... + +She dared not think of the blank and dreary future, but lived from hour +to hour, watching for the mails. When the postman stopped on his daily +round at the foot of Storm Hill, she was always waiting for him. +Sometimes she met him down the road, in her eagerness. But there was +never a letter for her, except now and then a line from the traveling +Mrs. Thorpe. + +Kate saw this eager watchfulness, and her heart smote her, and her +secret lay heavy on her breast. But she made no comment, even when she +noticed that the girl was neglecting her food in a manner unprecedented, +and heard her prowling about the house at night, when she should have +been asleep, like an unhappy little ghost. + +"I must give her time, poor girlie," she thought, and wished that she +might consult Philip. + +Philip, however, was doing some observing on his own account. He had +come across a phrase in a book recently that recurred to him whenever he +saw Jacqueline nowadays: "God gives us our eyes, our parents gives us +our noses, but we make our own mouths." + +It occurred to him that Jacqueline was "making her mouth" far too +rapidly. Of a sudden the lips had lost all their childish softness and +were settling into a firm, curved line of great beauty, but which had +more than a hint of pathos. "She has no right to such a mouth at her +age!" he thought. + +The fact of Channing's final disappearance was known to him, though not +the manner of it; and at first it had filled him with satisfaction. Now, +however, he realized that to get Channing out of sight was by no means +to get him out of mind. His thoughts went back over the constant and +secret companionship of many weeks, reaching as a climax the night the +two had lost themselves in the mountains. He was uneasy--far more uneasy +than Kate, who had in view a consolation for Jacqueline which Philip did +not as yet suspect. + +One day he happened in at Storm, to find Farwell making one of his +frequent visits there. Jacqueline was chatting and laughing with him +with her usual gaiety, but Philip, even as he entered, sensed a certain +air of distress about the girl. It was Farwell's first call since +Channing's disappearance. + +"Hello, dominie," the actor greeted him cheerfully, evidently relieved +by his arrival. "We've just been discussing the mysterious Percival. You +knew, of course, that he'd gone without so much as a by-your-leave to +me? Not that only, but took my favorite car and left it running in the +mud, simply shaking itself to pieces. A queer devil!--I had gone to +Cincinnati for a day or two, and when I got back, not a sign of my +guest, neither hair nor hide of him!" + +"Rude enough," commented Benoix. + +"Oh, rude! Channing and I are old pals, and dropped our manners long +ago. But unfriendly, that's what I call it! Leaving me in the lurch in +that gloomy young barn of mine, without giving me a chance to get +somebody in his place.--I tell you, this thing of being a country +gentleman's the loneliest job I ever tackled! Do come and give me a +cheering word now and then, Benoix.--And the only explanation the rotter +made," he continued resentfully, "was a mere line saying he had been +called to New York on urgent business. Urgent tommyrot! The only +business he knows by sight is his own pleasure." + +"His writing?" commented Jacqueline, quietly. "That isn't just +pleasure." + +"Oh, yes, it is, or you may be sure he wouldn't be doing it! I know +Channing. He's selfish to the bone. Oh, I'm done with the chap!--The +fact is," he added, very careful not to look at Jacqueline, "these +geniuses aren't to be relied upon, either as friends or anything else, +you see. They're just--geniuses." + +"That's quite enough to be expected of them, isn't it?" remarked the +girl, with a steady little smile. + +Farwell changed the subject, having said what he had come to say; but +inwardly he thought, "She's a brick! She's a loyal, plucky little brick, +and Channing is a--skunk! Perhaps she chucked him, though," he reminded +himself hopefully. "Serve him good and plenty if she did." + +Thereafter the master of Holiday Hill spent as much time as he possibly +could at Storm, Kate looking on at Jacqueline's friendly flirtation with +him with something between a smile and a sigh. + +The girl was doing a good deal in the way of flirtation just then, not +only with Farwell, but with several of the earlier "victims" who +continued to come out from Lexington occasionally, and were encouraged +to come more often. Kate had been through just such a stage of +unhappiness herself, the reckless, desperate, defiant stage, when +trouble is to be kept at bay only by sheer bravado. And she had been +watched safely through it by the understanding eyes of Jacques Benoix, +even as Jacqueline would be watched through it by the understanding eyes +of his son. + +For it was only with Philip the girl dared to be quite herself just +then, _distraite_ and talkative by turns, subject to long silences, +followed by bursts of wild gaiety. The change in his manner to her was +very marked, he no longer teased and chaffed her as he had been wont to +do, but treated her with a quiet affection, almost a deference; the +_camaraderie_ offered to a friend who has come abreast of oneself on the +hard path of life. Jacqueline in trouble, gallant and uncomplaining and +piteously gay, was a Jacqueline who appealed to every instinct of +chivalry in his fine nature. + +If it had not been for Kate herself, the thing she so greatly desired +might very well have come to pass just then. He might have fallen in +love with Jacqueline. But unfortunately Kate was there, never lovelier +than in her guarding, tender maternity; and for Philip other women, as +women, did not exist. + +Into this rather disturbed atmosphere of Storm arrived one day the new +Mrs. Thorpe, quite unexpectedly and with something of a flourish. + +Jacqueline, hearing outside the sound of a mellifluous horn which she +did not recognize, ran to the window and reported company approaching, +"But it isn't Mr. Farwell, Mummy, and it isn't victims. It's a lady all +dressed up. Why, Mummy, it's--no, it can't be. Yes it is too! It's the +bride and groom, in a new Ark!" + +Jemima was herself engineering a smart blue-painted touring-car up the +hill, somewhat cautiously but with her usual air of determination. She +remarked tensely to the beaming gentleman beside her, "Wave to them, +James, please. I can't spare a hand." + +When the excited greetings were over, Jemima looked about her with a +contented sigh. "New York was very grand and rich, but I'm glad to be +back in this queer, shabby old house. Aunt Jemima asked all about +everything, Mother--whether you had left the stuffed horse's head on the +wall, whether the turkeys still tried to roost on the front porch, what +you had done with father's old servants, especially Mahaly--she seemed +to be particularly interested in Mahaly, for some reason or other. I +told her everything was just as it had been always--and it is, thank +goodness!" She spoke as if she had expected to find cataclysmic changes +after an absence of three weeks. "Dogs overrunning the place, and Big +Liza warbling at the top of her lungs in the kitchen, and you in your +second-best riding skirt at this hour in the afternoon--naughty mother! +Everything just the same as if--" Her roving eyes chanced to rest on her +sister's face, and she stopped short. + +"So you saw your Aunt Jemima?" asked Kate quickly, to change the +subject. + +"Oh, yes, of course, Mother. That's one reason we went to New York." She +was full of the visit to her father's aunt, and forgot for the moment +her shock at the change in Jacqueline. "Such a wonderful place--a house +as big as a hotel, and lawns that are evidently shaved and clipped and +bathed as regularly as her pet poodle. But--think of it! She is seventy +years old, and powdered and rouged like an actress!--Her manner was just +a little--patronizing at first, but she soon got over that." + +Thorpe chuckled. "My wife astonished her into a lamb-like meekness. She +informed her that while she resembled the Kildare portraits to some +slight degree, most of them were rather handsomer." + +"Jemmy! Why, she was a famous beauty in her day!" + +"Well, she isn't now; and I did not care for her manner," said the +bride, calmly. "Besides, as it turned out, she liked rudeness. Some +people do, you know. They think it's smart, and she's a very smart old +person--likes a fast motor-car, and plays cards for money--hates to +lose, too--and smokes, Mother! I kept thinking how surprised you would +have been to see her." + +"Pooh, that's nothing," said Jacqueline, moved to defend the honor of +Storm. "Lots of women around here smoke. Why, you'll catch Big Liza with +a pipe in her mouth at any time you go out in the kitchen!" + +"Jacky, a pipe! The idea! Aunt Jemima has little gold-tipped cigarettes +with her monogram on them. It's very much done." + +"Blossom," cried Jacqueline accusingly, "did you smoke, yourself?" + +The bride tossed her head, flushing. "Of course. One can't be too +provincial." (The _a_ in her "can't" had achieved a new and impressive +breadth--which, considering that the honeymoon had been of only three +weeks' duration, may serve to show something of the force and +adaptability of Jemima's character.) "Still," she added, "I should not +care to see mother smoking. I was rather--shocked by Aunt Jemima." + +Kate smiled. She would not have been shocked. Her husband had too often +spoken of his aunt as a true Kildare, and related with pride certain +incidents in her career which had done their share toward creating the +reputation of "the wild Kildares." It had always been a matter of +astonishment to her that this wicked old woman, whose past might +certainly have made for leniency in judgment, should have shown herself +so hotly unforgiving toward the one episode she had selected to regard +as the family scandal. + +James Thorpe, the psychologist, could have told her that the recognized +tolerance of innocence for vice has its complement in the approval with +which unblemished reputations are regarded by those who have them not. +Also, there was an unspoken tradition among her husband's people, as in +many families, that while born Kildares, male or female, might exercise +their Heaven-sent prerogative of behaving as they chose, it was for +their mates to maintain the balance of discretion. Poor Kate had +maintained no balance. + +"Oh, speaking of New York," said the bride suddenly, "whom else do you +suppose I saw there? Your friend the author, Jacky! Oh, not to speak to, +of course ... James has broken with him entirely. Besides, he was with a +person, a very blonde and pretty person, whom I did not care to meet." +She smoothed down her skirts, the gesture of conscious rectitude the +world over. "I should not be surprised if she were that woman--you know! +Fay Something-or-other--" + +Kate's warning glance reached her, and she bit her tongue. + +Jacqueline had gone over to a window and stood looking out. "I miss the +old Ark," she said after a moment. "What have you done with it?" + +Jemima rushed into speech, her eyebrows flying distress signals at her +mother. "Oh, that old thing? Why, when James bought the new car, I +thought it would be nice to have the other painted and fixed up and give +it to Philip for a present." + +"Splendid!" said Kate. "It will be the greatest sort of help to him in +his parochial visits--if you can persuade him to accept it. I've been +trying for months to give him a decent horse to take the place of old +Tom. What made you think of it?" + +Jemima looked rather embarrassed. "Why, you see I have not been +very--nice to Phil, lately. Not friendly, at least, as I used to be. But +he's gone on just the same, as if nothing were the matter, just as +dignified, and kindly; marrying us so beautifully, and sending us those +rare candelabra, and all ... I like that way of acting, Mother, and I +like Philip. So I thought it would be nice to give him the Ark as--as a +sort of apology, you see." + +Kate and James Thorpe exchanged a glance of mutual congratulation. +Evidently the incipient feud was a thing of the past. Marriage was +already rubbing off some of Jemima's edges. + +"In that case," said Kate warmly, "I am sure Philip will accept the Ark, +daughter. He would never refuse an apology.--Jacky, why don't you go and +telephone him that the Thorpes are here, and that he is expected for +supper?" + +Jacqueline slipped out of the room very gratefully. The tears had been +welling up behind her eyes so fast that she was afraid some of them +would spill over. She wanted desperately to be alone until she had +accustomed herself to the thought of Channing with another woman. A +blonde, pretty person, Jemima had said.--At least she did not sound like +a person who could help him to write books! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +As soon as they were alone, Jemima demanded explanations of her mother. +"What has happened to Jacky? Why, she's all eyes! I never saw such a +change! Her smile makes you want to cry, somehow.--Mother, it can't +be--Channing?" + +"I am afraid it is--" sighed Kate. + +"Then she really cared for him? Why, but that's incredible! Such a man, +Mother! James has told me a good deal about him. He's a sort of male +vampire, always needing a woman to pet and admire him--any sort of +woman. And our Jacqueline!" Her lips set. "Humph! If the child still +cares for him, I'll see that she hears the whole truth about him. +Jacky's not lacking in pride." + +"I hope and pray it is only her pride that is suffering now," said Kate, +and took Jemima fully into her confidence. It was a great relief to talk +it over with somebody. She realized how she had missed this cool and +level-headed child of hers. + +But when she had finished, Jemima was by no means cool and level-headed. +All her pretty married complacency had gone. She was more excited than +her mother had ever seen her. She jumped up and began to walk around the +room, muttering rather surprising things. + +"Why did you let him go? The horrid beast! Oh, poor little Jacky, poor +little Jacky! Why did you let him off, Mother? Why didn't you--shoot +him?" + +"Daughter!" + +"Well, I don't care," muttered the girl, defiantly. "I can understand +killing a man like that, I can!" + +A queer little smile twitched at Kate's lips. "Can you, my dear?" + +Jemima stopped short, and her eyes met her mother's, widening. She +realized of what Kate was thinking. "Yes, I can," she repeated, +breathlessly. "A man like that ... Mother! _Was my father--a--man like +that?_" + +But Kate spoke quickly, as if she had not heard. "Then you think I did +right in letting Jacqueline believe Channing had failed her?" + +The girl thought it over. "No," she said at last, with her usual +ruthlessness. "I don't. No good ever comes of deception, Mother. Look +what it has done already! Poor Mag ran away because she was afraid of +not keeping your secret." + +Kate winced. "But I have Jacqueline!" + +"And of course," conceded the other thoughtfully, "Mag would have gone +to the bad anyway, soon or late.--Oh, yes, she would, Mother! No use +blinking facts. As she used to say, she was 'spiled anyway.' On the +whole," Jemima decided, "I think you have done the best thing possible. +But I wish _I_ had been here!--What are you going to do with Jacky now? +Let her study singing?" + +Kate realized the silence that had latterly fallen on Storm. The girl +had not sung a note in weeks. Both piano and graphophone had been idle. +She spoke of this. + +"That's bad! Music has always meant so much to Jacky. She'll have to +have an outlet of some sort. Better let her come home with me, Mother. +I'll get her interested in something." + +Kate shook her head. "Try, if you like, but she won't go. She's more +'mommerish' than ever just now, poor baby. She needs mothering, I +think--and marrying!" + +Jemima looked up quickly. "You mean Philip? Surely, Mother, you've given +up the Philip idea, after _this_!" + +"Why should I?" + +"Why, Mother! Would it be fair to him? Don't you realize that poor +little Jacky has been almost--wicked?" + +"No, no, dear, never wicked! Only ignorant, and desperately in love. It +seemed to her the honorable thing to do to go away openly with the man +she loved, instead of concealing it.--Oh, can't you understand? Don't +you see the difference between generous, blind sacrifice, and what you +call 'wickedness'?" + +"No," said Jemima, with pursed lips. "I must confess I can't. That +happens to be my weakness.--But I can see, and have always seen, that +Jacqueline is one of the sort of people who ought to be married as early +in life as possible." + +"Exactly! And who better for her than Philip?" + +Jemima looked at her mother in utter exasperation. Was it possible that +she was still blind to the thing that was the gossip of the countryside? +Or--a new thought!--was it possible that she was going to take advantage +of Philip's devotion to her, of his idealism and capacity for +self-immolation, to persuade him into carrying out her long-laid plans? +Jemima herself might have been capable of such a ruthless thing, but on +consideration she did not believe it of her mother. There was a certain +large innocence about Mrs. Kildare, an almost virginal shyness of mind, +that made it difficult for her to conceive, even in the face of direct +evidence, that a man younger than herself, a man whom she chose to +regard as a son, could be regarding her in turn with eyes other than +filial. Jemima did her the justice to recognize this. + +She opened her lips to inform her mother of the truth, but somehow found +herself saying instead, rather lamely, "She's not in love with Philip!" + +Kate smiled. "This from _you_, my dear?" + +The bride flushed. "When I spoke as I did about love not being necessary +to marriage, I was thinking of myself, not of Jacqueline," she explained +with dignity. "People have different requirements. Besides, I happened +not to be in love with anybody else." + +"That does make a difference, but I am counting on time," said the +mother. "Time and propinquity. You are not old enough yet to realize the +strength of those two factors, my dear. I am.--You said once that +Jacqueline was oversexed. I think you are wrong. She simply matured very +early, without our realising it. Certain instincts are very strong in +her--the maternal instinct, for one--stronger than her judgment.--Just +as it was with me. She is not the first poor little trusting dreamer to +put up her altar to the Unknown God, and worship before the first who +chooses to usurp it. But the altar remains, when the usurper has +passed." + +"For Philip to occupy? Poor Phil!" murmured Jemima under her breath. + +Her mother wheeled round upon her. "Why do you say 'poor Phil'?" she +demanded indignantly. "Do you suppose I would offer Jacques' son +anything but the best I have to give? Don't you know that I am thinking +of his happiness quite as much, perhaps more than of Jacqueline's? His +is a bigger nature than yours, my daughter. He would never make the +mistake of thinking the child capable of 'wickedness,' no matter what +folly she might commit." + +"And does he know of her latest 'folly,' Mother?" + +"I do not know how much he may suspect, but that is not my affair. +Jacqueline will tell him about it herself, doubtless ... after they are +married," replied Kate, serenely. + +Others entering the room just then put a stop to the conversation; but +for the rest of the evening young Mrs. Thorpe was thoughtful. She knew +the Madam's capacity for carrying out intentions. Watching Philip +closely, his brotherly tenderness to Jacqueline contrasted with the +silent, almost worshipful adoration her mother took so astonishingly for +granted, she realized that it would be difficult for his lady to put any +test to his devotion too difficult for him to perform. It seemed +probable that Kate would succeed in covering one blunder with another +blunder. + +A great sympathy for Philip came over her--sympathy being a recently +developed trait of Jemima's. She saw him suddenly as a piteous figure, +even more piteous than her listless young sister, who would, after all, +revive like a thirsty flower with the first draft of love that came to +her reaching roots. Her mother had been right there.--But what was to +atone to Philip for his lonely childhood, his lonely youth, always with +the shadow resting upon it; his hopeless infatuation for a woman who +would not see, his whole life devoted to that cold and thankless lot of +service to others? + +"We've taken too much from Philip as it is," she thought. "I must put a +stop to this, somehow!" + +She decided to drop a hint of warning to Jacqueline herself. Treachery +it might be, but, as has been seen, Jemima was quite capable of +treachery when it marched with expediency. + +Drop a hint she accordingly did, one of her own especial brand of hints, +as delicate and as subtle as a dynamite bomb. + +It occurred at bedtime, when Jemima--the Thorpes were spending the +night--slipped across into the room that had been the nursery to chat +with her sister in the old-time intimacy of hair-brushing. Indeed, the +room was still a nursery, for the crib that had been in turn Jemima's +and Jacqueline's was drawn up close beside Jacqueline's bed, and +contained the rosy, sleeping Kitty, with a favorite rattle tight clasped +in one pink fist. + +"Isn't she too precious, Jemmy?" whispered her foster-mother, who was +leaning over the crib as her sister entered. + +Jemima responded without particular enthusiasm--to her small Kitty would +always represent in concrete form the doctrine of Original Sin. She +said, "Come and let me show you how to fix your hair, dear, as they do +it in New York. You're old enough now to wear it up." + +"I try to, but it won't stay put, there's such a mop of it!" She +submitted willingly to the other's deft ministrations. "Neither mother +nor I look half as nice since you got married, Jemmy. Oh, I do love your +smooth hands!" She held one affectionately to her cheek. "They're so +nimble and sure of themselves, as if each finger had a little brain of +its own that knew just exactly what it was about." + +"I suppose, if one has a brain at all, it's everywhere, in the fingers +as well as the head; just like God in the universe," said the other, +rather absently. "Anyway, if I've got brains, you've got hair, and I +don't know but what that's more important. You'll be a lovely creature +like mother when I'm a weazened little old woman, as bald as a +monkey--or with false things on, like Aunt Jemima. Intellectual hair is +always so thin and brittle." + +"Why, Blossom! Yours is just like curly sunlight!" + +"Oh, yes, pretty while it lasts," said the other, dispassionately. "But +not vital, like yours and mother's. You're both so splendidly vital. +That's why--Look here, Jacky, Philip's more gone on mother than ever, +isn't he? He just follows her around with his eyes, like that +sentimental hound puppy who is always trying to crawl into her lap--" + +"And spilling off," finished Jacqueline, with a chuckle. "I know! If she +says 'good dog' to him, he wags steadily for an hour.--I used to think +you were wrong about it," she added seriously, "and that Phil couldn't +possibly be in love with any one so old as mother; not like men are with +girls, you know. But lately--I'm not so sure." + +Poor Jacqueline had learned a good deal lately about the possibilities +of loving. + +Jemima commented with satisfaction. "I'm glad _you_ see it, anyway!" + +"Of course he has not told me anything, but he--understands so well," +sighed the other, without explaining what it was that he understood. "I +wish he didn't, Jemmy. I _would_ like to see dear old Phil happy! He's +such a darling.