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diff --git a/36531-h/36531-h.htm b/36531-h/36531-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0cc9e23 --- /dev/null +++ b/36531-h/36531-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9355 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nobody's Child, by ELIZABETH DEJEANS. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody's Child, by Elizabeth Dejeans + +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: Nobody's Child + +Author: Elizabeth Dejeans + +Illustrator: Arthur I. Keller + +Release Date: June 27, 2011 [EBook #36531] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY'S CHILD *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>NOBODY'S CHILD</h1> + +<h2><i>By</i> ELIZABETH DEJEANS</h2> + +<h3><i>Author of</i> <span class="smcap">The Tiger's Coat, etc.</span></h3> + + +<h3>FRONTISPIECE BY<br /> +ARTHUR I. KELLER</h3> + +<h3>INDIANAPOLIS<br /> +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY<br /> +PUBLISHERS</h3> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Copyright 1918<br /> +The Bobbs-Merrill Company</span></h3> + +<h3>PRESS OF<br /> +BRAUNWORTH & CO.<br /> +BOOK MANUFACTURERS<br /> +BROOKLYN, N. Y.</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#I">I <span class="smcap">Ann</span></a><br /> +<a href="#II">II <span class="smcap">Three Men and a Girl</span></a><br /> +<a href="#III">III <span class="smcap">Penniman and Westmore</span></a><br /> +<a href="#IV">IV <span class="smcap">But If He Failed Her?</span></a><br /> +<a href="#V">V <span class="smcap">In Colonial Fashion</span></a><br /> +<a href="#VI">VI <span class="smcap">Baird Reconnoiters</span></a><br /> +<a href="#VII">VII <span class="smcap">The Westmores of Westmore</span></a><br /> +<a href="#VIII">VIII <span class="smcap">The Colonel Is Suspicious</span></a><br /> +<a href="#IX">IX <span class="smcap">A Feminine Procedure</span></a><br /> +<a href="#X">X <span class="smcap">The Infinitely Painful Thing</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XI">XI <span class="smcap">Kept in the Dark</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XII">XII <span class="smcap">A Vendetta</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XIII">XIII <span class="smcap">Ineradicably Branded</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XIV">XIV <span class="smcap">The Misfits</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XV">XV <span class="smcap">As with a Child</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XVI">XVI "<span class="smcap">It Was Born in Her</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#XVII">XVII <span class="smcap">Complexities</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XVIII">XVIII "<span class="smcap">You're All I Have</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#XIX">XIX <span class="smcap">A Bargain</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XX">XX <span class="smcap">Marry? Yes</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXI">XXI <span class="smcap">A Lot of Planning</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXII">XXII <span class="smcap">Impressions</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXIII">XXIII <span class="smcap">Chaotic Uncertainty</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXIV">XXIV <span class="smcap">A Definition of Love</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXV">XXV <span class="smcap">Because She Loved Too Much</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXVI">XXVI <span class="smcap">The Eternal Attraction</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXVII">XXVII <span class="smcap">The Thing</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXVIII">XXVIII <span class="smcap">The Hell-Hole of the Westmores</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXIX">XXIX "<span class="smcap">What's Not Known</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#XXX">XXX <span class="smcap">Content</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXI">XXXI <span class="smcap">The Family Name</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXII">XXXII <span class="smcap">The Death-Trap</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXIII">XXXIII <span class="smcap">From Despair To Hope</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXIV">XXXIV <span class="smcap">Ben Brokaw Explains</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXV">XXXV <span class="smcap">Waiting</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXVI">XXXVI "<span class="smcap">It Lies with Ann</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#XXXVII">XXXVII <span class="smcap">Cold Cash</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXVIII">XXXVIII <span class="smcap">The Revelation</span></a><br /> +<a href="#XXXIX">XXXIX "<span class="smcap">Will You Go with Me?