--Do you suppose we could possibly persuade mother ever +to marry him?" + +Jemima started and dropped her hair-brush. That was a solution which had +not occurred to her. + +"I think it would be such a good thing, don't you, Jemmy? They're both +so wonderful." + +"Nonsense!" said Jemima sharply, recovering from the shock. "What an +idea! Mother wouldn't _dream_ of such an unseemly thing, of course." + +"I'm not so sure," said Jacqueline, with her new pathetic little wisdom. +"She's awfully sweet to Phil, always wanting him round, and petting him, +and making a fuss over him." + +"Just as she does over that hound puppy! No, my dear, you may be sure +that whatever she does, mother will never do anything so undignified as +to marry Dr. Benoix' son. On the contrary, I happen to know that she is +plotting to marry him to some one else." + +"Jemmy! Our Philip? To whom?" + +The hint dropped. "To you," said Jemima. + +But it was not greeted with the shocked surprise, the incredulous +dismay, which she had counted upon. Jacqueline considered the matter in +silence for some moments. At length she said, musingly, "That might not +be a bad idea. Philip really ought to get married--the Bishop told him +so. It creates confidence, like with young doctors. And if you really +think mother never will--Of course I could keep house for him, and hold +the Mothers' Meetings and all, and make him more comfortable than that +wretched Dilsey." + +Jemima gasped.--"Do you mean to say you _would_?--So soon?" She bit her +tongue, but Jacqueline did not seem to notice the unfortunate reference. + +"Oh, me?" she said a little wearily. "What does it matter about me? I +mean--I suppose a girl has to marry some time, and I'm used to Philip. +I'm awfully fond of him, really. He'd make a wonderful father, wouldn't +he?" + +"Jacqueline Kildare!" cried the bride, blushing. + +The girl met her startled eyes in the glass. For the moment she seemed +the older of the two. "Why, didn't you think of that when you married +Goddy? No, you wouldn't have, I suppose. But it seems to me the most +important thing of all, you know. It is something that will last, +when--other things--don't. It seems to me people could stand a great +deal of unhappiness," she said haltingly, "if they had babies. They +wouldn't always be asking themselves, Why? Why? The answer would be +there, right in their arms.--So if mother really wants me to marry +Philip, and he doesn't mind ... I don't believe I shall mind, either." + +Jemima made her last stand. "Suppose Philip does mind?" + +"Then he won't ask me, of course, goosie!--Do show me how you made that +perfectly beautiful puff." + +Jemima returned to her lord and master somewhat subdued and crestfallen. +She realized that for once she had overreached herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +Jemima's opposition had the effect, usual with determined natures, of +crystallizing Mrs. Kildare's purpose, and she watched with impatience a +situation that appeared rather slow in developing. Philip, touched to +the heart by the change in Jacqueline, devoted much time and thought to +her comforting, overtures which the girl met more than half way. The two +were constantly together now, galloping over the frosty fields, driving +about the country in the newly arrived Ark (which understanding Philip +had accepted with a generosity that matched Jemima's), or reading aloud +to each other in front of the roaring fire in Storm hall. + +Kate, realizing however unconsciously that when she was about he had +less attention for her daughter, kept out of their way as much as +possible. It occurred to her that Philip was rather neglecting his +parish in Jacqueline's behalf. She smiled to herself, and frequently +commended Providence for its assistance. + +But Providence moved a trifle slowly for a woman accustomed to prompt +and decisive action. She yearned to advise Philip to strike while the +iron was hot, to claim the girl for his own before her natural youth and +high spirits reasserted themselves and made her less susceptible to +tenderness. She wanted to see the two she loved happy together, as she +had wanted nothing else since she put the thought of happiness out of +her own life. Why were they wasting so much priceless time? + +Suddenly, one afternoon, as she was riding home to Storm, the reason +occurred to her. Philip's pride! the same pride that would permit him to +accept no help from her even as a boy, when the small income his mother +left him would have been insufficient to carry him through school and +seminary if he had not managed to secure tutoring positions to eke out. +He had accepted, perforce, the home she offered him during vacations, +but nothing more, not even a horse for his personal use. He was a poor +man, would perhaps always be a poor man, dependent upon the meager +salary of a country clergyman; and he was the son of a convict to boot. +Was it likely that he would ask in marriage the hand of one of the young +heiresses of Storm? How stupid she had been! + +"Bless the boy! I'll have to take this thing in hand myself," thought +Kate Kildare, glad of an excuse, and turned her horse's head toward the +rectory. + +Philip, absorbed in putting final touches to his next day's sermon, +looked up from his desk to see her smiling in at the door of the room +that was his study, his dining-room and his parlor combined. + +He sprang to his feet. "You!" he cried, with a look in his eyes that +might have told its own story to a woman less accustomed to appreciative +male glances. "I--I was just thinking of you." + +That was true enough. She would have found it difficult to come upon him +at a time when he was not thinking of her, somewhere in the back of his +mind. Lately, whenever he had been with Jacqueline, the girl reminded +him so constantly, so almost poignantly, of her mother that sometimes he +caught himself speaking to her in the very voice he used with his lady, +a softer, deeper voice that was the unconscious expression of the inmost +man. His congregation heard it sometimes, too, now that Mrs. Kildare had +come to sit among them.--He had been writing out his sermon with unusual +care because he had remembered that she would listen to it. + +He ran to wheel his shabby wing-chair up to the fire, where a pot of +coffee simmered on the hob, with a covered plate beside it. + +"My supper," he explained, with a gesture of apology. "I often cook in +here because it seems more cozy than the kitchen." + +"Is Dilsey misbehaving again?" + +He nodded ruefully. "I can't think where she gets the stuff, Miss Kate; +the store won't sell it to her." + +"Out of your emergency cupboard, I fancy. You give her all your keys, of +course, for fear she will imagine you don't trust her? Oh, Phil, Phil," +she laughed at his guilty face. "How you do need a wife to look after +you!" + +She settled herself comfortably in the comfortable chair, looking about +the pleasant, twilit room with the sense of well-being that always came +to her there. It was more homelike to her than the home where she had +lived for twenty years, her big rough house that had taken on so +irrevocably the look of the Kildares. Here faded brocade furniture, +books, well-shaded lamps, a blue bowl filled with rosy apples, a jar of +cedar-boughs that took the place of flowers now that the garden had gone +to its winter rest--all these things spoke to her, as they spoke to +Philip, of other days, of his father, even of the shadowy lady with her +slight, patient cough who had been his mother, and whom Kate always +winced to remember. In this place she felt among friends. She was happy +to think of her Jacqueline come at last into such a haven as Philip's +home. + +"Bring me some of your supper--especially the coffee, it smells so +good!--and then come and sit beside me. Here--" she indicated a low +hassock at her feet--"where I can tweak your ear if I want to; because +I'm going to scold." + +Philip obeyed in silence. He had fallen rather shy of her, now that he +had her here as he had so often dreamed, sitting beside him in the +twilight, sharing his supper, leaning her head against the cushions of +his own chair, her slender arched feet, in their trim riding-boots, +resting upon his fender. It was not often that the Madam found time or +occasion to stop at the Rectory. What need, indeed, when Philip was so +constantly at Storm? But the image of her sat more often than she +guessed just as she was sitting now, with a worshiper at her feet. + +His own thoughts, more than her presence, kept him silent. The phrase +she had uttered so carelessly (he did not altogether know his lady +there!) had set them clamoring--"How you do need a wife to look after +you...." + +Philip tried in vain to remember a time when he had not loved this +woman. As a child, made older than his years by the shadow of his +mother's invalidism, he had treasured his glimpses of the reckless, +beautiful girl with her two babies, as other children might treasure +glimpses into fairyland. As an older boy, with his world already in +ruins about him, he had idealized his one friend into a sort of goddess, +a super-human deity who could do no wrong, whose every word was magic +and whose slightest wish law. At that period, if Kate had bade him rob a +bank or commit a murder, he would have done it unquestioningly, happy +only to be of service to her. Later, as he grew into a thoughtful young +manhood, he came to understand that even deities may have their faults; +but Kate's were dear faults, never of the heart. As she became less +goddess she became more human, and so nearer to him, until at last she +was woman to his man. But a very wonderful woman, to be approached, even +in thought, with reverence. Philip's love had so grown with him, step by +step, as to be part of the fabric of himself, large now as his very +nature; and that was large indeed. + +Yet never once in all the years had he imagined the sacrilege of making +her his wife, until there came the farewell letter from his father in +prison; that man used to reading the hearts of men, who saw the truth +between the lines of his son's letters, and deliberately gave the woman +both loved into his son's keeping. + +"She is still young," Jacques Benoix had written, "and you are young, +and my time is over. You must be to her what I would have been. We must +consider now nothing but her greatest happiness, you and I, her greatest +good." + +Since then Philip, if he had not thought of it before, thought of little +else than of marrying Kate Kildare. + +Not soon, of course; not until time should have brought its blessed balm +of forgetfulness, when both the girls would be married and gone, +perhaps, and she in her loneliness would turn to him. Meanwhile he must +be at hand to take care of her, as his father had bidden him; to watch +over her unobtrusively, helping her as he had with Jacqueline, sharing +any trouble that came to her; making himself necessary in every way +possible, so that more and more he should take with her the place of his +father. + +Kate was wrong in her ideas that his poverty had much influence upon +Philip. Poverty and wealth mean little to the idealist; and his faith +was very strong. He knew that if God gave this beloved woman into his +keeping, He would provide very surely the means of keeping her. + +He was patient, too; yet lately all the talk of love and of marriage, +the companionship of wistful, lovelorn Jacqueline, perhaps, the sight of +James Thorpe's almost fatuous happiness, had made patience newly +difficult; had stirred a restlessness in him that sometimes he believed +his lady noticed. When she was in the room with him, whether they spoke +or not, he found it almost impossible to keep his eyes from her; and +when at such times their glances met, it seemed to him there was a quick +flash of response in hers, an understanding look, almost of expectancy, +as if she were waiting for him to say something he did not say. + +Philip was of course right. Nothing of the change in him had been lost +on Kate; only she attributed it unfortunately to another cause--to +Jacqueline. + +She was chattering desultorily about many things, as they sat there in +the deepening November dusk, by the fire; but he did not hear what she +was saying. He began to look covetously out of the corner of his eye +toward one of her hands that lay on the arm of the chair close beside +him; a big, beautiful hand like Kate herself, capable as little +Jemima's, but with the warmth, the healing in its touch, of Jacqueline's +own. When he pictured her to himself, he always saw first her eyes, +clear and direct as a boy's; then her lovely, curved lips; then these +sentient hands of hers. He wished that he had the courage to take the +hand in his own, to hold it against his breast, his cheek. It had been +his often enough to hold, and even to kiss; but always of her own +volition. She was as generous of caresses as her youngest daughter; but +it never occurred to Philip, nor had it perhaps occurred to other men +who loved her, that they might venture to take what she did not offer. +Kate was the giver, always. + +Even now, as if aware of his thoughts, the hand lifted, strayed over to +touch the hair on his temples lightly as a butterfly, and came to rest +on his shoulder, drawing him a little closer. He sat very still, +thrilling to its touch. She might as well at that moment have laid her +hand on his bare heart. He wondered how many more seconds he could bear +it before he flung himself on his knees beside her and buried his face +in her lap.... + +"It's nice in here, so warm and dusky and comfy," she said. "Easier to +talk here than in that bare, ugly office of mine. I'm glad I came.--Now +the scolding is going to commence." The hand patted him affectionately. +"Phil, dear, are you _quite_ as frank with me as you used to be? Do you +still tell me everything you think and do and are? Isn't there something +you keep back nowadays?" + +"Nothing," he answered in a rather choked voice, making one mental +reservation. + +"If I hadn't your full confidence, I should miss it more than I can say. +You've spoiled me, dear. I want to be in everything that concerns you." + +"You are," breathed poor Philip. + +She leaned a little toward him. "No confidences, then? Nothing to ask +me, boy? Because it would be yours without asking." She waited a moment. +Silence--a very tense silence. "I don't know whether I've ever told you +how much I love you, how much I admire you. Only it's more than that. +You are the sort of man--my dear, if I could have had a son like you, I +should have been the proudest woman in the world! It breaks my heart to +think that Jacques does not know his great boy." + +She felt him trembling under her touch, and went on with her +encouragement. "Think of what you have to offer the woman you love! Most +men come to us soiled, with fingerprints on them which the most +forgiving wife can never seem to wash quite away. But you--you are as +clean as your mother left you.--Look at me, Philip! Yes, I knew it.--And +what a home you will make for her! Money never made a home yet--it +spoils more homes than it helps, I think, because it does away with the +effort that makes anything worth while.--Oh, my dear boy, I think I +shall be envious of the girl you marry!" + +The voice speaking was the one she had kept, as she once told +Jacqueline, to sing lullabies to her babies with--surely the most +exquisite, tender, caressing voice in the world, thought Philip. He +tried to listen to what she was saying, but heard only the voice. His +senses were swimming in it. Suddenly he leant over and laid his cheek +against her rough riding-skirt. + +"Why, dearest boy!" The voice softened still more, and he felt her hands +in his hair. "Did you think you could hide anything from _me_? What a +goose! Don't you suppose I saw? I have been wondering for days why you +didn't tell me. And then I knew. The money--is that, it? But how +perfectly silly, dear! There's enough and more than enough for two, but +if you prefer it, your bride shall come to you as poor as any +churchmouse, glad and proud to do with whatever you are able to give +her. We don't care much for--just _things_, we Kildares!" + +He raised his face, incredulous, listening at last to her words; a +dawning rapture in his eyes. She had seen. Was she offering herself to +him, Philip, as a goddess might lean to a mortal? He could not speak.... + +"And then I've thought," she went on, "that perhaps the thing between +your two fathers was holding you back. Don't let it, ah, don't let it! +Before that all happened, they were friends, dear friends. Your father +was the one man Basil loved. And some day when we are all together +somewhere, afterwards--if there is an afterwards!--I believe they will +be friends again. It was all a hideous mistake. Surely mistakes can't +last through eternity? That is my idea of what Heaven is; a place where +we shall understand each other's mistakes, and forgive them. But you and +Jacqueline--oh, Philip! Philip! try not to make any mistakes, you two! I +couldn't bear that." + +Philip was himself now, hearing every word. He whispered haltingly, +praying that he had misunderstood, "What--was it you thought I--wished +to say to you?" + +She laughed a little. "I thought--and think--you were trying to summon +up courage to ask me for my Jacqueline!" + +He had risen to take his blow standing. In the dusk that filled the room +above the fire-line, she could not see his face. + +She went on after a moment, "And I can't, _can't_ tell you how happy it +made me, how secure.--For a while I was so troubled. Channing, you +know--I thought I should have to give up my hopes.--But now he has gone, +and you are here; dear, faithful fellow, so big and true! For years I've +dreamed of this, ever since she was born. You and Jacqueline, his child +and mine, finding together all that we have missed. And some day, your +children--Ah, my dear, don't waste your moments! Years go so fast, and +they do not come back." + +He made a queer, hoarse sound in his throat. Kate peered up at him, for +the first time suspecting something amiss. "Philip," she exclaimed, "why +don't you say something? Aren't you glad that I am glad?" + +Glad!--In the chaos that was his mind, only one thing stood out clear to +him. His fingers unconsciously gripped the small gold cross that hung at +his belt, and clung to it. He had dedicated his life to service, first +of God and second of his fellow-men, chief of whom was the woman before +him. All his life he had dreamed of serving her. In his boyish heroics +he had defended her from lions, rescued her and her children from +Indians, carried her on his back out of burning houses. Lonely youth and +lonely man, dreams formed a greater part of his life than of most men's, +and all of them centered about the great figure of his existence, Kate +Kildare. + +Now the opportunity was come. He was to serve her indeed, and +sacrificially. He saw with a horrible clarity where his duty lay, and +wondered that he had not seen it before. She needed him for Jacqueline +as she would never need him for herself. Young Benoix was of the stuff +of which martyrs are made; but as he stood there, gripping the little +cross of his calling, he prayed wordlessly, desperately, that his cup +might pass from him. + +Kate had risen too, and stood dismayed by his silence, trying to read +his face by the flickering light. "Philip, what is it? Have I made a +mistake after all? Don't you love Jacqueline?" Her heart began to beat +rather fast. Something of what was in the air she sensed, but without +understanding. + +What was it she was asking him? Oh, yes--whether he loved Jacqueline. +Dear little clinging, pathetic child! of course he loved her. He must +answer. He made a great effort and spoke, nodding his head. + +"Yes. Oh, yes. I do love her." + +Kate came closer, close enough to see the dumb pain in his eyes. She +exclaimed aloud, "Philip! Is it Channing then, after all? You think he +has come between you--irrevocably? No, but you are wrong! That is over, +absolutely over. It is for you to take out the sting.--See, Philip, I am +going to be quite frank with you, franker than women generally are, even +with themselves. You don't know much about girls. I do--about my own +girl, at least, for I was just such a girl once.--There comes a time to +young women, as to all young animals, when we look about us for our +mates. We may not seek, perhaps, but we look about. And the first that +comes--is very welcome, Philip.--That is all. Nature's way. If +Jacqueline still thinks of Channing--well, it is only blessed human +instinct to put aside the thing that hurts. But you must help her--she +can't do it, alone. Only a new love drives out the hurt of the old. +Jacqueline needs you, dear." + +He put out a protesting hand. She was asking him for help, his lady. He +must not let her beg.... + +He said with stiff lips, "You think--she--would be willing--to marry +me?" + +Kate nodded. "I suspect she'd like to show Mr. Channing as soon as +possible how little impression he has left behind him!--But it wouldn't +be that, of course," she added, seriously. "Underneath the other affair, +she's always been a little in love with you, Philip. Women are complex +creatures, with a capacity for being attracted quite in proportion to +their capacity for attracting.... And after you are once married--You +know, there's really no mystery about mating, except what the poets +make. Nature goes about it with a beautiful simplicity. Given two young +creatures, handsome, clean, healthy, mutually sympathetic, throw them +together a while without too many distractions--and there you are! It's +as inevitable as that two and two make four. Don't think too much about +it, dear--you're too watchful, too introspective. Just let go, and be +natural. She's very sweet, my Jacqueline, very loving and tender. And +you--well, you're not unattractive, you know! Don't worry.--Why, I give +you my word as a mother, as a woman," she exclaimed, "that a month after +you and Jacqueline are married, you will both have forgotten any +ridiculous little obstacle that ever kept you apart!..." + +She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Come soon," she whispered. "It +will comfort the child just now to know that she is wanted." + +Philip had taken the kiss with closed eyes. When he opened them again, +his room was empty. He ran to the window, and saw her, a shadow shape, +swing into her saddle with a shadowy wave of the hand for him. He stood +there watching her out of sight, so soon out of sight; his lady, the +woman he loved, so infinitely kind, and beautiful, and cruel, heedless +as the gods are of homage they do not need. + +He groped his way back to the chair where she had sat, leaned his cheek +where hers had rested--the place was still warm--and said good-by to +her.... + +An hour later, before his courage had a chance to fail him, he rode to +Storm and asked Jacqueline to marry him. + +The girl put up her lips simply as a child. "I'd love to marry you, +Phil, darling. How sweet of you to ask me! And now," she said eagerly, +"let's go and tell Mummy. She'll be so pleased!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +So there was presently another wedding at Storm, or rather in the church +at Storm; and Kate could have sung with the Psalmist: "Now lettest thou +thy servant depart in peace according to thy ways, for mine eyes have +seen thy salvation." + +Jemima, who spent as much time as her husband would spare her at Storm, +in the interval between the formal engagement and the wedding, tried +conscientiously to summon up courage to end in some way a situation that +seemed to her impossible. But her hints and innuendoes, broad as she +dared make them, had no effect upon the radiant satisfaction of her +mother, nor upon Philip himself, hedged around as he was with a sort of +calm serenity, an uplifted, detached air, which she had not sufficient +experience to recognize as the elation that goes with martyrdom. + +She began to wonder if after all she had been mistaken in Philip's +feeling for her mother. He seemed quite content, even happy. +Nevertheless, there was something about him that awed Jemima a little, +made her usual frankness with him quite impossible. + +With Jacqueline, however, she had no such feeling of awe, and she +watched her sister with amazed impatience. Her infatuation for Channing +had been a thing inexplicable to the fastidious Jemima; even more +inexplicable was the ease with which she appeared to forget him for +another lover. + +Much of the girl's gaiety had returned to her. She entered into the +wedding preparations with the eagerness of a child playing with a new +toy. She spoke of Philip constantly, was always watching for his +arrival, greeted him when he came with the utmost enthusiasm, clinging +to him, sitting on the arm of his chair, kissing him, regardless of +onlookers. True, she was quite as demonstrative with her mother, with +James Thorpe, even with Jemima, when permitted; but, as the older girl +said to herself in distaste, she was not going to marry them! + +One day, shortly before the wedding, when Jemima arrived at Storm she +was met by her mother at the door with finger upon lip. + +"Hush! Jacky is singing again," whispered Kate, delightedly. + +It was the first time the girl had been to the piano for weeks. + +The two stood and listened. She sang to herself very softly, unconscious +of an audience, one of the Songs of the Hill: + + "A little winding road + Goes over the hill to the plain-- + A little road that crosses the plain + And comes to the hill again." + +Kate realized the difference in Jacqueline's voice since she had heard +it last in that Song of the Hill; clear and expressionless, then, as a +boy's; so throbbing now, so poignant with understanding, that the +mother's eyes filled with tears. Jemima's, too, were a little moist, and +she blinked them hard, and steeled herself to say to Jacqueline that day +what she had come to say. + +The child must not slip further into an irrevocable mistake, if she +could help it. + +She made an opportunity as soon as possible to get her alone. "Jacky," +she said abruptly, "are you quite sure you want to marry Philip,--and +that he wants to marry you?" + +The girl turned a startled face upon her--"Why, Jemmy, he asked me! Why +would he ask me if he didn't want me?" + +"I suspect Philip does many things he does not want to.--Didn't he know +all about--Mr. Channing?" She looked mercifully away from the other's +blanching face, "I wonder if that might have anything to do with his +asking you?" + +She waited nervously for a reply. Even the most confident of surgeons +have their moments of suspense. + +It came very low, "I never thought of that, Jemmy. Perhaps you are +right.--Oh, if that is so, I just _can't_ be loving enough to him to +make up for his goodness, can I? Darling old Phil!--You see it was +because he did know all about Mr. Channing" (the voice was almost +inaudible now) "that I knew I could marry him. We understand each other, +you see. I'd never expect to be first with him, to take mother's place +with him, any more than he expects to take--And--and so--we could +comfort each other." The voice failed utterly here, and Jacqueline ran +blindly out of the room, up to the never-failing solace of Mag's baby; +leaving Jemima with the miserable sensation of having been cruel where +she meant to be kind, and cruel to no purpose. + +That night, when Philip came at his usual time, Jacqueline settled the +matter once for all. She perched upon the arm of his chair, holding his +head against her shoulder so that he could not look at her. + +"Reverend Flip, dear," she began, "I want you to tell me +something--truly, truly, truth now! Before it is too late. People +shouldn't marry each other unless they're going to be quite honest with +each other, should they?" + +"No, dear," he answered. "Fire away." + +"You're sure, quite sure, that you really want to marry me?" She +abandoned her strangle-hold, and leaned down with her cheek on his hair, +to make the telling of anything disagreeable more easy for him. + +She felt him start, but he said, "Very sure, sweetheart." + +"And you're not just being noble," she asked, wistfully, "like Jemmy +thinks?" + +Philip cried, "Jemima be darned!" and pulled her down into his arms +quite roughly. + +Her relief and gratitude pierced through the armor of his abstraction. + +"Oh, Phil, you _are_ sweet!" she whispered, holding him tight. "And I'll +make up to you somehow for it. I will! I will!" + +The wedding was more Jemima's idea of what such an affair should be than +her own had been; with a bishop officiating, and a choir in surplices +(rather weak-voiced and tearful, without their beloved leader) and a +matron-of-honor in a very smart New York frock, and the little church +crowded to its doors, and even spilling into the road beyond. Nor was +the congregation entirely composed of country-folk, tenants and the +like. There was quite a sprinkling of what Jemima called "worth-while +people"; not only Jacqueline's victims, who came _en masse_ and looking +rather depressed, but Mrs. Lawton and her daughters and several other +women whom Jemima had firmly brought to Storm (one could not be friends +with young Mrs. Thorpe without being friends with her family as well) +and who needed no urging to come a second time. + +Well toward the front there sat another guest, whom the eye of the +matron-of-honor encountered with some distaste; an unwashed-looking +person with a peddler's pack on the floor at his feet, whose beaming, +innocent gaze missed no detail of the ceremony. Brother Bates was in the +habit of carrying up to Misty other things besides his stock in trade +and the Word of God. Very little that occurred at Storm was unknown to +the man he called "Teacher." + +Nobody who had any possible claim to be present missed that wedding. It +was the nine days' wonder of the community. As Mrs. Sykes murmured to +her chosen intimates: "To think of both them beautiful young gals bein' +content to take their ma's cast-off leavin's!"--for the heart-affairs of +the Madam were viewed by her realm with a certain proprietary, +disapproving interest, not entirely unmixed with pride. And more than +one noted that the bridegroom, waiting at the altar-steps with his best +man, Farwell, was careful never to glance toward the pew where Mrs. +Kildare sat, quite as beautiful and far more radiant than the young +creature in white, who moved dreamily up the aisle as if her thoughts +were far away. There was a certain amount of buzzing among the +congregation. + +Jacqueline was married in a sort of daze. She had remembered quite +mechanically to keep five paces behind Jemima, to lift her skirts at the +step so as not to stumble over them, even to smile at Philip because he +smiled at her--a very tender, encouraging smile. As she spoke the words +that made her his wife she thought triumphantly, "If Mr. Channing could +only see me now!" + +It was not until she was going down the aisle again on her husband's arm +that the daze lifted suddenly. Her husband! She looked up at him with a +little gasp, and Philip, feeling her tremble, pressed her hand, +murmuring, "Steady, dear," as he would have spoken to a frightened colt. + +Then she remembered that after all it was only old Philip, her +friend.... + +Some hours later they drove back in the Ark from Storm to the +rectory--their only wedding-journey--through a world white with the +first snow, in honor of their nuptials. They went hand in hand through +the little blanketed garden toward the welcome of the firelight that +glowed through the cabin windows; and the door was eagerly opened to +them by the elderly housewoman, Ella, and proud Lige, both of whom Mrs. +Kildare had spared from Storm to replace the worthless Dilsey. + +"We all's got two more presents!" announced Lige, a-grin from ear to ear +with the joy of the occasion. "Come and look." + +He led the way with a lantern toward Philip's modest stable, where they +found a pretty little Jersey cow with a placard tied to her crumpled +horn, which read, "Compliments of the Possum Hunters." + +It was the final activity of Night Riders in that community. + +They found the second present on the dressing-table in the room which +Philip had fitted up, without consulting anybody, as Jacqueline's +boudoir; just such a room as the girl had dreamed of, with slender white +furniture, and rosy curtains, and a little shelf of her favorite books, +and a lovely photograph of her mother hanging beside her bed--which had +once been Philip's photograph. She could hardly withdraw her attention +from the delights of her room long enough to notice the present, a small +pasteboard box addressed to "Mrs. Philip Benoix," which Philip finally +opened for her. + +He gave an exclamation. The box contained a ring of oddly wrought pale +gold, set with a sapphire cut in a crest. It was a ring which his father +had worn as far back as Philip could remember. The card enclosed said +simply, "For my new little daughter, Jacqueline." + +"Then the warden does know where he is!" cried Philip. He had written to +his father about his approaching wedding, addressing the letter in care +of the state penitentiary, on the chance of its reaching him. "But how +did the box get here?" + +Inquiry produced no results. Ella had found it on a table beside the +door. In the excitement of that day, there had been a constant stream of +people coming and going, the altar guild and the choir to decorate the +house with evergreens, neighbors to inspect the preparations for the +bride, negroes with offers of assistance, taking the delight of their +race in anything that resembles an Occasion. Any one of these visitors +might have left the ring unobserved. + +Ella did not think to mention that among them had been the old mountain +peddler, who had come to the door to ask whether there was a Bible in +that house, and been routed by Ella with a scornful, "Go 'way f'um here. +Don't you know Mr. Philip's a preacher?" + +But busy as she was, Ella had found time to run and get him a glass of +milk, remembering that he was a protege of the Madam's, and that the +Madam never permitted people to go from her door hungry. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +The weeks that followed were the most contented of Kate Kildare's life, +despite her loneliness in her great house, with no companion except the +negro servants and Mag's baby. She felt like a captain who has carried +his ship into port after a stormy passage. Her children were provided +for; they were safe; life, which had treated her so harshly, was +powerless to hurt them now. It was an attitude of mind that is apt to be +rather tempting to the gods.... + +Jacqueline entered into her new role with touching eagerness. Somewhat +to his surprise, Philip found her quite invaluable in his parochial +work. She took much of the visiting off his hands, held Mothers' +Meetings and Bible classes; taught Sunday-school; busied her +unaccustomed needle quite happily with altar-cloths and vestments, and +even more happily with socks and buttons. She discussed housekeeping +matters very seriously with her mother and Jemima, more seriously than +she practised them, perhaps, for Ella, trained by the Madam, had taken +her two "young folks" into her protection with a capable thoroughness +that is the acme of good African service, and proceeded to create such +an atmosphere of comfort in the rectory as Philip had not thought +possible. + +He had always found his little home a pleasant place to come to; but now +it was more than pleasant, with Jacqueline's eager face watching for him +at the window, or her beautiful voice mingling in the twilight with the +tinkling notes of his old piano. The punching-bag and other purely +masculine paraphernalia had been banished to his own room, and the +living-room, alas! had lost its aspect of meticulous neatness. But when +Philip found a darning-basket spilled into his usual chair, or a +riding-glove of Jacqueline's lying among the scattered sheets of his +half-finished sermon, he did not frown. He told himself he would get +used to it presently. In fact, he rather liked it. And he decidedly +liked her funny little maternal airs with his clothes, and his health +(which was excellent), and his finances (which were not). + +Mrs. Kildare had insisted upon continuing Jacqueline's usual allowance +until her coming of age; and Philip had felt it not quite fair to the +girl herself to refuse; but Jacqueline knew better than to use the +smallest part of that allowance toward expenses which Philip might +consider his. So she consulted anxiously with her mother on the cost of +food-supply, and was very firm with Ella in the matter of flour and +eggs; somewhat to the amusement of both older women. + +Others besides Philip realized the charm of that picturesque cabin with +its young and hospitable mistress. Farwell was a faithful visitor, and +even some of the "victims" respectfully renewed their allegiance, to +Jacqueline's frank pleasure. The Thorpes came out from town very often, +with an automobile filled with friends; Jemima having come to appreciate +more fully at a distance something of the unusual atmosphere of her +former home. It was no rare thing for Philip to return from an afternoon +gallop and find his house full of guests, drinking tea or toddies +according to their sex, and unmistakably grouped around Jacqueline as +the central figure. The party usually adjourned to Storm for supper, to +the huge delight of Big Liza and the quiet pleasure of the Madam +herself, who looked forward to these incursions of Jemima's with a +combination of dread and eagerness. + +Jacqueline, on these occasions, was surprised to note the ease with +which Philip entered into the duties of host, making his guests +comfortable with the sort of effortless charm that usually comes only +with much experience of entertaining. She realized it was the same +adaptability he had shown among the mountain folk, and among the simple +people of his own parish; and she began to be very proud of her husband. + +Invitations poured in on them from Lexington and Frankfort and the +surrounding Bluegrass country. "Why don't we go to some of these +parties!" he suggested one day. "Of course I'm not a dancing-man, but I +could take you very easily, thanks to the Ark, and once there I daresay +you will not lack for beaux, you staid old married woman!" + +"Do you _want_ to go to parties?" she asked, rather wistfully. + +"I love to see you enjoy yourself." + +"Oh, but I enjoy myself without parties," she said; adding quickly, +"Would it be better for the parish if I went?" + +He laughed and put an arm around her. "No, Mrs. Rector. It's not that +kind of parish, thank goodness!" + +"Then--" she nestled against him--"I'd rather stay home at night. +Wouldn't you?" + +Philip admitted that he would. + +His suggestion had come as the result of much covert study of his little +wife. Despite her pretty, matronly airs, her contented preoccupation +with new duties, he was not altogether satisfied with the look of +Jacqueline. He saw things her mother failed to notice--a faint shadow +beneath her eyes which made them look oddly dark, a little hollowing of +the cheeks, rosy as they were; above all a certain listlessness, a sort +of abstraction that she covered by forced gaiety. She appeared to have +lost interest in many of the things that used to be her joy; sang often, +it is true, but without enthusiasm; rarely rode the fine saddle horse +that had come from Storm stables to keep old Tom company, preferring to +drive with Philip in the hitherto-despised Ark--preferring apparently +above all things to sit at home in front of the fire, with a puppy and +her sewing for company. Tomboy Jacqueline with a needle in her hands was +a sight which somehow troubled Philip even more than it amused him. +Often when he came upon her unexpectedly, he noted traces of tears about +her eyes--a signal always for the sudden flow of high spirits which +Philip found at times almost painful. + +The girl was not happy. Channing had certainly left his mark. + +"Damn the fellow!" said Philip to himself, most unclerically; and his +anger did not cool with time. + +He redoubled his tender care of Jacqueline; considerate of every mood, +constantly praising and encouraging her, daily planning little surprises +for her pleasure (the puppy had been one of them); doing everything +possible, in fact, except make love to her. That would have been +possible, too, for she was very sweet, a true daughter of Helen; and he +a young and normal man, sorely in need of comforting. But guessing what +he did of the girl's heart, he would not have offered her the indignity +of unwelcome love-making. + +"It is just like being married to a dear big brother," Jacqueline +explained naively to her mother. "Philip is the best friend in the +world!" + +"I know. He would be, dear fellow," Kate replied, well content, +remembering with a sudden shudder, despite the years which had passed, a +husband who had never been a friend to her. + +Kate was seeing very little of her new son-in-law in those days. Often +as she came to the rectory--and she had formed the habit of dropping in +once or twice a day on her way to and from her lonely house--she rarely +found Philip at home. + +"What does he find to do that keeps him so busy these winter days?" she +marveled. + +"Oh, sick parishioners, and ailing cows, and things like that. He's +always tearing about on horseback, or making long journeys somewhere in +the Ark--I wish Jemmy had never given it to him! He manages to find +duties that keep him out of doors just as long as there's any daylight +to see by. And as if that weren't enough, he has fixed up the choir-room +over at the church for a sort of study, because he says he can't write +sermons with me about--I'm too distracting! Did you ever hear such +nonsense? When I sit just as quiet as a mouse, and don't do a thing but +watch him, or perhaps sit on a foot-stool beside him and hold the hand +he isn't using. You don't need both hands to write a sermon!" + +Kate laughed at the picture, looking at her daughter with a fond +maternal eye. She could understand that the girl might be somewhat +distracting, in her demure little house-dress turned in at the soft +throat, and her hair done neatly on top of her head as became a matron, +but escaping about her face in glinting chestnut tendrils. + +"I suspect it _is_ rather difficult to be a spiritual pastor and master +and an attentive bridegroom at the same time," she commented. + +She put the infrequency of Philip's appearances at Storm down to the +same cause. "Young birds to their own nest," she thought, a little +drearily. It is a rule that is rather hard on older birds. + +But Jacqueline, her eyes already opened by Jemima, was more observant, +and began to realize at last that Philip was trying to avoid her mother. + +The thought troubled and frightened her. What had she done? They were +her entire world now, Philip and her mother; and any world of +Jacqueline's must necessarily be a world of much loving-kindness. + +She consulted her sister, distressfully. + +"Humph!" said Jemima, and would have liked to add, "I told you so!"--but +did not dare. + +Thoughts, however, have an annoying way of communicating themselves +independent of words, and Jacqueline nodded sadly, as though she had +spoken. + +"I know. I oughtn't to have married Philip--you were right. I only +wanted to make him happier, and I thought he could go on adoring mother +just the same, with me to comfort him in between whiles. But he won't +let me,--he won't let me! And he's unhappier than ever.--Oh, Jemmy, what +shall I do?" + +Jemima for once was at a loss for advice to offer. She thought harsh +things of her headstrong, single-minded mother, and yearned over this +poor, ignorant, immolated young creature who seemed destined to waste +her loveliness on those who could not value it. + +"There's nothing to do," she sighed; adding with a cynicism of which she +was not aware, "Except to wait for mother to grow old. It won't be long +now. She _can't_ go on looking like a girl forever!" + +"Oh, Jemmy!" exclaimed Jacqueline, shocked and flushing. "Philip's +not--that sort!" + +"Every man's that sort," remarked the experienced Mrs. Thorpe. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +As the winter closed in--it was one of the open, keen, out-of-door +winters which have done their share to make the dwellers on the great +central plateau of Kentucky so sturdy a race of men--the Thorpe +automobile was seen less frequently on the road to Storm. Kate smilingly +accused Jemima of neglecting her for the furthering of her social +campaign. + +"A social campaign in _Lexington_? How absurd!" shrugged Jemima; to her +mother's amusement. + +It was difficult to keep pace with the development of Jemima. + +"To tell the truth--I did not mean to speak of it until later--but we +are finishing a book!" + +"'We'?" laughed Kate. + +"Yes. James has been at work on it in a desultory way for a number of +years, and I am very busy looking up references, and verifying +quotations, and prodding. You know scholarly men are inclined to +be--procrastinating." + +(The word "lazy" was to Jemima's thinking too great an insult to be +applied to any one for whom she cared.) + +"Is it a novel, with you in it?" demanded Jacqueline, eagerly, with +unconscious wistfulness. Once she herself had hoped to be the heroine of +a novel; and she surreptitiously read all the book reviews she could lay +hands upon to see whether Channing had been able to finish it without +her. + +"A novel--pooh! It is a treatise on the Psychology of the Feminist +Movement; and I think," added Jemima complacently, "that it will be more +salable than James' previous works." + +"I have no doubt of it," murmured her mother. "But just what is this +Feminist Movement I read so much about nowadays, dear? Votes, and +strongmindedness in general?" + +Jemima looked at her mother, thoughtfully. "If you but knew it, you +yourself are a leader in the Feminist Movement. It is seeing such women +as you denied the ballot that has made most of us suffragists." + +"Good Heavens! Are you _that_?" gasped her mother. + +"All thinking women are 'that' nowadays," replied Jemima, reprovingly. +"Besides, it's very smart." + +Shortly after the book in question made its appearance, Jemima arrived +at Storm one day quite pale with excitement. "It's come," she cried, +"it's come at last! James has been offered the Presidency of ----" (she +named a well-known Eastern university) "and he's already found a +substitute for Lexington, and we're going on at once!" + +"To live?" cried Jacqueline. + +"Of course! Isn't it splendid? Oh, I've seen it coming ever since that +lecture tour, and the book clinched matters." + +Jacqueline embraced her sister in unselfish delight. "Think of it--'Mrs. +President'! And all the young professors kowtowing, and the nice +undergraduates to dance with--and what a wonderful place to live! Dear +old Goddy! Oh, I _am_ glad. That famous college! Why, it's perfectly +amazing!" + +"Nice, of course, but hardly amazing," corrected Jemima, herself once +more. "James is a very brilliant man, you know. I always expected +recognition for him. He should have had some such position long ago. But +he had no knowledge of how to--take advantage of opportunities." + +Kate found her voice at last. "I congratulate you, dear," she said +quietly--a tribute which the other accepted with a simple nod, as +becomes true greatness. + +And then, suddenly and quite unexpectedly to herself, the face of the +triumphant Mrs. Thorpe crumpled up into a queer little mask of distress, +and she flung herself into her mother's arms and wept aloud. + +The others tried to console her, weeping too. Mag's baby, dozing in +front of the fire, sensed the general grief and lifted up her voice in +sympathy. Big Liza, attracted by the commotion, learned the cause of it +and added herself to the group with loud Ethiopian howls of dismay. The +housemaid came running; and soon it was known throughout the quarters +and at the stables that Miss Jemmy was going far away to live, and would +never come back any more. There had not been such excitement of gloom at +Storm since Basil Kildare was brought into the house dead. + +It was, characteristically, Jemima herself who quelled the tides of +emotion she had started. + +"We mustn't be f-foolish," she gulped, mopping her eyes impartially with +her mother's sleeve and Liza's apron. "It isn't as if I was af-afraid to +go and live among strangers--I'm used to it. B-but I can't help +wondering how you all will manage to get along without me!" The tears +flowed again.