</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CONCLUSION"><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>NOBODY'S CHILD</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>ANN</h3> + + +<p>The quietude of winter still lay on the land, the apathetic dun of field +and woodland unstirred as yet by the hint of spring that was tipping +with eagerness the wings of the birds and, under their brown +frost-dulled blanket, was quickening into fresh green the woody stems of +arbutus. The mid-morning sun had struggled out of a gray March chill and +was setting a-gleam the drops of moisture on trees and grass, drawing +little rivulets from the streaks of snow which hid in the corners of the +rail-fences and in the hollows of the creek. Winter was reluctantly +saying farewell.</p> + +<p>The girl, who a mile back had turned in from the old Fox-Ridge Post-Road +and had come up through the pastures to the edge of the woodland, looked +with smiling understanding at the slow yielding of winter. Another +winter added to her sum of seventeen. Or, rather, as youth always looks +forward and counts much upon the future, perhaps a joyous spring to be +added to her sum of experience.</p> + +<p>As she sat, swaying gently to the jerky motion of the creaking buggy, +the reins lax in her hands, her eyes from beneath the shadow of her +brown hood traveled over the reaches of pasture, the slopes of reddish +soil freshly turned for oats, the trails of the snake-fences strangled +by brown undergrowth, the twists and curves of the creek that divided +the pasture from the upward slopes of grain-land, and, beyond, against +the horizon, the red scars and dull patches of scrubby growth that +marked the "Mine Banks," the ancient, worked-out, and now overgrown and +abandoned iron-ore bed that a hundred and fifty years before had yielded +wealth to its owners.</p> + +<p>"Spring will make even the Mine Banks lovely," Ann Penniman was +thinking.</p> + +<p>She had come up now to the woodland, a wide half circle of tall oaks and +chestnuts, which, like the bend of a huge bow, touched the Mine Banks in +the distance, and behind her reached to the Post-Road. She skirted the +woods for a time, the horse straining through sand, a rough road, in the +winter rarely traveled, but in summer a possible short cut from the +Post-Road to the Penniman farm, which was just beyond the woods.</p> + +<p>A short distance ahead, this side of where the creek came out into the +open, the road turned and led into the woods, and Ann had almost reached +the turn when a streak of red, a fox running swift and low, darted +across the road, slid over the corner of pasture that lay between the +woods and the creek, reappeared beyond the creek, then sped up the slope +of plowed ground, making for the shelter of the Mine Banks.</p> + +<p>Ann drew up and waited a moment, until the woods awoke to the deep bay +of the hounds as they picked up the scent, followed by the halloo of the +huntsmen. The next moment the whole pack swept almost under her horse's +nose, over and under and through the rail-fence, across the bit of +pasture, checked for a moment or two and casting along the bank of the +creek, then were over and off up the plowed slope, after their quarry.</p> + +<p>The color came into the girl's cheeks and she sat taut. A bag-fox! If a +game fox, he would mix up the hunt in the Mine Banks, and be off to the +denser woods and rock-holes above the river, an all day's sport for the +Fox-Ridge Hunt Club. The woods rang and rustled now to their approach. +Some took the fence, some came out by the road, and one and all cleared +the creek and galloped up the opposite slope. Here and there fluttered a +woman's dark skirt, a somber note amid the cluster of men in pink.</p> + +<p>Ann knew the meaning of it all well. The Hunt Club was just beyond the +woods, half a mile or so from the Penniman farm. They had loosed the fox +at the edge of the woods, given him his start, then set on the hounds. +She looked with tingling wistfulness after the aristocracy of the +Ridge, embarked on its Saturday of excitement and pleasure, then with +lifted lip at the thin rump of the mare she was driving, and gathered up +the reins. The animal had pricked its ears and quivered when the hunt +swept over it; it had life enough in it for that, but that was all.