--"You're such a _helpless_ person, Mother!" + +This to the Madam, the famous Mrs. Kildare of Storm! Jacqueline gasped +at the irreverence. + +But for once Kate was not tempted to smile at the girl's egotism. She +was already foretasting the dreariness of life without the critical, +corrective, and withal stimulating presence of her elder child. + +The Thorpes' going, after a last Christmas together at Storm, left Kate +and Jacqueline more than ever dependent upon each other. If Philip had +been more exacting as a husband, he might well have complained of his +wife's constant attendance on her mother in those days. But he was so +far from complaining that it was at his suggestion Jacqueline formed the +habit of taking her midday meal at Storm. + +It was the first real breaking of ties in Kate's little family, and he +knew his lady well enough to realize that her cheerful, quiet exterior +concealed a very lonely heart just then. So lonely, indeed, that Kate +more than once considered the idea of asking Philip and Jacqueline to +come and live with her at Storm, for she missed her old-time +confidential talks with Philip almost as much as she missed Jemima. + +But Philip was spared at least that test of devotion. + +"Young birds to their own nest," she reminded herself, sighing. + +Occasionally she sent for Philip as in the old days, for the purpose of +discussing business or parish matters. He always came, schooling himself +to the manner that might be expected of an affectionate son-in-law, but +usually managing to bring Jacqueline with him. She was puzzled and a +little hurt by his new intangible reserve. She could not quite +understand the change in him, and decided with some bitterness that he +had lost interest in her now that she had given him what he wanted of +her--namely, Jacqueline. That, she reminded herself, was the way of the +world. She who knew men should not have been surprised. + +And Jacqueline made up to her as best she could for Philip's defection. +She had gone back lately to the ways of her little girlhood, loved to +sit at Kate's feet in front of the grate fire, or even in her lap--no +small accomplishment, for she was almost as tall a woman as her +mother--listening while Kate read aloud, interrupting her frequently +with caresses, making love to her as only Jacqueline could. Kate laughed +at her for what she called her "mommerish" ways; but she found them very +sweet, nevertheless. It was as if the girl were trying to be two +daughters in one, and a faithless Philip to boot. + +Kate, too, had gone back to old ways that winter, and occupied her hands +with much sewing for Mag's baby. She had been, in the days before larger +affairs took up so much of her time, a tireless needlewoman, and knew +well the mental relaxation that comes to those who occasionally "sit on +a cushion and sew a fine seam." She explained smilingly that she was +preparing for old age, when nothing would be expected of her but to make +clothes for her grandchildren; and meanwhile Mag's baby reaped the +benefit. + +Small Kitty had grown apace, a placid, dimpled little creature, who +stayed with great docility wherever she was put, content to amuse +herself with her ten fingers, or the new accomplishment of blowing +bubbles out of her mouth. In all characteristics she was so different +from what her own two strenuous, exacting babies had been that Kate +marveled anew at the power of heredity. + +"I _wish_ you'd let me have her!" said Jacqueline one day, renewing an +old complaint. "You don't love her half so much as I do, and anyway +you've had three of your own." + +Kate smiled to herself, and did not make the obvious answer. Instead she +said, "It was to me Mag gave her, dear, to be made a 'lady' of." + +"Poor Mag! Do you think you can ever do it?" + +"I don't know," admitted Kate, rather helplessly. A year ago she would +have said "Yes" with confidence; but the year had done much to shake her +faith in her own ability. "At least I shall make a useful woman of her, +which is more to the point." + +Only once any sign had come out of the oblivion which had engulfed Mag +Henderson. It was a little cheap string of gilt beads, addressed to Mrs. +Kildare and accompanied by a scrap of paper which read: + + For little Kitty, so she kin have somethin' purty to remember her + mama by. + +Kate had put the poor little gift away sadly, dreading to think how the +girl must have earned even the trifling outlay it had cost. It seemed a +pitifully suitable memento of that mother--a string of cheap gilt beads, +already tarnished.... + +Jacqueline's handiwork on these occasions was a rather ambitious +venture, a peppermint-striped silk shirt, reminiscent of Professor +Thorpe's courting finery, which she was making as a surprise for +Philip's birthday. Kate eyed this surprise with some misgivings, and +hoped that she would not be asked for an opinion upon it. The sleeves of +the thing looked rather odd, as if they were facing the wrong direction; +also, the buttonholes might have been spaced more evenly. + +In its beginning she ventured one remonstrance. "Isn't striped silk just +a little giddy for the Cloth, dear?" + +"Phil needs to be giddy, Mother. I mean that my husband shall be just as +stylish as Jemmy's. Besides, it won't show under his clerical vest." + +"But if it won't show, what's the use of all this grandeur?" + +"Why, Mummy, what a vulgar thought! It will feel, of course!--You know +how it is when there are ribbons and lace on our underthings--we feel +sort of superior and extra lady-like." + +"Do we?" laughed Kate. "I must try it and see." + +"And then men admire silk tremendously," Jacqueline informed her, +seriously. "Whenever I ask Phil what to put on, he chooses something +silk, and I don't believe he's ever owned anything silk in all his life; +unless perhaps a handkerchief. Oh, he's going to love this shirt, you'll +see!" + +"I am sure he is," said Kate tenderly, and thereafter held her peace. + +Jacqueline was right, Philip's delight in his "surprise" was almost +touching. It was perhaps the first thing that any woman had made for him +with her own hands since the days when his mother prepared for his +arrival in the world. He bragged about his shirt to all of his +acquaintance, loyally concealing its weaknesses; and would have worn it +with equal pride had it been as uncomfortable as the shirt of Nessus. + +Jacqueline, highly elated, embarked upon a series of silken adventures. +If firm intention could have done it, she would have become in those +days as accomplished a needlewoman as her mother and sister. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +Jacqueline had never quite thought out to herself the reason for +Channing's unexplained disappearance. It was a subject upon which her +mind dwelt constantly whenever she was alone; hence she managed to be +alone as little as possible. The realization that he was a coward, as +she had more than once suspected--afraid to face the consequences of his +own act; afraid (the weakest cowardice of all!) of what people might +say--had done much to help her pride through the humiliation of +desertion, had done much, indeed, to banish him from her heart. + +But she could not banish him from her mind. Again and again her thoughts +went over all that had passed between them, trying piteously to +discover what had happened to put them apart. He had been so madly +in love, had wanted her so desperately--or was it she who had wanted +him? Had she shown that too plainly?--Had she not shown him plainly +enough?--Sometimes she reproached herself bitterly for her little +instinctive coquetries with him. More often she asked herself in a +terrified whisper whether he had ever really loved her at all, whether +it was she herself who had done the seeking, the demanding?--she a +shameless creature, blinded by her own feeling, to whom he had responded +out of pity, perhaps (Jacqueline shivered), laughing at her all the +while in his sleeve. + +Poor Jacqueline! It was no wonder that her eyes were shadowed, her +manner listless. Always, in these dreaded meditations, she came to a +certain point where she dared think no further, but ran away from +herself in a sort of panic, to the comfort of whoever happened to be +nearer, Philip or her mother. And she saw to it that one of them was +always near. + +It was the frequency of these sudden, unexplained attacks of frantic +affection that had driven Philip to the necessity of another study, +where he might write sermons and attend to necessary matters free from +the distraction of a wife who at any moment might fling herself into his +arms demanding wordlessly to be comforted. + +Not that he begrudged the little bruised soul any comfort he had to +offer. He at least had gone into marriage with his eyes wide open. He +understood Jacqueline far better than did her mother, who ascribed her +varying moods to the whims and megrims usual with young wives in the +first difficult year or two of married life. + +Frequently these panics occurred at night, when she suddenly found +herself awake in the black loneliness, remembering Channing. Then she +would jump out of bed and run into her husband's room, a distraught, +white ghost of a figure, and climb in beside him to hide her head in the +ready refuge of his shoulder. + +"Nightmares again?" he would ask. + +And she, nodding, buried her head deeper, while he held her close and +silent until her shuddering ceased, and he knew by her light breathing +that she was asleep there in his arms. + +Perhaps it was a comforting that worked both ways, for Philip sometimes +had nightmares of his own. + +One day Jacqueline, after lunch with her mother, was glancing over the +numerous magazines that littered the reading-table, when she came across +something which riveted her attention. Kate, getting no answer to a +twice-repeated question, looked over her shoulder to see what she was +reading. On the front page she saw a picture of Percival Channing, with +a notice of his new book, just published. + +"He finished it without me after all, you see," said Jacqueline faintly. +"He--he said he couldn't." + +Kate made no comment. The mention of Channing always embarrassed her +quite as much as it did Jacqueline. Her duplicity in the matter of his +disappearance weighed heavily on her conscience, and she longed for the +time to come when she could make full confession and be absolved. She +wondered if the time had come already, since Jacqueline spoke of him of +her own accord. + +"I suppose I ought to be proud to have helped at all with such a book as +that," went on the girl, haltingly. "It says here it is the greatest +book he has ever written.--And I'm in it, Mother. It's a great honor, +isn't it?" + +"It's a great impertinence," exclaimed Kate. + +Jacqueline flushed. "Mummy, dear, you've never been quite fair to Mr. +Channing, and--it's not like you. If you realized how much I--I cared +for him, you would be fairer.--Mother, I want to tell you something, now +that it's all done and over." + +Kate braced herself for what she knew was coming. + +"I--I kept on seeing Mr. Channing, even after you told me not to--You +never made _me_ promise anything, you know." + +"I trusted you." + +"Yes, but it isn't fair to trust people when they don't want you to! If +you had asked me any questions, I think I should have told you the +truth--I _think_ so. But you didn't ask me any questions.--It wasn't his +fault, Mummy. I made him come. I used to meet him in the Ruin every +night." She peered at her mother anxiously, and Kate got up abruptly and +crossed the room so that her face should not be visible. + +"That isn't all," went on the hurried voice, rather breathless now. "You +see--it didn't seem very honorable, somehow, to go on meeting him like +that, on your place, when you didn't know about it--" + +"No," agreed Kate. + +"So--so I thought I'd just better go away with him.--Oh, he didn't ask +me to, he didn't really want me to--he said it was too much of a +sacrifice to ask of me. But--you and I know, Mother, don't we? that +there's no sacrifice too great to make when you love a man!" + +"Oh, my little girl," groaned Kate, "how could you love him like that +when you knew about--that woman, knew what sort of man he was?" + +Jacqueline said eagerly, "But he explained all about that woman. He +never really loved her at all, but he was lonely, and she was very +beautiful and fascinating, as that sort of woman knows how to +be. And artistic people are so susceptible. It was a sort of +experiment--experience is an author's stock in trade, you know." (Kate +could almost hear Channing saying it.) "It turned out wrong, of course. +Why, Mother, she was _horrid_! The fact that a bad woman had got hold of +him was all the more reason for a good woman to--to win him back. Oh, I +suppose he was weak--I know he was--but weak people are the very ones +who need us most, Mother, aren't they?" + +Kate came behind her chair and laid her cheek on the girl's hair. "Don't +say anything more, dear. I know, I understand. Surely nobody, neither +God nor man, can condemn us women for our divine gift of pity." + +But Jacqueline had dedicated herself to honesty that day. "It wasn't +just pity, Mummy. I----I wanted him, too! I wanted him as much as he +wanted me--more, I think, because after all he never came for me. Just +went away without a word." Suddenly she hid her face in her hands. "Oh, +Mummy, and I loved him so! I adored him!--I loved him as much as you +loved Phil's father." + +Kate opened her lips in quick protest, but did not speak. How could she +explain the difference between this childish infatuation for a first +lover and her own devotion to such a man as Jacques Benoix? Was there, +after all, such a difference? It is not the recipient but the giver that +makes love a holy thing. + +She knelt beside the girl, and put both arms around her. "My dear!--Did +it hurt very much when he did not come?" + +Jacqueline leaned her head on the warm shoulder that had received so +many of her griefs, and gave way freely to the relief of weeping. + +"Oh, yes, it hurt," she said between sobs. "It still hurts." + +"You don't mean that you still--care for him?" + +The other raised tear-filled eyes in surprise. "Now that I am married to +Philip? Why, of course not! How could I? My husband is the dearest thing +in the world!" + +Kate laughed in sheer relief. + +But the girl's lips were still quivering, and she ducked her head down +on the comfortable shoulder again. "I can't help feeling ashamed, +though," she sobbed. "Ashamed be-because Mr. Channing proved to be +such--such a coward, and because--he never could have loved me at all, +or he would have come for me, or written, or something!--He must have +been glad to get away from me, just as he was from that other woman." + +"Listen, darling!" Kate realized that her own moment of confession had +arrived. "He _did_ come for you! It is my fault that he has never +explained to you;"--and with the girl's widening, incredulous eyes fixed +upon her, she told every detail of her experience that night of the +storm. + +When she finished, Jacqueline was on her feet, queerly white and still. +"You knew," she whispered as if to herself, "and you let me think him--? +You never told me--you let me suffer--Oh, _Mother_!--Why, it was deceit! +It was a lie!" + +Kate frowned. "What of it? Lying, deceit--what are they to me beside +your happiness? I only wanted that--and thank God I've got it!" + +Jacqueline gave her a strange look. "My happiness," she repeated. + +The tone of her voice startled Kate. "You _are_ happy?" she said, +quickly, between a statement and a question. "You told me yourself that +Philip was the dearest thing in the world to you!" + +Jacqueline answered, "Mother, I love Philip now better than I ever +dreamed it was possible to love any one. But--It does not make you +exactly happy to feel that way about a man who--who doesn't know you're +there, unless you remind him." + +"Jacqueline! Philip does not love you--?" + +"He tries his best to," said the girl with a hopeless little smile, "but +he can't. Oh, it's quite true!"--she stopped her mother's protest by a +gesture. "I knew it before I married him. Jemmy told me--Oh, do you +think I would have done such a thing, do you dream I would have accepted +such a sacrifice, if I had seen anything else to do? If I had guessed +that Mr. Channing really wanted me?--I belonged to Mr. Channing, +Mother.--Now do you see what you have done?" + +Kate had risen, too, her hands shaking. A strange and appalling thought +had forced itself into her head. She asked in a sort of whisper, +"Daughter, _why did you marry Philip_?" + +The answer came with a terrible simplicity, "Because I did not want to +be like Mag Henderson. Because I thought--if a baby came--you never can +tell--it would be better to have a father for it." + +In the silence that followed, innumerable little familiar home-sounds +came to Kate's ears; the crackling of a log in the fire, a negro voice +out of doors calling "Soo-i, soo-i," to the pigs, Big Liza in the +distant kitchen chanting a revival hymn while she washed the dishes. Her +eyes in that one moment took in, as do the eyes of a drowning person, +every detail of her surroundings; the sturdy masculine furniture covered +incongruously with its wedding cretonne, the piano and books that had +been a part of her childhood's home, her open office beyond, with its +business-like array of maps and ledgers; and all these things seemed to +accuse her of something, of being a traitor to some trust. Her eyes came +to rest at last upon the old flintlock rifle over the mantel-shelf, +beneath the wooden, grim-faced Kildare who had carried it. + +"And I did not kill him!" she muttered aloud, as if in apology to the +rifle. + +Jacqueline, who had been watching her fearfully, ran with a little cry +and clung to her close. + +"Mummy, don't look like that, don't stare so queerly! You frighten me," +she wailed. "Didn't you guess--didn't you understand, when I told you +how I adored him? I--I thought you would. How could I help it? I didn't +know--I--Oh, Mummy!" + +Kate with a gesture brushed aside her incoherences, brushed aside the +thing she was confessing--a thing she saw to have been inevitable, +taking into account the girl's nature, her inheritance ("From both +sides," the mother reminded herself, grimly), and the man she had had to +deal with. Kate told herself she was a fool not to have suspected it +from the first; or rather to have allowed Channing to dull her suspicion +of it with his halting statement that he was, after all, "a gentleman." + +Even in that moment of sickening surprise, she faced and accepted and +took upon herself the burden of her child's weakness. It was not that +sin which roused in her a rapidly mounting tide of furious anger against +Jacqueline. It was her sin against Philip Benoix. + +"You accused me of deceit, of a lie. You!" Her voice was curiously +thick, and she spoke with great effort. "Ah! There have been bad women +in this family of yours, my girl, but never before, I think, a +dishonorable one." + +Jacqueline recoiled from her. + +"Dishonorable! And my daughter! Stealing a good man's name to cover her +own shame. How dared you, how _dared_ you?" She began to stride up and +down the room, the words pouring from her lips at white heat. Kate +Kildare was one of the people whose quiet serenity covers a great power +of anger, all the more forceful for being kept within bounds. Rarely +indeed had she allowed it to force the flood-gates; and Jacqueline +cowered away from her, staring, hardly believing it was herself to whom +this cold fury of speech was addressed. + +"Philip, left to my care by his father, Philip for whom I wanted +everything good in life even more than for my own children! Oh, how +dared you? So devoted to us, so grateful to me--how could he refuse? +What chance had he? Even if he had known--" She turned on Jacqueline +with a sudden gleam of hope. "_Did_ he know? Were you honest enough to +tell him?" + +The girl gasped. "How could I?" The blood came up over her face in a +painful flood and her head drooped. "But--but I think he--understood. +He--seemed to." + +The other gave a short, hard laugh. "Not likely! Men, even such men as +Philip, don't marry the--Magdalens, however much they pity them. Unless +somebody makes them, as I made Philip.--Oh, my God! And I thought he was +too modest to ask for you! I thought I was offering him the best I had!" + +A faint voice interrupted her. "Did you--offer me to Philip?" + +If Kate was aware of the cruelty of her words, she was beyond +compunction just then. "Yes! Offered you?--Good Heavens, I insisted upon +it! Oh, what a fool I have been, what a blind, blundering fool! Now I +understand why he was so queer, so quiet.--Taking advantage of his +devotion to shunt my disgrace onto him--Jacques' son!" + +At last her anger exhausted her, and she sank into a chair, quite limp +and silent. She did not know just when Jacqueline left the house, had +been only vaguely aware of a horse galloping down the hill recklessly, +as Jacqueline, like her father before her, was wont to gallop. In the +reaction of emotion, she felt rather ill, and had to struggle with a +physical weakness that threatened to overcome her. + +Some time later a servant, entering to announce supper, found her there +in the dark, and receiving no reply to her summons, ran back to the +kitchen in some alarm. + +Big Liza, with the wisdom of the simple, herself brought a tray of +nourishing food, and stood over her mistress firmly while she ate, +obediently enough, but tasting nothing of what she put into her mouth. + +Presently, however, the food had its effect. Weakness passed; and Kate +found that her anger had dissipated, leaving only a great, aching +sorrow, not only for her daughter, but with her. Philip receded to the +back of her mind. Channing was there only as one is aware of the +presence of some crawling, hidden thing in the grass, whom one intends +presently to crush with a heel. All her thoughts rested now upon +Jacqueline. + +She saw her as she had cowered away from that torrent of wrath, her +tearless, strained eyes fixed incredulously upon the mother who was +hurting her. She remembered all her little tender, clinging ways, her +piteous loyalty to the man who had deserted her, her gallant effort to +bear gaily the load of fear that must for so long have been upon her +heart. She remembered farther back than that--her fierce rage with the +accusing Jemima, her arms wound tight about the mother whose weakness +she had learned, her cry, "If she is bad, then I'll be bad, too! I'd +rather be bad like her than good as--as God!" + +Kate began to shiver. She, the defender of Mag Henderson, of all weak +and helpless creatures, she had failed her own daughter!... + +Her mind went still further back into the past, and recalled the scene +between herself and Jacques Benoix, when she had offered herself to him, +when only the fact that her lover was stronger than herself had kept her +from far worse sinning than Jacqueline's--worse, because less ignorant. +What right had she, Kate Leigh, reckless, headstrong, hot-hearted, to +expect of her child either the sort of strength that resists temptation, +or the sort that declines to shield itself at the expense of another? + +Gradually she came to absolve Jacqueline from blame even in the matter +of Philip. She had not sought Philip's help, she had only accepted what +had been offered her--what her mother had prompted him to offer. Poor +little victim, passive in the hands of stronger natures, in the hands of +circumstance, heredity, character--that Fate which the ancient gods +surely meant by their cryptic saying: "The fate of all men we have hung +about their necks...." + +If it had not been so late she would have gone to her daughter then, and +begged for forgiveness. Instead she sat on before the dying fire, +shivering without knowing it, sometimes unconsciously beating her breast +with her hand, as Catholics beat their breasts during the mass, when +they murmur, "_Mea culpa, mea culpa_." + +It was almost dawn when she realized that the fire was out, and went +stiffly up to bed, careful not to wake Mag's baby, who slept beside her +in the crib that had held in turn each of her own children. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + + +It was so rarely that the Madam overslept herself that her servants had +no precedent to follow in the matter. The housewoman, who finally +entered on tiptoe to remove the placidly protesting Kitty, reported the +Madam sleeping "like a daid pusson, and mighty peaked-lookin' in the +face." So it was decided not to disturb her; and the morning was well +advanced before Kate reached the Rectory, where her thoughts had been +hovering since her first waking moment. + +The counsels of the night had taught her a new humility. She came to +Jacqueline as a suppliant, begging to be forgiven not only for her +moment of cruel anger but for her stupid and bungling interference in +her child's life. Nothing was very clear in her mind except that Philip +must be told the truth, and that, whatever happened, she and her child +would bear it together. + +She was disappointed to find that both Jacqueline and Philip were out, +Jacqueline having driven away soon after Philip left the house. + +"Driven? She was not riding?" asked Kate in some surprise. Jacqueline, +like her mother, rarely used a vehicle if a saddle-horse was at hand. + +"She tooken de buggy, an' she tooken Lige, too," explained Ella. "No'm, +I dunno whar she went at, kase I wa'n't here when dey lef', but I reckon +she'll be gone a right smart while, 'cause she lef' me word jes what I +was to feed dat puppy. As ef a pusson raised at Sto'm wouldn't know how +to take keer of puppy-dawgs!" She exchanged with her former mistress a +smile of indulgent amusement. "I 'lows she's goin' to tek her dinner +with you-all like she ginally does, ain't she?" + +Kate doubted it, after what had passed; but she went back to her house +and waited, hopefully. + +At about the dinner-hour she was called to the telephone, and for a +moment failed to recognize Philip's voice over the wire. It sounded +unnatural. + +"Is Jacqueline there?" + +"Why, no. Not yet. Is she coming?" + +"I--I don't know. Look here!--don't worry, but she's been gone for some +hours, and she 's taken a trunk with her." + +"A trunk?" cried Kate. + +"Yes. Do you know anything about it? Has she spoken to you of making a +visit, or anything?" He repeated his question, patiently; but Kate could +not find her voice to answer. A premonition of disaster struck her dumb. + +"You're not to worry," said Philip again. "Lige drove her over to the +trolley-line, and he should be back soon. I'll telephone you what he has +to say." + +But Kate could not wait. She ran out to the stables and saddled a horse +with her own hands, impatiently pushing aside the slower negroes. + +Halfway to the rectory she met Philip, in the Ark. He held out to her an +open letter. + +"Lige brought it back to me. It's from Jacqueline. Read it," he said, +dully. + +Seated upon a restive horse that backed and filled nervously about the +puffing engine, the paper fluttering in her fingers, Kate read aloud +Jacqueline's farewell to her husband, only half grasping its meaning: + + I didn't mean to be dishonorable, darling Philip; I didn't know I + was being, till mother told me. I never thought. I only thought, + suppose I have a baby, and it's a poor little thing without a + father, like Mag's, that nobody wants except me, and that mother + and Jemmy and everybody would be ashamed of? I couldn't bear + it!--And I didn't know mother asked you to marry me--I thought you + wanted to, because you were unhappy and wanted me for + company--we're so used to each other. Truly, I thought that! And I + thought you knew, Philip. It seemed to me that you knew, without my + telling you. + +Kate looked up here. "Did you know?" she asked. + +He nodded, without speaking. + +Kate's head drooped over the letter. "And her mother didn't," she +thought. + + But it's all been wrong, somehow, and the only way I know to make + it right is to go away, as your father did. Please, please let that + make it right! You don't believe in divorce, of course, but I know + enough to know this marriage of ours is not a real marriage, and + could be put aside if people knew what sort of girl I have been. + The Bishop will help you, I am sure. So I have written him all + about it. + +Kate gasped; but the courage of it brought up her drooping head again. + + You must forgive me if you can, darling Philip, and thank you, + thank you, thank you for being so sweet to me always! You must + never worry about me, either. I am not going to die or anything + like that. There is somebody who will help me, who always would + have, only I didn't know it. I did him an injustice. Mother did not + tell me. I can't forgive mother for that quite yet, but I will some + day; and some day, perhaps, she will forgive me. You'll make her, + won't you, Phil? + + Oh, I do love you both so much! It nearly breaks my heart to go + away from the precious little house, and the puppy, and Storm, and + baby Kitty, and everything. I've never been away before.--You won't + take off your winter flannels till the frost is out of the ground, + will you? Promise me! And don't try to find me, because I _don't + want to be found_. Only don't let mother fret about me. I shall + think about you always, no matter where I am. + + JACQUELINE. + +The two stared at each other for a moment without a word. Then Philip +said hoarsely, "She means Channing, of course!" + +"No, no!" muttered the mother, shrinking, fighting against her own +conviction. "She loves you too much for that. It is you she loves, now. +She couldn't! She must have gone to Jemima. Oh, I am sure she has gone +to Jemima! Come, we'll telegraph." + +She started for the Rectory at a gallop, her thoughts as usual +translating themselves into action. Over the telephone she dictated a +long wire to Jemima, carefully worded so that the curiosity of a country +telegraph operator should not be aroused. Her brain never worked better +than in an emergency. + +"Now," she said briskly, turning to the dazed and silent Philip, "come +up and show me what you want in your bag." + +"Where am I to go?" he asked vaguely. + +"I'll tell you as soon as I hear from Jemima. But there is no time to +waste." + +He stood quite idle in the little rose and white bower he had prepared +for his bride, watching Kate hurrying about his own room beyond, packing +necessities into his worn old leather satchel, somewhat hampered by the +activities of Jacqueline's puppy, who made constant playful lunges at +her feet. + +He could not quite realize what had happened--that Jacqueline, his +playmate, his little friend, his wife, had gone out of the safe haven of +his home back to the man who had betrayed and deserted her. It seemed +like a hideous dream from which he must soon awake. How had he failed +her? What desperate unhappiness must have hidden itself in this pretty +white room where he had hoped she might be happy! + +At intervals during the night before, he had waked to hear her softly +stirring about, and wondered why she did not come to him as usual, to be +soothed into drowsiness. Once he had almost broken his custom and gone +in to her, feeling that she had need of him. How he wished now that he +had followed this impulse! Yes, and many another like it.... + +Looking about, he noticed that her glass lamp was quite empty of oil, +and that her darning basket stood beside it, full to overflowing with +neatly darned and rolled socks of his own. So that was how she had spent +the night, doing her best to leave him comfortable! A great lump rose in +his throat. He saw, too, that both his own photograph and that of her +mother were gone. She had taken them with her. + +His daze began to break. He remembered phrases in Jacqueline's letter: +"I didn't mean to be dishonorable ... I didn't know mother _asked_ you +to marry me ... I did him an injustice." + +He went in to Kate, and demanded abruptly to know how this thing had +come about. + +It was a question she had been dreading, but she answered it fully and +frankly, sparing herself not at all. He listened with an oddly judicial +air, new in her experience of him. When she described her share in +Channing's disappearance, he interrupted her quickly. + +"You deceived her?" + +"Yes. I know now that it was wrong." + +He made no comment; but when she came to her confession to Jacqueline +that it was she who had suggested their marriage and not Philip, he +interrupted her again. + +"Kate," he said slowly and incredulously, "you have been cruel!" + +At any other time he would have noticed how her never-idle hands were +shaking, the paleness of her lips, the dark shadow of pain in her eyes. +But just then he was not thinking of her. He was thinking of Jacqueline. + +He turned away abruptly, and looked over the portmanteau she had been +packing. On the top lay the peppermint-striped silk shirt his wife had +made for him. He saw it through a sudden blur of tears. + +"There's one thing you've forgotten to pack," he muttered, and slipped +into the bag something which Kate removed as soon as his back was +turned. It was a pistol. + +She was startled by this. "Perhaps I'd better go after Jacqueline +myself," she suggested. + +"It is my right. I am her husband," was the stern answer. + +In an incredibly short space of time, the telephone rang with Jemima's +return message. + + No word from Jack. P. C.'s address in New York is No. 5, Ardmore + Apartments. James and I will meet her there. Don't worry. + +"Thank Heaven for Jemima!" uttered her mother, turning from the +telephone. "You'll have time to catch the evening train in Frankfort for +New York, Philip. I'll meet you at the trolley station with money and +all that." + +He had not thought of money, would have started upon his quest with +empty pockets. But it was characteristic of a new era that he accepted +her financial help now quite simply, without demur, without thought, +even, as he might have accepted it from his own mother. + +The last thing he saw as the train pulled out of the station was Kate's +face gazing up at him whitely from the platform, and he leaned far out +of the window to promise, "I will not come back without her!" + +But not then, nor until long afterwards, did he realize that for hours +he had been with his dear lady at a time of great distress to her, +without once realizing her presence; his thoughts yearning and his heart +aching for another woman, for his wife, Jacqueline. + +It was the moment of Kate's justification, of her triumph, had she but +known it. But she did not know it. + +She rode home slowly and yet more slowly through the twilight world, +into which came presently a pale winter moon, serene and beautiful and +mocking. There was no longer need of action, to stimulate her. She had +reached the end of her strength. + +The sensitive horse beneath her moved with increasing care, sedately and +cautiously, as if he realized that he must be brains as well as feet for +two. He was an experienced animal, and had known what it was to carry +children on his back. + +When he came to the front door of Storm, he paused of his own accord, +and nickered anxiously. + +So the servants found the Madam, and when they saw that she could not +dismount, it was Big Liza who lifted her down in her strong old arms, as +she had lifted her once before when she came, a bride, to Storm. She +carried her in to a couch, moaning over her, "Oh, my lamb, my po' lamb; +what is dey done to you now?" + +The Madam could not answer. + + * * * * * + +Jemima Thorpe reached her mother's bedside two days later, greatly to +the relief of the household, and of Dr. Jones. + +"No, it does not seem to have been a stroke of any sort," explained that +worthy and anxious man. "If Mrs. Kildare were an ordinary woman, I +should call it hysteria, but she's not the neurotic type. It appears to +be acute exhaustion, following, possibly, a shock of some kind." He +looked at Jemima inquisitively, but without eliciting the information he +sought. "At any rate, I am glad you have come, and I should suggest that +Benoix and his wife be sent for. I hear they've gone off on a trip to +New York?" + +"To Europe," amended Jemima calmly. "They are now on the ocean, so they +can't be sent for." + +The doctor's eyes widened. Journeys to Europe were not usual among his +patients. "Europe! Isn't that very sudden?" + +"Very sudden," agreed Jemima. "Now shall we go in to mother?" + +Perforce, he opened Mrs. Kildare's door, and announced with his +cheeriest bedside manner, "Here's your girl home again." + +The heavy eyes flew open. "Jacqueline!" she whispered. + +But when she saw that it was not Jacqueline, the lids closed, and it +seemed too much trouble to lift them again. + +Jemima went on her knees, and laid a timid cheek on her mother's hand, +that strong, beautiful hand lying so strangely limp now upon the +counterpane. For the first time in her life she knew the feeling of +utter helplessness. Her efficiency had failed her. In this emergency, +she could not produce the thing her mother needed. + +She wished with all her heart for her inefficient sister. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + + +Philip's pursuit of his wife came to have for him, before it was done, +something of the strangeness of a nightmare, one of those endless dreams +that come to fever patients, filled with confused, vague details of +places and persons among whom he passed, leaving nothing clear to the +memory afterwards except unhappiness. + +And indeed the mental condition that urged him on was not unlike fever, +compounded as it was of passionate pity for Jacqueline, and white-hot +rage against the man who had taken his wife from him. He could not bear +to think of the frightened misery that must have driven the girl to such +a step, nor of the wretched disillusionment in store for her. Jacqueline +ashamed; his gallant, loyal, high-hearted little playmate cowering under +the whips of the world's scorn--it was a thought that drove all the +youth out of Philip's face, and left it so grim and fierce that many a +passing stranger stared at him covertly, wondering what tragedy lay +behind such a mask of pain. + +Only once did the effect of Jacqueline's shame upon his own life occur +to Philip, and then he wrote a hasty line to the Bishop of his diocese, +offering to resign at once from the ministry. No other alternative +occurred to him. If Jacqueline had needed him when he married her, how +infinitely greater was her need of him now! What came to either of them +they would share together, he and his wife. + +Nor was his decision entirely altruistic. Her going had already taught +him one thing. "We are so used to each other," the piteous little letter +had said. Yes, they were used to each other; so used that they would +never again be able to do without each other. + +His search did not end in New York. He found there only the news, +gathered by James and Jemima Thorpe, that Channing had sailed a few +hours before for Europe, and not alone. The steamship office had +registered the name of a Mr. James Percival and wife, in whom it was not +difficult to recognize the author. + +Philip followed by the next boat, but found some difficulty, +inexperienced traveler that he was, in coming upon traces of the pair, +who doubled and twisted upon their tracks as if conscious of pursuit. It +was some weeks before he ran his quarry to earth in Paris, having been +directed to one of those "coquettish apartments" known to experts in the +art of travel, who scorn the great, banal caravansaries of the ordinary +tourist. + +Entering an unpretentious gate between an apothecary shop and a +_patisserie_, he found himself in one of the hidden court-yards of the +old city, where a placid, vine-covered mansion dozed in the sun, remote +from the rattle of cobblestones and the vulgar gaze of the passing +world. Doves preened themselves on the flagging, a cat occupied herself +maternally with her young on the doorstep, birds were busy in the ivy. +It was an ideal retreat for a honeymoon. + +Philip, his jaw set and his heart pounding, jerked at the old-fashioned +bell-handle, and the door was presently opened by a mustachioed lady in +the dressing-sacque and heelless slippers which form the conventional +morning-wear of the lower bourgeoisie. But, yes; she admitted in answer +to his inquiry; the American Madame was _chez elle_. "Also Monsieur," +she added, with smiling significance. "Ah, the devotion of _ces nouveaux +maries_!" + +She added that if Monsieur would attend but one moment, she would mount +to announce his arrival. + +The clink of a coin arrested her. "If Madame will have the goodness to +permit," suggested Philip, in French as fluent and far more correct than +her own, "I prefer to announce my arrival in person." + +She shrugged. "But perfectly! As Monsieur wishes. It is a little effect, +perhaps? Monsieur is the brother, possibly; the cousin?" she asked, with +the friendly curiosity of her kind. + +"Monsieur is the husband," said Philip grimly, and passed. + +The concierge gasped. "The husband! Name of a name!" + +But seeing that he was already mounting the stairs, paying no attention +whatever to her virtuous horror, the French-woman followed him on +tiptoe, murmuring to herself, "_Mais comme c'est chic, ca_!" She had her +racial taste for the spectacular. + +At first she was somewhat disappointed. Applying alternately eye and ear +to the keyhole, she detected none of the imprecations, the excited +chatter, the nose-tweaking, the calling down of the just wrath of +Heaven, which the occasion seemed to demand. + +"Ah bah, these English!" she muttered scornfully, "If but my Henri were +to discover me in such a situation--la, la!" + +Philip, entering without knocking, had begun quietly and methodically to +remove his coat before Channing was aware of his presence. The author +looked up from his desk, surprised, and jumped to his feet, with an +expression of pleasure in his face. Philip's brain registered that fact +without attempting to explain it. Channing was undoubtedly glad to see +him. + +"Why, Benoix! Where have you dropped from? I did not hear you knock! +What in the name of all that's pleasant brings you to Paris?" + +He advanced with outstretched hand. Just at that moment, a woman entered +from the room beyond. + +Philip, bracing himself, turned to face his wife.... + +But it was not Jacqueline. It was a Titian-haired, lissome young woman +upon whom he had never laid eyes before, and who returned his stare with +self-possessed interest. + +Philip gave a great gasp. "Channing! Who--who is this woman?" + +"My wife," announced the author, with a laughing bow. "You seem +surprised. Hadn't you heard? But of course not--it was all so sudden. +And I'm glad to say the papers don't seem to have got hold of it yet, +thanks to my forethought in booking passage under only half my name. +Some time before I sailed, Fay and I decided to--to let matters rest as +they were, and--she came with me." He was a trifle embarrassed, but +carried off the introduction with an air. "Mrs. Channing--Mr. Benoix!" + +Philip was utterly bewildered. "Do you mean to say you have not seen +Jacqueline?" + +"Jacqueline Kildare?" Channing's smiling ease left him. "Yes, I did see +her in New York, the day I left. You didn't think--" An inkling of the +other's errand dawned on him. He was suddenly alarmed, and, as usual in +moments of emergency, burst into his unfortunate glibness of speech. +"Why, she came to see me about studying for opera, something of that +sort--that was all. I had promised her introductions. Unfortunately she +came just as I was preparing to leave, and I had no time to do much for +her. I gave her letters to several teachers, and got her the address of +a good boarding-place...." + +Philip muttered an exclamation. + +"Oh, and I did more than that," said Channing quickly. "I talked to her +like a Dutch uncle; advised her to go straight back to Kentucky, and not +to do anything without her mother's permission--a great woman, Mrs. +Kildare! I told her New York was no place for a young girl alone, and +that she had been most indiscreet to come to me. I told her about +my--er--my marriage, of course. I offered her money--" + +"You did _what_?" asked Philip, suddenly. + +"Why--er--yes!" Channing was taken aback by his tone. "Why not? You know +what an impulsive, reckless child she is--she might very well have run +off without any money in her pocket, and I should have been +uncomfortable, quite miserable, to think--" + +Philip's fist stopped the flow of words upon his lips. + +"Wh-what did you do that for?" stammered the author, backing away. + +"Put up your fists, if you've got any," was the answer. + +Channing defended himself wildly, but without hope. He felt that his +time had come. A certain conviction paralyzed his already sluggish +muscles, "He knows!" he thought. "She's told him!" + +Various things swam into his dizzy memory--the business-like +punching-bag in the rectory at Storm, the pistol in Philip's +riding-breeches, the fact that his father had been a convicted "killer" +in the penitentiary. "He means to do for me!" thought Channing, and +looked desperately around for help. + +But there was no help. The woman he had acknowledged as his wife stood +in a corner of the room, her skirts drawn fastidiously about her, +looking on with unmistakable and fascinated interest. At the keyhole +_Madame la concierge_ also looked on, unobserved, breathing hard and +thinking better thoughts of the Anglo-Saxon race. + +Channing, his chin cut, his nose swollen to twice its natural size, +undertook a series of masterly retreats. It was then that Madame, at the +keyhole, began to fear for her furniture, and considered interference. +Chairs were overturned, the table went crashing. At last a foot-stool +completed what Philip's fists had begun. Channing tripped over it, fell +heavily for the third time, and lay without moving. + +His utter panic had saved him. Philip was tired of knocking him down, +and jerking him to his feet, and knocking him down again. He let him lie +this time, turned him over with a contemptuous foot, and put on his +coat. + +"It was like punching a meal-bag!" he muttered, and strode out of the +room without a glance for either the woman in the corner, or the one he +surprised on the threshold. + +Madame had been of two minds, as to whether to shriek for the +_gendarmes_, now that all was safely over, or to fling herself upon the +bosom of this gallant defender of his marital honor. But Philip was too +quick for her. She did neither. + +Presently Channing opened a puffy and wary eye. "Gone?" he asked +faintly. "Then for God's sake why don't you get me something to stop +this infernal nose-bleed?" + +His wife brought him a towel and a basin of cold water, and presented +them to him rather absently. + +"Good Heavens, _what_ an experience! Why, the brute might have killed +me!--it runs in his family. Why didn't you go for help?" + +"I was too interested," explained Mrs. Channing. "I've never seen a +clergyman fight before." She added, with an impartiality unusual in a +bride of several weeks, "You're not much of a man, are you, Percival +dear?" + +Out in the street Philip strode along buoyantly, his clerical collar +somewhat awry, a black eye making itself rapidly apparent, indifferent +to the curious glances of the people who passed. Now and then he stood +still and laughed aloud, while Paris gazed at him indulgently, always +sympathetic with madness. + +To think that he had imagined Jacqueline capable of leaving him for a +creature like Channing, flabby, wordy, feebly vicious! Somewhere at home +she was waiting for him; lonely, perhaps, wondering why her husband did +not come to her, but safe and unashamed. Possibly her mother and Jemima +had already found her. + +The thought reminded him of certain letters in his pocket, given him +that morning at the American Express, and unopened in the excitement of +at last running Channing to cover. He drew them out, hoping to find +among them one from Storm. + +The first was from his bishop, pooh-poohing his offer to resign from the +ministry, and suggesting a long vacation. It ended with a sentence that +touched Philip deeply: "Assure your brave little wife of the lasting +friendship of an old man who collects rare virtues (other people's +virtues) as certain connoisseurs collect etchings, and who considers +moral courage the rarest of the lot." + +Philip turned to his other letter. At sight of the hand-writing he +started, and looked quickly at the postmark. It was that of a little +town in the Kentucky mountains. + +Lately he had thought very often of his father, as he always thought in +all the critical moments of his life. At such times the man whose face +he had forgotten seemed very near to him. The feeling of nearness +deepened as he opened his letter, the first from Jacques Benoix since he +had left prison. It was almost as if his father stood there beside him, +with a hand on his shoulder. + +When he had finished reading, he turned blindly into a church he was +passing (it happened to be the cathedral of Notre Dame) and knelt with +hidden face before the statue of that coquettish, charming, typically +Parisienne madonna, who is not unaccustomed to the sight of men praying +with tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + + +A fleeting, illusory hint of spring appeared for the moment in that +street known among all the world's great avenues--the Champs Elysees, +the Nevsky Prospect, the Corso, Unter den Linden--as "The Avenue." Its +pavements glistened with a slippery coating of mud that had yesterday +been snow, its windows blossomed with hothouse daffodils and narcissi, +also with flowery hats and airy garments that made the passer-by shiver +by their contrast with the cutting March wind. In and out, among +automobiles and pedestrians, darted that fearless optimist, the +metropolitan sparrow, busy already with straws and twigs for his spring +building. + +A girl, moving alone and rather wearily among the chattering throng, +caught this hint of changing seasons, and a wave of nostalgia passed +over her that was like physical illness. A flower-vendor held out a tray +of wilted jonquils. She bought a few of them--only a few, because she +must needs be careful of her money--and held them to her face hungrily. +They brought to her mind gardens where such flowers were already pushing +their fat green buds up out of the fragrant earth--Storm garden, +Philip's little patch of bloom--encouraged by a breeze that was full of +sunlight. She saw the birds that flitted to and fro over those gardens +upon their busy errands: sweet-whistling cardinals, bluebirds with rosy +breasts, exquisite as butterflies; the flashing circles of white made by +mocking-birds' wings as they soar and swoop. The noisy street faded from +her eyes and ears, and she moved among the crowd as if she were walking +a Kentucky lane, with the March wind in her hair. + +So she was not at all surprised to meet a familiar face, and murmured +absently, her thoughts on other matters, "That you, Mag?" + +Then she came to herself with a start. The woman to whom she had spoken +had passed quickly. Jacqueline wheeled in time to catch a glimpse of her +in the crowd; a flashily dressed, too-stylish figure, mincing along on +very high heels, and dangling in one hand a gilt-mesh bag. The paint +that made a mask of her face, the heavy black rimming her eyes, the very +perfume that left its trail behind her, told their own story. But the +carriage of the head, the free, country-girl's swing of the shoulders, +were unmistakable. It was Mag Henderson. + +Jacqueline followed her, half running. She had so longed for the sight +of a face from home that the thought of losing her seemed unbearable. It +did not matter to Kate Kildare's daughter that this was a woman of the +streets, a hopeless derelict. She remembered only that she had once been +her faithful, devoted ally. + +But it mattered to Mag Henderson. Impossible that she had failed to +recognize Jacqueline; impossible that she did not hear the clear, +ringing voice crying after her, "Mag, wait for me, wait!" + +Her cheeks were flushed with something besides rouge, the loose lips +trembled. She, too, knew what it was to be hungry for the sight of a +face from home.... Perhaps the recording angel put it down to Mag +Henderson's account that she did not once hesitate, did not once look +back, moving on so rapidly that at last Jacqueline, impeded by the +staring throng, breathless, almost weeping in her disappointment, lost +sight of her entirely, and gave up the pursuit. + +She went her way, with hanging head. "Mother would have caught her," she +thought, "or Jemmy. They'd have _made_ her wait!" + +For long afterwards she was haunted by that brief glimpse of the +creature who a few months before had been as round and sleek and pretty +as a petted kitten; the tragic eyes, old for all their feverish +brilliance, the soft cheeks already hollow beneath their paint. However +unjustly, Mag Henderson came to typify for Jacqueline the spirit of New +York. + +Her feet were dragging when she reached the respectable, shabby +brownstone front that housed her and her ambitions, together with those +of some thirty other more or less hopeful aspirants to fame and fortune, +who might be heard as she entered amid much clattering of dishes in the +basement dining-room. + +The halls were faintly reminiscent of meals that had gone before, and +Jacqueline, holding her jonquils to her face, decided against dinner. +She made her way up two flights to her room, and sat down upon the bed, +shivering, battling with a sense of discouragement that was almost +panic. + +The streets had lost their fleeting semblance of Spring long before she +reached this place she called home, and were like bleak canyons through +which the wind whistled hungrily. Jacqueline remembered a time not long +since when she had found the wind bracing, stimulating, a playmate +daring her to a game of romps. But that was a country wind, coming clean +over wide spaces of hill and meadow; not this thing which filled her +eyes and lungs with gritty dust, and whirled old newspapers and +orange-peel and filthy rags along the gutters. + +It was not the first time she had found herself lately battling with a +sense of acute discouragement. Her singing-master, a fat and +onion-smelling artist recommended very wisely by Channing, had been at +first enthusiastic about the possibilities of her voice; but recently +she had found it difficult to please him. + +"Der organ is there, _ja wohl_, der organ. But Herr Gott im Himmel, is +it mit der organ alone dot zinging makes himself? Put somesing _inside_ +der organ, meine gnaediges frauelein, I beg of you!" + +That was just what Jacqueline seemed no longer able to do. What energy, +what spirit she had, went into the mere business of living, and there +was none left for song. A voice is, more than any other physical +attribute, the essence of vitality; and nature had other uses just then +for Jacqueline's vitality. + +She did not understand, however, and sat there shivering uncontrollably, +facing the grim fact of failure. Worse than failure--fear. + +From where she sat, she could see her reflection in the mirror, and she +looked at herself with frowning distaste. Jacqueline's beauty was oddly +under eclipse just then. "I'm getting ugly--and whoever heard of an ugly +prima donna?" she groaned in her innocence. + +Then, suddenly, she saw what had been in her landlady's mind when, +happening to pass her in the hall that morning, the woman had remarked +casually, "You said you was _Miss_ Leigh, didn't you? or was it _Mrs._ +Leigh?" + +Jacqueline had answered as casually; but now she understood the +question. With a sharp intake of breath, she realized that the time had +come for her to seek another home in this great, homeless wilderness of +houses, that heeded her unhappy presence "as the sea's self should heed +a pebble cast." + +She unlocked a drawer, and proceeded to investigate her finances rather +anxiously. She had come away with nothing but the money that happened to +be in her purse, and her little string of pearls, her one jewel, upon +which a pawnbroker, realizing her utter ignorance of values, had made +her an infinitesimal advance. The lessons she was taking were expensive, +and she knew that she must save for a time of need not far in the +future. It was tantalizing to know that the generous allowance from her +mother was accumulating untouched in a Frankfort bank, because she did +not dare to draw upon it for fear of being traced. + +"Though if mother really wanted to find me, she could have done it +without that!" thought the girl, and suddenly buried her head in a +pillow, sobbing for her mother. + +She did not allow herself to cry long. "It is not good for me," she told +herself soberly; and presently achieved a quivering smile at the thought +of her mother's face when at last she should send for her and show what +she had to show. + +"There won't be any need of forgiveness then," she whispered. "Not for +either of us!" + +Of Philip she did not allow herself to think at all. The girl was +gaining a strength of will in those days that exerted itself even over +her thoughts, and her lips had become as firm as Mrs. Kildare's.... +Philip was done with her, of course, since he did not come to her--just +as she was done forever with Percival Channing. + +In her first revulsion of feeling on learning that her lover had after +all not deserted her of his own free will, she had turned to him, +bruised and hurt as she was by that terrible hour with her mother, +confident of his help in her need. No lesson of life was ever to make +Jacqueline anything less than confident of the world's kindness. + +But marriage with Philip had at least taught her a better judgment of +men, and at her first sight of Percival Channing she knew that never +again would there be anything he could offer her which she would care to +accept. She realized at last the full depth and enormity of her mistake, +but she set herself proudly to abide by the consequences, asking no +quarter. + +Art was still left to her, fame; and these she must win with no +assistance except her own determination. Her career lay open before her. +Perhaps some day her mother and Philip would cease to be ashamed of her; +would even be a little proud of her.... + +Now, after all, was Art to fail her? Was she never to be famous after +all? + +Jacqueline hurriedly turned up the corners of her mouth, having read +somewhere that it is impossible to despair so long as the lips are kept +in that cheerful position. But the fear at her heart remained. + +She did not know where to go. Landladies asked questions, and she was +not a very good liar. Suppose they should be rude to her? In all her +life, nobody had ever been rude to Jacqueline. She felt that it would be +more than she could bear.--And at the last to go to some strange +hospital, to suffer, perhaps to die, among people whose names she did +not know, she who had known by name every man, woman, child, and beast +within twenty miles of Storm!... Was there none of all those friends who +would befriend her now, who would take her in without question, and +stand by her until her need was past? Surely somewhere, somewhere.... + +From long habit, she went on her knees to think her problem out; and the +answer came, as it so often comes to people on their knees--came with a +remembered fragrance of sun upon pine-branches, a steady sound among +tree-tops of the wind that always blows above the world. + +Some hours later Jacqueline took a train for Frankfort; and she passed +Storm station at night, on her way to a town in the Kentucky mountains. + + * * * * * + +So it happened that there came to Philip, in Paris, the letter that told +him he had found both his father and his wife. + +Jacques Benoix, glancing out of his schoolhouse door at the unwonted +sound of wheels in the trail below, had been startled to see a woman +descending from a wagon, whom he at first mistook for Kate Kildare +herself. She was helped by Bates the peddler, met by good chance in the +town below. + +"Here comes another worker for the Lord's vineyard!" beamed the peddler, +as the school-teacher, recovering his breath, hurried to meet them. + +"And a most welcome one! If I were a religious man, I should think you +an answer to prayer, so great is our need of help." + +"Help? Do you think _I_ can be of any help?" asked Jacqueline, +wistfully--a very changed Jacqueline she was, pale and drawn-looking, +and with a new little dignity about her which the physician was quick to +observe. "I'm not a capable person, you know, like mother and Jemmy. I +do know a little about sewing, though, and cooking, and housekeeping, +and--and--" + +"Singing, I remember," smiled her host, "and making people comfortable, +I think? The very things we need most, my dear. It is maddening in a +place like this to be limited to one set of brains, and arms, and +legs--and those masculine. Ah, but I am glad that you have come!" + +"So am I." Jacqueline breathed a grateful sigh. "But--" she swallowed +hard, and looked him squarely in the face--"I want you to know that I am +hiding away from everybody.--Must I tell you why?" + +He took off his spectacles, so that she saw his eyes. Great kindliness +dawned in them, a warm, understanding, tender gravity that had once +before reminded her of somebody she trusted. He leaned toward her. + +"I, too, am hiding away from those I love.--Must I tell you why, my +daughter?" + +She stared at him, her gaze widening. Suddenly she knew him, and with a +little cry, her arms went about his neck. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + + +It was some time before her mother began to do much credit to Jemima's +reputation as a nurse. The nature of her illness, if illness it could be +called, was baffling. She had neither pain nor temperature, her pulse +was steady, though not strong, she ate and even slept as she was bidden, +with a docility that was one of the most alarming symptoms of all in the +Madam, hitherto impatient as a healthy man of restraint and control. She +was content, to lie day after day in her room, she who had perhaps not +spent more than a few weeks in bed during the whole course of her +previous life, and then only when her children were born. + +"I can't understand it," wrote young Mrs. Thorpe to her husband--a +humiliating confession for Jemima. "She listens to me, and talks a +little, seems rather glad that I am with her. But if I were not, I think +it would not matter. She takes no interest in anything, seems hardly +aware of anything, though she always makes the right answer when one +speaks to her. Otherwise I might think.... Even Philip's letters leave +her unmoved. She never opens them; simply hands them to me and says +listlessly, 'See if he has found her.' And when I answer no, she does +not seem to care particularly.... Sometimes I feel as if it weren't +mother here beside me at all, as if she had gone away, and left just her +body and her voice and her smile--and I wish she had taken the smile +with her. It's hard to bear!... She was a little like this after Dr. +Benoix disappeared, but not so bad.--Oh, James, you don't think, do you, +that there can really be such a thing as a broken heart?" + +The Professor comforted his wife with sensible and practical advice; but +he was as uneasy as herself. Psychologist that he was, he know that the +strongest natures cannot bend and bend indefinitely, without in time +reaching the breaking-point. + +It was at his suggestion that a famous nerve-specialist was sent for +from a distant city, much to the relief of honest and futile Dr. Jones. + +The eminent gentleman made himself extremely comfortable at Storm, +enjoyed the scenery and the Southern cooking, and occasionally conversed +upon topics of the day with Mrs. Kildare, who exerted herself according +to her traditions to put her guest at ease, even to the extent of +sitting up in bed and allowing Jemima to dress her hair in the latest +fashion. + +"Mental trouble? Nonsense!" he pronounced, to Jemima's almost sick +relief. "I wish my own mentality were as sound! For years she has been +using up her nervous vitality without replacing it, that is all. This +mental torpor is Nature's way of giving her a rest. Let her alone! That +splendid body of hers will reassert itself presently. Rest is what she +needs. And happiness," he added casually, with an insight which proved +his right to the enormous fee he pocketed. + +But it was a prescription rather difficult to fill. + +Jemima tried conscientiously to catch her mother's attention with talk +about farm matters, business affairs, the conduct of the dairy and +stable; only to be put aside with a listless, "Better see Jenkins about +that, dear. He's very efficient." + +Jenkins was a young man trained by herself into efficiency, who had long +been anxious to assume a more important part in the management of Storm, +and was rising to his opportunity very creditably. + +At last a letter came from Philip which Jemima believed would rouse Kate +from her apathy. She read it--she opened all her mother's mail in those +days--and rushed into her mother's room, almost tearful with her news. + +"He's found Channing at last!" she cried; "and Jacqueline was not with +him! Do you hear, Mother? Jacqueline was not with him at all! She never +had been. It was another woman--some one he has married. Oh, Mother, +_don't you understand_?" + +Kate's eyes lifted very slowly to her face. "Then what," each word was +an effort, "has he done with my Jacqueline?--Is she dead?" + +Jemima caught her hands. "No, no, dear! Listen!"--she spoke very +distinctly. "It was all a dreadful mistake--our mistake. She never went +to Mr. Channing at all. She simply ran away to New York to study her +singing, Philip says, and has been there all this time.--Oh, how can I +ever make it up to poor little Jacky? Imagine thinking such a thing of +her! I must have been crazy, jumping to such a _wicked_ conclusion!" In +her distress she wrung her hands. "And what must Jacqueline have been +thinking of us, leaving her alone there so long? Oh, Mother!--" a happy +idea had come to her. "Don't, let's leave her alone another day! Philip +may not have reached her yet--this letter was mailed in Paris, just +before he sailed. Let's go and find her ourselves, you and I!" + +But the answering spark of eagerness she hoped for did not come. + +"If Jacqueline wants me," said Kate, closing her eyes, "she will let me +know." + +The coldness of the reply chilled Jemima. It seemed so utterly unlike +her impulsive, warm-hearted generous mother. + +"Don't you realize how we have misunderstood her? Why, she hasn't +been--been wicked at all! She simply saw she had made a mistake, and +tried to undo it by going away--foolish, but so like Jacky, poor +darling!--Mother! You don't mean to say you're not going to _forgive_ +her for running away?" + +"_Forgive?_" repeated Kate wonderingly. Then she remembered that Jemima +had never been a mother. + +"It is Jacqueline who cannot forgive me," she explained, in her dull and +lifeless voice. + +Jemima gave up in despair. There was something about all this beyond her +understanding. + +In a few days a second letter came from Philip, postmarked New York, +telling her that he had at last learned the where-abouts of his wife, +and hoped soon to be going to her. He begged Kate to have patience, +explaining that he was under promise not to reveal Jacqueline's +hiding-place. + + We must humor her now (he wrote). It is only because of the + intervention of a friend she has found that she has consented to + let me come to her presently. God knows what thoughts of us who + love her and could not trust her have been in her head through + these lonely weeks! We must give her time to get over them. She is + not ready for us yet. You will understand, you who understand + everything. Wait. And meanwhile comfort yourself as I do with the + knowledge that she is safe, safe! + +This letter puzzled Jemima almost unbearably, but she dared ask no +question of her mother as to what had occurred. She was grateful to see +that it at least roused the invalid to a show of interest. Kate took it +into her languid hand and read it over twice, looking for some possible +message for herself from Jacqueline, some little word of love that +Jemima might have overlooked. + +But finding nothing, she relapsed into the old listlessness. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + + +It was a very trivial and unimportant thing, to Jemima's thinking, which +presently lifted Kate out of her languor into action once more. Big +Liza, entering timidly one morning, as she did many times in the day, to +gaze with miserable eyes at the figure on the bed, murmured to Jemima: +"They's a message come fum that 'ooman Mahaly, down in the village, +sayin' she's dyin', and wants to see the Madam. She 'lows she cain't die +in peace 'thout'n she sees Miss Kate." + +"Of course that's impossible," said Jemima in the same low tone. "Send +word that we're very sorry. See that she has whatever she needs. If +necessary, I'll go myself." + +"Did you say she was dying?" asked an unexpected voice from the bed. + +"Yais'm, Miss Kate! but don't you keer, honey. Tain't nothin but that +mulatter 'ooman, Mahaly--You 'members about _her_!" she added +scornfully.--Very little had passed among her "white folks" that was +unknown to the sovereign of the kitchen. + +To the amaze of both, Kate slipped without apparent effort out of the +bed where she had lain for weeks. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded. + +Jemima ran to her with a cry of protest. "Mother, be careful! What, you +aren't thinking of going to see her? You can't--you're not strong +enough!" + +"Mahaly must not die before I speak with her." + +"Then," said Jemima calmly, "I'll have her brought to you." + +"A dying woman? Jemmy, don't be silly!" Kate spoke with an asperity that +brought a wide grin to Big Liza's face, because it sounded as though the +Madam were come back again. + +Jemima, alarmed, continued to protest; at last ran to the telephone and +called Dr. Jones to her assistance. Meanwhile Kate, scolded at, fussed +over, but in the end helped by her cook, got into out-door clothes; and +before Doctor Jones was on his way to Storm, she had taken the road for +the village. + +She sat erect in her surrey, pale, but scorning the proffered arm of +Jemima, driven by a proud and anxious coachman behind the quietest pair +of horses in the stable; and people as she passed stared at her with +utter amaze--with more; with a delight that rose in some cases to the +point of tears. For the first time, Kate realized that she had won +something besides respect and dependence and fear from her realm. She +had won love. The realization pierced through her apathy. A faint color +came into her cheeks. More than once, as she paused to exchange +greetings with some beaming and incoherent acquaintance, her own lips +were tremulous. + +"Why are they so glad to see me, Jemmy?" she asked once. "Did they think +I was very ill?" + +Her daughter nodded, not trusting her own voice. It seemed as if a +miracle had occurred before her eyes. + +"Well, I've fooled them," smiled Kate, drawing into her lungs a great +breath of the keen, rain-swept air that was bringing new life into a +world done with winter. + +She asked one other question as they drove. "Jemmy, what does the +neighborhood think about--Jacqueline?" + +Jemima explained that she had allowed the impression to go abroad that +Philip and Jacqueline had taken advantage of an opportunity to go to +Europe on a belated honeymoon journey. + +She did not say, because she did not know, that the countryside, always +with an interested eye upon its betters, had connected the extreme +suddenness of this journey with Philip's vanished father, picturing to +itself touching death-bed scenes, and eleventh-hour repentances. +Remembering the Madam's brief illness at the time of Dr. Benoix' +disappearance, the neighborhood had connected her present illness also +with its romantic imaginings; with the result that what was left of its +disapproval had been swallowed up in a sudden and quite human wave of +sympathy for that faithful woman and the man she loved. + +When they reached a neat little cottage in the portion of the village +devoted to white workingmen's homes, Kate allowed herself to be assisted +to the door, where she dismissed her daughter, telling her to return in +half an hour. + +"I must see Mahaly alone," was her only answer to Jemima's uneasy +protests. + +She was ushered respectfully into a neat, clean room, hung with the +enlarged crayon portraits dear to the colored race, and boasting a +parlor-organ draped in Battenberg lace. The window was open--a rare +thing in a negro home, despite her efforts with the Civic League. The +bed was stiffly starched and unoccupied, and the woman she had come to +see sat upright in a chair, propped with pillows, panting with the +effort of keeping breath in her lungs. She was dying of heart-disease. + +She had been in her day rather a handsome creature, with the straight +hair and high features that indicate a not unusual admixture of Indian +blood. But though she must have been of about the same age as Mrs. +Kildare, she looked by comparison withered and superannuated, with the +grayish film across her eyes that one sees in those of aged animals. + +These blurred eyes stared at Kate with a queer hostility, mixed with +something else; as they had stared on the day she came a bride to Storm. +She made a slight, futile attempt to rise. + +"Nonsense, Mahaly! Don't move," said the Madam, kindly. "This is no time +for manners." + +She closed the door behind her, and would have closed the window had it +not been for the woman's need of air and the inevitable faint odor that +clings about negro habitations, no matter how cleanly they are kept. +What she and her old servant had to say to each other must not be +overheard. Fancying that she detected sounds as of some one moving on +the porch outside, she called briefly: "Keep out of ear-shot, please." +She was too accustomed to obedience to investigate results. + +"You wanted to see me, Mahaly?" she said. "You wanted to explain +something to me, perhaps?" + +The woman struggled with her laboring breath. She was very near the end. +Kate found it painful to look at her, and her gaze wandered away to the +crayon portraits on the wall. The one over the bed, in the place of +honor, was a portrait of her husband, Basil Kildare. Her face hardened. +This was an impertinence! And yet.... + +Mahaly was speaking. "You-all ain't--found the French doctor yet--is +you?" + +"No. We will not discuss that, if you please.... Mahaly, we may never +see each other again, you and I. Will you tell me now how you came--to +hate me so bitterly?" + +Mahaly's eyes dropped. "I never! I tried to, but--I couldn't, Miss Kate. +You was--so kin' to me." + +"Yes, I was kind. I meant to be. I liked you, and trusted you. I gave +you my children to nurse.--Mahaly, only once--no, twice--in my life have +I trusted people, and had them fail me." + +"The other time was Mr. Bas," whispered the woman. "I knows. It +didn't--never do to trus'--Mr. Bas." + +Her dying eyes followed Kate's to the picture, and dwelt upon it +wistfully. + +Once more the lady changed the subject. "Will you tell me why you tried +to hate me, Mahaly?" She paused. "Was it because you were--jealous of +me?" + +The reply had a certain dignity. "It ain't fitten--for a yaller gal--to +be jealous--of a w'ite pusson." + +"Then, why?" + +There was a silence. Gropingly the colored woman's hand went to a table +at her side, and held out to Kate a tintype photograph in a faded pink +paper cover. Kate looked at it. She saw Mahaly as she had been in the +days of her youth, comely and graceful; in her arms a small, beady-eyed +boy. The pride of motherhood was unmistakable. + +"Your baby! Why, I never knew you had a baby." She looked closer, and +her voice softened. "A cripple, like my little Katherine. Poor little +fellow! Oh, Mahaly, did he die?" + +There was a dull misery in the answer that went to her heart. "I dunno. +I couldn't--never fin' out." + +"_You don't know?_" + +"Mr. Bas done sent him away--when you was comin'. He was real kin'--to +him before, though he wa'n't never one--to have po'ly folks about, much. +But when you--was comin'--he done sent him away, an' he wouldn't never +tell me--whar to." + +"Mahaly! _Why_ did he send him away?" + +Kate had risen, in her horror of what she knew was coming. + +"Bekase he looked--too much--like his--paw," said Mahaly, and she spoke +with pride.... + +Kate put her hands over her eyes. She remembered the sense of something +sinister that had come to her when she first saw Storm; recalled the +mystery which had hung about the mulatto girl, and which she had not +quite dared to probe; the innuendoes of old Liza, from the first her +ally and henchman; Mahaly's later passionate and hungry devotion to her +own children. She remembered the fate, too, of Basil's hound Juno, and +her mongrel pups. + +"No wonder you hated me," she whispered, shuddering. "No wonder you +hated me! To think that even he could have done such a thing!--Oh, but, +Mahaly, how was I to know? How could you have blamed me?" + +"I never. Only I 'lowed--that ef you was to git sent away--fum +Sto'm--mebbe he would lemme have my baby--back agin." Mahaly's voice was +getting very weak. She began fighting the air with her hands. + +Kate dipped her handkerchief quickly into a glass of water and laid it +on the woman's face. "No more talking now," she said, and would have +gone for help; but the negress caught at her hand. + +"Got--suthin' mo'--to say--fust--" she gasped painfully. "Miss +Kate!--the French doctor didn't--kill him--" + +"_What?_" + +"I seed. I was--hidin' in de bushes--waitin' to speak to Mr. Bas" (only +an iron effort of will made the words audible), "an' I riz up--out'n de +bushes--when I yeard 'em quar'lin'--and dat skeert de hoss--an' he +ra'red up and threw--Mr. Bas off. De French doctor done flung--a rock, +yes'm--but it ain't--never--teched him--" + +"You know this? My God, Mahaly! You _know_ this?" + +"Yais'm, kase--it was me--de rock hit--" she turned her cheek, to show +the scar it had left. + +"Take that down in writing. Mother!" commanded a tense voice from the +window, where Jemima was leaning in. "You must get it down in writing, +before witnesses! Here!" She jumped into the room, and opened the door, +calling, "Some of you come here, quick! I want witnesses." + +"She's dying," muttered Kate, dazed. + +"No, she isn't! She sha'n't, before she says that again. Leave her to +me! Now then, Mahaly"--she shook the gasping woman none too gently. +"Come, come! You saw--Speak up! Oh, for God's sake, speak up!" + +But Mahaly had said all that she had to say. For a terrible moment the +sound of her losing battle filled the room. Then, of a sudden there was +silence, peace; into which broke presently the mournful, savage note of +negro wailing. + +Jemima led her mother in silence out to the carriage. During the drive +home she made only one remark, in a low whisper because of the coachman. + +"Do you think the court will accept our word, Mother?" + +Kate answered her meaning. "It would do no good. Jacques would say that +the intention was there, whatever the fact. He meant to kill Basil. And +it is too late now. He has paid the penalty." + + * * * * * + +That night, after Jemima was supposed to be in bed, Kate's door opened, +and a slim little figure stole in, looking very childlike in its +nightgown. But the voice that spoke was not childlike. + +"Are you asleep, Mother?" + +Kate held out her hand. She had expected Jemima. The girl clutched it +fast. + +"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. + +Kate wondered silently how much of Mahaly's confession she had heard. + +The girl answered as if she had spoken. "I was there from the first. It +was I you heard when you gave the order to go out of ear-shot." + +"And you didn't go out of ear-shot? That wasn't quite honorable, +daughter." + +"No, but it was sensible. Do you think I'd have left you there alone to +a trying death-bed scene, weak as you are? Honorable!--how do you expect +me to be honorable?" she burst out, bitterly, "when you know the sort of +father I had? Sometimes of late I suspected, I began to think.... But +you would not tell me, you were too fine to tell me. And you let me make +a fool of myself, a perfect fool! Oh, I was so proud of being a Kildare, +one of the Kildares of Storm; so ashamed of anything that did not quite +come up to the standard of--of my father! Bah--_my father_! Not even man +enough to take the consequences of his sin, to stand by them. My +father," she cried fiercely, "was a coward! And I thought that +everything that is good in me, pride and courage, and truthfulness, +whatever manly virtues I may have, came from him, instead of--from you!" + +"No, no--from yourself, dear," said Kate, quickly. "For everything that +is best in you, you have yourself to thank." + +Jemima lifted up her head, and made her confession of renewed faith, +there in the dark. "But I'd rather thank you, Mother!" + +It was Kate's first dose of the happiness the specialist had prescribed. + +After a long pause, the voice spoke again out of the dark. "Mother--I +want you to marry Dr. Benoix. Do you understand? We owe it to him--all +of us. I _want_ you to marry him." + +"Ah!" whispered Kate. "If I only could!" + +"You've not given up? Oh, but you mustn't give up! He shall be found! +I'll find him myself, and bring him back to you, because it was I who +sent him away." (Kate smiled faintly at the egotism, but she did not +correct it.) "Oh, Mother, put your will into it!" urged the girl, +leaning over her. "You know you've never failed in anything you've put +your will into." + +"I? Never failed?" repeated Kate, in bitter mockery. + +"Now you're thinking of Jacqueline and Philip. That wasn't an error of +will, but of judgment.--This time, _I'm_ judging." + +Boast that it was (Jemima was not the person to underrate her +abilities), somehow it put new heart into Kate, made her realize that +she had at hand a staff to lean upon, a counselor who, despite her +youth, possessed a certain wisdom that her mother could never hope to +gain. + +"Oh, Jemmy," she sighed as one equal to another, "if you had been in my +place, what would you have done about Jacqueline?" + +Mrs. Thorpe took the matter into consideration. At length she pronounced +gravely, "If I had been in your place, there never would have been a +Jacqueline"; which ended the conversation for that night. + + + + +CHAPTER L + + +It was not long after this that Kate woke to a realization of the +sacrifices her daughter was making to remain at Storm, and sent her back +post-haste to her patient, neglected husband, and to the new worlds that +remained to conquer. + +"Of course I shall be lonely," she admitted in answer to Jemima's +protest. "But I must get used to that. And I shall have my work, now +that I am quite strong again." + +Nor would she listen to Jemima's plea, seconded heartily by James +Thorpe, that she leave Storm for a while and make them a visit. + +"Suppose Jacqueline should come home, and not find me here?" + +Jemima knew that it was not only Jacqueline of whom she thought. + +But when Kate said that she had her work to return to, she had reckoned +without her henchman Jenkins, a new broom that was sweeping very clean +indeed. It is an axiom that while it requires creative genius to start +an enterprise, once the momentum is gained any mediocre intelligence may +keep it going. Kate learned this for herself. + +During her illness, things had gone on much as usual. Her affairs were +in excellent order. The spring planting had been arranged for; at the +appointed season foals and calves and tottering new lambs made their +appearance in their usual numbers among her pastures; the books showed +no falling off in credits nor increase in debits; fences and roads were +in excellent repair. Jenkins was manifestly eager and able to spare her +all responsibility and trouble. She understood his ambition. There +seemed no reason for her to resume the reins of authority from such +capable hands. + +She turned to her immediate household; but there, too, the efficiency +which had been her fetish made interference unnecessary. Her +well-trained servants chuckled among themselves at the Madam's sudden +interest in housecleaning, in linen-closet and pantry, in cookery. + +"Laws, Miss Kate, honey! Huccom you dirtyin' up yo' hands with niggers' +work?" demanded Big Liza, reproachfully. + +The village, too, seemed to be getting on surprisingly well without her. +The Housewives' League she had organized had made amazing strides during +her absence. It had elected a president and a secretary and was +governing itself according to Roberts' Rules of Order quite as capably +as it had been governed in the past by the Madam. It was even, thanks to +Jemima's recent activities in the neighborhood, beginning to discuss in +a shy and tentative manner the question of Votes for Women. Kate felt +that she had created a Frankenstein. + +Nor was the problem of the negro element any longer hers to struggle +with alone. She had tried to meet it by starting among the colored +people of the village a Civic League, quiescent during the winter, but +coming to life each spring with garden-time, and progressing +enthusiastically through the summer to the culmination of prize-giving, +and a procession, with the prize-winners riding proudly at the front in +decorated carriages. Now she found that Philip's successor, a city-bred +young fellow trained in social service, had already taken the Civic +League in hand and had converted the colored school into a Neighborhood +House of the most approved pattern, where innocent entertainment might +be had on two nights out of the week, winter and summer. The effect upon +a gregarious, pleasure-loving race which, as John Wise has said, never +outgrows mentally the age of seventeen, was already apparent. Kate +wished humbly that she herself had thought of a Neighborhood House. + +Gradually she came to the conclusion that she had outlived the +community's need of her. She, Kate Kildare, not yet forty, with energy +flowing back into her veins even as the sap was coming back into the +trees after their winter's rest, could find no outlet for it. + +There was nothing to fill the endless days. She tried to resume her +long-neglected musical studies, but the piano was haunted for her now by +the silent voice of Jacqueline, and she turned from it at last in +despair. In this time of need, even books failed her. With her returning +vigor full upon her, she could not find the patience to sit for hours +poring over the thoughts of professional thinkers, or the imaginary +deeds of people who had never lived--she who had lived so hard, and +whose own thoughts came up aching out of her heart. + +Mag's baby was her one occupation. Storm would have been indeed a dreary +place just then without Mag's parting legacy to it. The small Kitty was +somewhat young to begin her education, but begin it she did, +nevertheless. She was as docile and anxious to please as her mother +before her, and after days of patient training, managed to master the +intricate syllables of what the doggie says and what the pussy says. She +also learned to navigate alone the distance from a chair-leg to Kate's +knee; a fearful adventure, this, accomplished with much wild waving of +arms and not a few tears, for Kitty was not of the intrepid, determined +stuff to which Kate was accustomed in the way of infants. + +However, she made a cuddlesome, drowsy armful to hold during the long +Spring twilights; and often sitting so, alone in her great hall, Kate +forgot what child it was she held, and went back to the days of her +first motherhood, dreaming that the door would presently open and admit +Jacques Benoix, come to sit for a while with his friend. + +Few visitors troubled the monotony of Storm. During her illness the +neighborhood had been assiduous with broths and jellies, but now that +she was well again the old awe of the Madam returned, and it did not +occur to the modest country folk that she would have been glad of their +company. Holiday Hill was in charge of caretakers. Farwell, after months +of the role of the Southern country gentleman, had suddenly yielded to +the irresistible lure of the footlights, and was once more making his +final appearance upon any stage. Philip's substitute occasionally paid a +conscientious call, which Kate recognized, with some amusement, as a +parochial visit. He was an earnest young man, with views, and it was +evident that he regarded Mrs. Kildare's frank indifference to matters of +dogma as a serious defect in her character. + +Somewhat to her surprise, one day the Bishop of the diocese came out +from Lexington to see her. She had met him before, as Philip's friend, +and even entertained him at Storm on occasion; but their acquaintance +was very slight, and she was at a loss to account for this visit. + +He seemed to have come chiefly to talk about Philip. "I have been +watching young Benoix since he first left the Seminary. We have many +promising men in our clergy," he said, "many indefatigable workers, many +beautiful spirits, many fine intellects. But a combination of all these +qualities is rare in any profession. And besides these," he added +quietly, "Benoix has the right sort of wife." + +Kate's steady eyes met his without flinching. Though nothing was said +about Jacqueline's letter to the Bishop, the thought of it had not for a +moment been absent from their minds. "You think that?" she asked in a +low voice. + +"I know it! The right sort of wife is important to any man, but more to +a clergyman than to others. Charm, tact, the kindliness that comes from +the heart itself, above all, understanding--these are the things your +little Jacqueline has brought to help her husband, and he will go far. +Mark my words!--Presently I shall have to take those two young people +away from you, into a wider field." + +He watched her compressed, tremulous lips shrewdly and sympathetically. +Jacqueline's confession and her voluntary atonement had touched his +broad nature to the quick; and he had come to Storm of his own volition +for the purpose of reconciling her with a presumably unforgiving mother. +But his first glimpse of the mother's face showed him the needlessness +of such an errand so far as she was concerned, and his sympathies turned +into another channel. + +He said lightly, "I suppose you hear often from the honeymooners?" + +Kate shook her head. + +"No? Young people are sometimes thoughtless in their happiness, +forgetful of the rights of mothers.--My dear," he said suddenly, +abandoning his pretense of ignorance, "why don't you go to them, take +her by surprise? Things are so much better said face to face, and before +any hurt has had time to rankle. Why don't you go to them?" + +"I do not know where they are." + +The Bishop looked thoughtful. "I can tell you," he said at last. "And I +think I shall." + +But Kate stopped him. The temptation had been great. She was weary of +waiting for the word that never came, for the chance to hold her child +in her arms again, and kiss away all the grief and pain and remorse that +lay between them. + +But she knew it was best for Jacqueline and Philip to come to their +readjustment without her. Long meditation had taught her at last to +understand that it was she herself who, unwittingly and unwillingly, had +stood between them. + +When the Bishop rose to go, he held her hand between his own for some +moments. "When will you come to Lexington, my dear? I am an old and busy +man, but I cannot afford to lose touch with such a woman as you. Will +you come to see me occasionally?" + +Kate replied quietly that she never went to Lexington. He understood. +Though it had happened before his time, he had not failed to hear of the +occasion when young Kate Leigh had brought her children home to be +christened, and had been cut by an entire congregation. + +He said gently, "The world's memory is short--shorter than you think. If +you were to come to Lexington now, you would find that you have many +friends there." + +She gave no promise. The world's memory might be short, but she was not +of the world, and hers was long. + +"Then I must even come to you," said the Bishop; and was as good as his +word thereafter.... + +As the long days lengthened into weeks, Kate gave up all pretense of +activity, and resigned herself to waiting; waiting for she knew not +what. + +At first it had been Jacqueline; some word of her, or message from her. +But, gradually, thoughts of her child merged somehow into thoughts of +Jacques Benoix. She found herself dreaming of him as she had not allowed +herself to dream since she first heard that he was coming out of the +penitentiary, when their meeting seemed close, imminent, something to be +prepared for constantly lest the shock of joy should be too great. She +tried now to stop these dreams, in fear of the awakening; but could not. + +Perhaps it was April in her blood, bringing to life the old habit of +wanting her mate in the mating-season. Perhaps it was her talk with +Jemima, and the girl's promise that Jacques Benoix should be found. +Jemima rarely broke a promise.--Whatever the cause, the sense of his +approach, his nearness, was sometimes so vivid that Kate felt she had +but to turn her head to see him standing there behind her. + +But if she turned it, there were only the dogs, eagerly waiting her +pleasure, their tails astir; or perhaps a servant coming from the house +with a wrap for her, because the breeze was damp. + +She rarely rode abroad now. Pasture and field and meadow, Nature itself, +had lost charm for her since she seemed to have no longer a share in +bringing about their miracles. She was content to sit day after day in +her eyrie, gazing out over the greening valley, watching the great +flocks of martins, grackle, and robins that passed noisily overhead, +going to meet the Spring farther north. + +All about her sounded the murmur of bluebirds, which came each year to +live in the old trees about Storm. She wondered why the bluebird should +have been taken as a symbol of happiness. There is nothing more +plaintive in nature than its nesting-song, a cadence of little dropping +minor notes, which Kate, grown fanciful in her idleness, translated for +herself: + + Love and loss, loss and love. Take them together, while there is + time. Better together than not at all. Quick--for the Spring is + passing by.-- + +Yet one who saw her sitting there, the breeze blowing tendrils of bright +hair about her face, her strong, lithe hands clasped youthfully about +her knees, her beautiful eyes darkling or brightening with the thoughts +that passed, could not have connected her with the mere passivity of +waiting, of remembering. + +Sometimes the pale sunlight, growing daily in warmth, touched her cheek +or her hand like a caress, and stirred her to a sudden restlessness. + +"It can't be all over for me," she thought, then. "It can't!" + +It seemed to her that she had been like the Lady of Shalott, doomed to +see life only in a mirror, while her hands weaved eternally at a task of +which she had grown weary; hoping always for one to pass, that she might +turn and break the spell, and be done forever with the mirror.... + +At length a message came that put out of her mind both herself and the +man she loved. It was a telegram from Philip, sent from the mountain +town whence he and Jacqueline and Channing and Brother Bates had set +forth on their missionary expedition. + +The telegram read: + + Jacqueline wants you. Will meet morning train. Please bring Mag's + baby. + + PHILIP. + + + + +CHAPTER LI + + +She was disappointed to find that Philip, despite his telegram, was not +at the station to meet her, but had sent instead a wagon which, its +driver explained, was to take her as far as wheels were feasible after +the Spring rains, and then return. + +"Reckon thar'll be a mule or somethin' to tote you the rest of the way," +he added, indifferently. + +He was unable to answer any of her questions, or to allay the fears +which, despite the eager happiness in her heart, were beginning to make +themselves felt. Jacqueline wanted her at last--but why? + +Mile after mile they drove in utter silence, Kate's thoughts racing +ahead of her; while small Kitty, on a pile of quilts in the bottom of +the bouncing wagon, adapted herself to circumstances with the ease of a +born traveler, and alternately dozed, or imbibed refreshment out of a +bottle, or rehearsed her vocabulary aloud for the pleasure of the world +at large. She would have preferred a more attentive audience, but she +could do without it. + +Where the road degenerated into a mere trail along the mountain-side, +Kate found a mule awaiting her, in charge, not of Philip, as she had +hoped, but of a mountaineer even more taciturn than the driver. Her +fears became more acute. + +"Can you tell me whether my daughter--young Mrs. Benoix--is ill?" she +asked her new conductor, anxiously. + +The man took so long to answer that she thought he had not heard her, +and repeated the question. + +He spat exhaustively--he was chewing tobacco--and finally replied, "The +gal at Teacher's house? Dunno as I've heerd tell." + +"Aren't you a neighbor of hers?" + +He gave a brief nod of assent. + +"Then," she persisted, "you surely would have heard if she were ill, +wouldn't you?" + +Another long pause. "Dunno as I would. We-all ain't much on talk." + +"You certainly are not!" exclaimed Kate with some asperity. + +It seemed to her anxious impatience that his taciturnity was deliberate, +hostile. He was a rough, unkempt, savage-looking creature; yet the +tenderness and skill with which he held little Kitty before him on his +ungainly mount would have done credit to any woman. + +Kate remarked presently, observing this, "You've had children of your +own?" + +"Thirteen on 'em." + +"Thirteen? Splendid! All living?" + +He spat again. "All daid. Died when they was babies." + +"Good Heavens! This must be looked into!" exclaimed Kate, with a touch +of the old authority; and then remembered that she was not in her own +domain. + +Presently, as they mounted, her attention was attracted to a woman +planting in a steep and barren-looking field, swinging her arms with the +fine free grace of a Millet figure. + +"What's she trying to raise there--corn?" Kate inspected the soil with a +professional eye. "She won't do it--not in that soil! It needs +fertilizing." + +Her companion remarked impartially, "Ben raisin' corn thar a right smart +while." + +"All the more reason to give it a rest! I suppose you've never heard of +rotation of crops?" + +"Yes, I hev," was the unexpected reply. "Fum Teacher." He spat with +great success, and added, "We-all ain't much on new-fangled idees." + +Kate attempted no more conversation. She began to feel the fatigue of +the hurried journey, and to her secret fears was added a growing dread +of the end of it, a sudden shyness about meeting not only Jacqueline, +but Philip, after the conclusion to which her long meditations had led +her. She had recalled again and again, and always with a sharp twinge of +shame, the hurt bewilderment on Philip's face when she had offered him +Jacqueline in marriage. What a blind and stubborn fool she had been not +to understand! If he still had that look in his eyes, that patient +acquiescence in her will, Kate felt that she could not bear it.... But +surely he had forgotten her, now that he was with Jacqueline? Surely the +girl was lovely enough, and piteous enough in her great need of him, to +drive any other woman out of his mind? + +After many miles, the mountaineer volunteered a remark: "Thar's the +school buildin's." + +She saw on the rise beyond a group of log-cabins, the central one small +and old, the two wings much larger and evidently of recent construction. +In the doorway of one a man stood, looking out; and as he started down +the slope toward them Kate recognized him. It was Philip. + +"Mother!--At last!" he cried out. "I would have gone to meet you, but +she could not spare me. She's been asking for you every moment.--Wait, +let me help you!" + +The tone of his voice laid to rest all her misgivings with regard to +him. Even as he welcomed her, he was thinking of his wife.--As for +Philip, if he remembered a time when to call this woman "mother" would +have been like a knife-thrust in his breast, he thought only that the +time was very long ago. + +Kate sprang down unaided, her fatigue forgotten. "Jacqueline?" she +demanded eagerly. + +"A little stronger to-day. But--the baby--" + +Kate gave a cry. Her unspoken fears had been true. "A baby?" + +"Yes. It did not live.--That is why I asked you to bring little Kitty." + +Kate put her hands before her eyes. "My poor little girl! Oh, my poor +little girl!--Let me go to her." + +At the door she was not surprised to find Jemima, in a neat +nursing-dress, her eyes heavily lined with fatigue. + +"I've been here several days. Jacky forgot to make them promise not to +send for me. She never thought of me," she explained humbly.... "Oh +Mother, it has been pretty bad! Jacky was so--so brave!" She broke down +a little in Kate's arms. + +"Steady, there," whispered Philip behind them. "She can't stand any +excitement yet." + +But the two had assumed charge of too many sickrooms together to need +his admonition. + +Kate took off her hat, smoothed her hair, and went in to Jacqueline, as +calmly as if they had parted yesterday. + +The sight of the wan, thin face among the pillows, with eyes that looked +by contrast enormous and black, shook her composure a little, and she +gathered Jacqueline up against her breast without speaking. Jacqueline, +too, was silent, clinging to her, touching her mother's hair and cheeks +with feeble hands, as if to be sure it was really Kate. + +"I knew you would come," she said at last, with a great sigh. + +"Come! Oh, my darling, why didn't you send for me sooner?" + +"Because I wanted to surprise you, Mummy. Because I knew when you saw +baby, you'd forgive me, you wouldn't care, nothing would matter, except +him.... But now there isn't any baby!" The weak voice suddenly rose to a +wail. "There isn't any baby! Nothing has turned out as I had planned. +Oh, Mummy! He was going to be so little, and sweet, and fat--nobody who +saw him _could_ have stayed angry with me!... And I never heard him cry, +I never even felt his tiny hand clutching my finger!... It's because I +was wicked," she moaned, tossing about so that Kate caught the waving +hands and held them tight. "God wanted to get even with me. So He took +the thing I wanted most in all the world. He took my baby. Oh, but that +was cruel of Him, no matter how bad I'd been! Wasn't it? Wasn't it, +Mummy?" + +"Hush, child!" whispered Kate. "Hush! God isn't that sort!" + +"Yes, He is, too! 'The Lord thy God is a _jealous_ God'--ask Phil!--Oh, +where _is_ Phil?" She looked wildly around, her voice growing higher and +higher. "He promised he wouldn't go away--he promised he wouldn't ever +leave me again. I want him! Phil, Phil!--Oh, _there_ you are!" The +relief in her tone was pitiful. "Don't get where I can't see you again, +Flippy darling. It frightens me so! Come here, I want to hold on to +you.... Now, tell mother all about the baby. She didn't see him, you +know, and I didn't see him either, very well. Oh, why did you let them +make me stupid with chloroform, so I couldn't see him? Tell mother about +his little ears, and his feet just exactly like mine--" + +"Quiet, now," soothed Philip, striving to hush that painful, excited +babble. "See, your mother is tired! Let's not talk about it now." + +"But I want to talk! I want to, before I forget anything about him. It's +the only baby I'll ever have. Mother wants to hear--don't you, Mummy? It +was her grandson, you see." + +"What nonsense!" interrupted Kate with tremulous cheerfulness. "The +_only_ baby? You're just eighteen--you shall have all the babies you +want!" + +"That shows how much you know about it!" cried Jacqueline with a sort of +agonized triumph. "I can't have any more! The doctor said so. I heard +him whispering to Jemmy, when he thought I was asleep, and I made her +tell me. She didn't want to, but she thought I'd better know.... It +isn't as if it would kill _me_ to have them, Mother--that wouldn't +matter! But it would kill them. It takes too long. Something is wrong +about me." + +Kate glanced at Philip in shocked questioning. He nodded slightly. + +"So now you know the sort God is, Mother! Cruel, cruel! Just because I +wasn't good.... Think of it, never any babies! No one to play with, and +pet, and take care of.... No one that needs me, or wants me...." + +Philip bent over her, "My darling, the world is full of babies!" + +"But not mine. Not one that wants _me_.--Oh, how my breast aches, how my +breast aches." + +"This won't do," murmured Jemima, anxiously. "She's working herself up +into a fever again. I'm going to call the doctor." + +Philip whispered something in her ear, and she hurried to the door. + +There was a sound outside that stopped the frantic words on Jacqueline's +lips. "_What's that?_" she breathed. It came again; the fretful whimper +of a sleepy child. + +Jemima came into the room, carrying small Kitty, newly awakened from a +nap on somebody's comfortable knees, and naturally resentful. + +"O-oh!" gasped Jacqueline on a long-drawn breath. "_Give_ her to me!" + +Presently, held warm against that aching breast, Mag's baby slept again; +and Jacqueline looked from one to the other of those about her with the +first dawning of her old, wide, radiant smile. + +Soon her own eyes drooped. The three tiptoed toward the door; but quiet +as they were the faint voice from the bed followed them: "Phil, Phil! +where are you?" + +"I can't leave her," he whispered apologetically. "You see how it is!" +(Kate was glad indeed to see how it was.) "Will you go into the next +room, and say good-by to--our son?" + + + + +CHAPTER LII + + +Kate stood gazing down at the grandchild she had so longed for, +Jacqueline's baby; an old, wrinkled, strangely wise little face, as +befitted one who had solved with his first breath both the mysteries of +Life and of Death. His tiny fists were clenched, his brow puckered, as +if that momentary glimpse of knowledge had not been a happy one. + +No woman who has not gazed so into the face of her own dead child can +understand the hopelessness, the sense of bafflement, of the futility of +all human endeavor, which surged through Kate Kildare at that moment. +The waste of it! The utter, insensate waste of so much passion and hope +and tenderness, of such desperate agony, of such courage to bear...! +There is no spendthrift so prodigal as Nature. For one perfected product +that pleases her, hundreds of preciously guarded lives, such as this, +thrown aside like so many pot-shards, useless, done for--and all to what +purpose?... For the moment Kate visualised Nature as some incredible, +insatiable goddess, a female Moloch, who must be propitiated always with +mother's tears.... + +Then she had a thought of her husband; of his tenderness with their +little suffering Katherine, his remorse-stricken grief over the child's +death. Was that the purpose? For the moment, she forgot the other Basil +whom she knew better, the one who had put aside his own flesh and blood +as ruthlessly as Nature herself had put aside this little son of +Jacqueline. + +"Basil would be sorry for this," she whispered, half aloud. "Poor +Basil!" + +She did not know that she was weeping, or that she was not alone, till +Jemima touched her hand; the girl's nearest approach to a caress. + +"So this," said the latter, in a queer, small voice, "is the last of the +Kildares of Storm!... Why do you cry, Mother? Aren't you _glad_?" She +spoke fiercely. "Isn't it time we made way in the world for--better +people?" + +Kate tried haltingly to explain the sorrow that was upon her. "He wasn't +all Kildare, this little fellow.... You never knew my father, or his +father. They were gallant gentlemen, Jemima. All my life I have wanted +sons like them, and like--the Benoix men. I have been proud of my +health, my strength. I have lived honorably, I have tried to keep myself +a--a--" + +"A gallant gentleman," said Jemima, nodding. + +"Yes. So that the spark should remain alive, for my grandsons. It seemed +to me--" + +She broke off, finding it impossible to put into words what she felt; +that her own indomitable vitality, her energy, her courage, the thing +she had called "the spark," was something which had been put in her +hands to guard for the long future, and that, instead, here in her hands +it had gone out. + +This meant death to Kate Kildare, far more than the separation of body +and spirit would mean death. + +Each woman was busy with her own thoughts for a while; widely different +thoughts. Jemima murmured presently, "Philip said 'our son,' Mother! Oh, +do you suppose that was--true? Or was he--" + +She did not finish her own question; nor did Kate attempt to answer it. + +"That would be like Philip," muttered the girl at last. "Anyway, it's +his own affair." + +She saw that her mother was sobbing. + +"Don't!" she whispered in distress. "Don't! I--I never know what to do +when people cry. Please!" Her voice altered suddenly. "Mother, you wait +here a minute! You just wait here!" + +Kate heard her leave the room, and then stooped to kiss her grandson +good-by. + +As she knelt there, tears raining fast on the tiny, unresponsive face in +the coffin, she heard a step behind her. Thinking it was Jemima again, +she did not look around. + +It was some moments later that a memory came to her, so clear as to be +almost a vision; the memory of her dream in Frankfort--a man standing +near, with bent shoulders and gray hair, but eyes as blue as a child's, +as tender as a woman's, gazing down at her, smiling down.... + +Behind her sounded a slight cough. + +She lifted her head, suddenly trembling. "Who--who is there?" she +whispered. + +A voice answered, very low--"Kate!--Kate!" + +Without another word, without a glance to make sure, she rose and went +blindly into the arms that were ready for her. + +It was like coming home. + + + + +AFTERWORD + + +The Madam made one final appearance at Storm, no longer as Mrs. Kildare +but as Mrs. Benoix, remaining only long enough to put affairs in order +for resigning her stewardship of the estate. + +She had been married in the mountains to Dr. Benoix, over-ruling all his +protests with a quiet, "Do you think I am going to run the risk of +losing you again?" + +And indeed his protests were not very heartfelt. He was unaware until +too late of the clause in Basil Kildare's will by which Kate's +re-marriage would lose Storm to herself and her children. His chief +objection was on the score of his health, and to it Kate had replied +simply, "That in itself would be a reason for our marriage, if there +were no other. Oh, Jacques, if you could know how I _love_ to be +needed!" + +He made his last weak protest. "But I cannot bear to think of you +wasting your loveliness, your charm, here among these uncouth people, +you who should shine in courts and palaces!" + +She laughed softly. "I never have shone in any courts or palaces, goose! +As for what you call my 'loveliness and charm'--they have been most +valuable assets, I assure you, in dealing with my fellow-men." Her eyes +danced with the daring that had made Kate Leigh's bellehood remembered +beyond its time. "Why should beauty be wasted here more than elsewhere? +There's less of it, and your mountaineers have eyes--though not very +sound ones, poor dears!" + +She went down to Storm alone, partly because of that little sinister +cough of her husband's, which she made light of but never forgot; partly +because she wished to spare him the publicity of the nine days' wonder +that their marriage was. + +But it was a publicity she need not have dreaded. Slowly enough, there +had come about a great change in the feeling of the community toward +Basil Kildare's widow; and when it was learned that she was at last +relinquishing her great estate to marry the man for whom she had waited +twenty years, the thing that had been scandal became suddenly romance. +Kate woke one day to find herself a heroine. + +There was a constant passage of vehicles Stormward in the fortnight she +remained there, ranging from humble farm-wagons to luxurious limousines; +for not only her neighbors shared in the ovation, but people from her +girlhood's home recalled the old-time friendship, and made haste to +renew it. Something of the Bishop's influence might be felt here, +perhaps; something, too, of the influence of young Mrs. Thorpe, whose +brief stay among them had been by no means forgotten. + +Kate accepted it all with a pleased surprise; received her guests, when +she had time, in all friendliness, but with a certain reserve which was +partly shyness. She found very little to say to people, especially +women, of her own class, after all these years; and they went away to +speak with some awe of one who seemed dedicated, set apart from life, +like a nun who is about to take the veil. It was very different talk +from that which had raged around the name of Kate Kildare twenty years +before! + +When at last she turned her back on Storm forever, her going was +something in the nature of an Hegira. She took with her certain members +of her household, notably Big Liza, who had grown too old in her service +to adapt themselves to other ways; also a few favorite horses, and those +of the dogs for whom she had not found suitable homes; to say nothing of +cattle, hogs, and poultry, chosen for the purpose of showing Jacques' +mountaineers how livestock ought to look. + +This cavalcade was joined in the village, somewhat to Kate's dismay, by +the Ladies of the Evening Star, in a body, also the Civic League, with a +brass band, which accompanied her to the train, playing all the way as +lustily as for a funeral. The final act of the performance was the +presentation, rather fussily overseen by Philip's successor, of a +mammoth bouquet of Spring blossoms, raised in the reclaimed dooryards of +the Civic League. + +Kate's last look, as the train pulled away, was for the old +juniper-tree, her eyrie, lifting its hoary head, green now with tender +leaves, across the wide valley where she had been for so long a +prisoner. + + * * * * * + +The time came, when, as the Bishop had prophesied, Philip and Jacqueline +were called away from the mountains into a wider field; to a crowded, +dingy district in a city larger than any of Kentucky, where Jacqueline's +mothering arms have never an excuse to be empty, and where, as her +husband proudly confesses, more people are attracted to his church by +the quality of the music it provides than the quality of the sermons. +But it is something else than music or sermons which attracts to these +two all people who are in trouble, or in need; all derelicts of life. +The hearts of Philip and his wife have not contracted about happiness of +their own. They understand. + +Mag's baby is with them, already learning, a docile, womanly little +creature of six years, to pick up the stitches dropped by busy, +careless, eager Jacqueline. It is a household Jacques Benoix loves to +hear about, and Kate to visit. + +But she never stays long. Cities bewilder her with their crowded +indifference--men hurrying hither and thither like ants in an ant-hill, +heedless of the wide sky above, heedless of each other, heedless of +everything except each the small burden he carries on his back. Always +she turns home to Jacques and the mountains with a sigh of relief. + +Often, for she is not the woman to neglect a duty because it is painful, +Kate goes down to Storm, a home now for crippled children, both white +and black. It seems to her that the old house has grown less grim and +forbidding under the influence of the little people who are happy there +because of Basil Kildare's memory of his crippled daughter;--and also, +perhaps, of another crippled child, his son. + + * * * * * + +Often, too, she makes one of her flying visits to James and Jemima +Thorpe. + +Once, some years since, she was called in haste to nurse Jemima through +what her husband's telegram indicated as a "slight indisposition"; and +upon hurrying to the sickroom was astounded to find Mrs. Thorpe propped +up in bed, ministering very deftly to the needs of an infant son, so +like his father that it was rather a shock to see him without +eye-glasses. + +It took Kate several days to recover her breath. + +At last, happening one day to discover Jemima gazing down at her +gourmand child with something more than tolerance in her expression, +Kate blurted out: + +"But I thought you did not believe in babies, Blossom!" + +"Believe in them? Why, of course, Mother! Babies are quite indispensable +to the scheme of things--but not to me." + +"Then--why--?" + +"Oh," said Jemima, practically, "it seemed rather a pity that there +should be no one to inherit Aunt Jemima's money. And then--well, +intelligences such as James' and mine really ought to be perpetuated, I +suppose. As you once said--my baby isn't all Kildare!" + +She gave her husband a quick, shy smile that was rather demonstrative +for Jemima. + +He leaned over and took her hand. "Why not tell your mother the truth, +my dear?" + +She flushed. "That is the truth, of course! Or--well, not perhaps _all_ +the truth.... You see, Mother, you were so upset about poor Jacky's +baby.... Of course it's not quite the same, she is more like you than I +am. But still ... And what you said about the 'spark.' ... So, you +see--" + +In her dread of sentiment, she was bungling the explanation so badly +that James Thorpe took it out of her hands. + +"Kate, you may regard the young person in question" (he grinned down at +it fatuously) "as _our_ child in only the technical sense of the word. +It is, in fact, Jemima's gift to you. She came to the conclusion that +she could offer you nothing you would prefer to a grandson." + +"But," choked Kate, between laughter and tears, "suppose it had been a +granddaughter?" + +"Evidently you don't yet know our Jemima," remarked the husband. + + * * * * * + +Even Kate's grandson, however, does not keep her long away from the +mountains and Jacques. + +She knows that their time together, hers and her husband's, must be +short. Neither misunderstands the significance of the little cough with +which he has fought, for years, a losing battle. But they know, too, +that it is given to few to taste the splendor of life as they have +tasted it together; the joy of dreams realized, of service shared. + +Kate was right in her belief that Jacques could take no advantage of the +disclosure made by Mahaly. "The stone I threw was meant for Basil," he +said. "Nevertheless--I am glad it failed to strike him. And I think that +Basil, wherever he is, must be glad, too." + +"_Wherever he is?_" repeated Kate, quickly. The subject of the hereafter +was become of poignant interest to her, facing as she must what lay +before them. "Oh, Jacques! Are you beginning to believe--to believe--?" + +He interrupted her sadly. "I can believe only what I can understand. You +must forgive me, my Kate. Only, sometimes there are dreams a man has, +echoes perhaps out of his childhood--" he broke off with a shrug, "And +one is envious when one sees a faith such as Philip's in his God, so +strong, so sure.--Like his little-boy faith that his father was the best +and greatest of men, all-wise, infallible." + +Kate said, with her hand on his, "Sometimes a little boy is right, +dear." + + * * * * * + +There have been great changes on Misty Ridge since Kate went to live in +the mountains. The work Dr. Benoix started alone has grown beyond +belief, and the influence of it extends now far beyond his immediate +locality. + +He has many other assistants than his wife, though none more able--a +young oculist who specializes in trachoma, and makes no complaint of +lack of practice; two trained teachers to help in the classrooms; even a +clergyman fresh from his seminary to take the place left vacant by +Philip, greatly to the satisfaction of Bates the peddler, and somewhat +to the satisfaction of Dr. Benoix himself. + +As he once explained to the visiting Bishop: "I will undertake to treat +as best I can any ill of the human body or the human mind; but when it +comes to the human soul--that calls for a bolder man than I am!" + +The State is beginning to take notice of Misty Ridge, and offers of +assistance come more rapidly than Kate can decline them. She does +decline them; for the work there is Jacques Benoix' work, and she guards +it for him jealously, to be his monument in the eyes of men when the +great spirit that created it shall have passed into some other sphere of +usefulness. + +She herself, for all her share in the life of Jacques' people, their +birth, their death, and the hard interval between, is nothing more to +the dwellers on Misty Ridge than "Mrs. Teacher"--sometimes "Ole Mrs. +Teacher," now that the glow of her hair is touched with gray, and +beautiful lines are growing about her beautiful eyes. + +But it is a name she loves above all other names--"Ole Mrs. Teacher." +She wears it far more proudly than she ever wore her former title of +"the Madam." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KILDARES OF STORM*** + + +******* This file should be named 30291.txt or 30291.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/2/9/30291 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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