</p> + +<p>Then with a revulsion of feeling, pity for the beast commingled with +self-pity, she let the reins drop. It had been a hard pull of four miles +up the muddy Post-Road and through the sand of the Back Road, and the +wait here was pleasanter than the return to the farm would be. The hunt +had passed, leaving her behind; everything bearing the name of Penniman +or belonging to a Penniman was fated to be left behind; why not sit in +the sun for a time?</p> + +<p>But it seemed she had not seen the last of the hunt, for her ear caught +now the gallop of horses, even before she saw them: two horsemen who +cleared the fence at the lower end of the pasture with a bird-like lift +and dip that brought the light into Ann's eyes, and who now galloped up +and by her, headed for the creek, two belated huntsmen come +cross-country from the Post-Road and evidently intent upon joining the +hunt. Ann recognized the foremost rider first from his horse, a +long-necked, clean-limbed sorrel, then from the fleeting glimpse of the +man's profile, dark and clear-cut, the face that for months had played +with her fancy: Garvin Westmore, the most indefatigable sportsman of the +Ridge. The other young man's heavier-jawed and rougher-featured face +she did not know. A guest of the club, probably, out from the city for +the day.</p> + +<p>Then she saw again, with a choke of delight, the light lift and dip of +the riders as they cleared the creek—stood up in her ramshackle buggy +to see it.... Saw one horse go down, pitching his rider over his head, +and the other horseman, not Garvin Westmore, go on—wheel when well up +the slope and start back; saw that the horse was struggling with nose to +the ground, but that the man lay motionless.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>THREE MEN AND A GIRL</h3> + + +<p>Ann had crossed the creek and reached the prostrate man before the other +horseman had time to dismount. She was bending over Garvin Westmore when +the other stood over her.</p> + +<p>"Hurt?" he asked tersely.</p> + +<p>Ann looked up at him, meeting fairly a pair of keen eyes, grayed into +coldness by an excitement that his manner did not betray.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't move—his eyes are shut—" she answered breathlessly. Her +own eyes were dark and dilated, her face a-quiver.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute."</p> + +<p>He plunged down into the creek and came up with his cap filled with +water, and, kneeling, dashed it over the unconscious man's face—and +over Ann's hovering hands as well. "It's probably only a faint. The +ground's soft—he's had the breath knocked out of him, that's all."</p> + +<p>He appeared to be right, for Garvin Westmore stirred, and, when Ann had +wiped the wet from his face, looked at the two with full consciousness; +at Ann's frightened face and her companion's questioning eyes.</p> + +<p>"He threw me—the damned brute."</p> + +<p>"Lucky if you've broken no bones," the other returned. "See if you can +stand."</p> + +<p>Ann moved aside and he helped Garvin to his feet, watching him +critically as he stretched his arms and felt his body. "All right?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"You're lucky."</p> + +<p>"Lucky, am I—" Garvin said through his teeth. Then his voice rose. +"Look—!"</p> + +<p>Ann looked, and caught her breath. The horse had at last struggled up +and stood quivering, nostrils wide and head bent, nosing the leg that +hung limp. He had essayed a step, then stopped, grown suddenly moist. +There was something very human in the eyes he lifted to the two men when +they came to him, and even under their handling he shifted only a +little.</p> + +<p>Then they drew back, and their voices came sharply to Ann as she stood +with hand pressed to her lips and eyes wide with pity.</p> + +<p>"Broken, Garvin—and the shoulder strained—I've seen them like that."</p> + +<p>"He went down in that rabbit-hole, Baird!"</p> + +<p>"Yep—poor beast."</p> + +<p>"What's to be done?" Garvin's voice was strained.</p> + +<p>"Nothing—he's done for."</p> + +<p>There was silence for a moment and Ann saw that the color had flamed in +Garvin's white face. He was suddenly as violently a-quiver as the +suffering animal, curiously and tensely excited. He glanced behind him, +then to either side, an uncertain look that passed over Ann and his +surroundings, unseeing and yet furtive. Then he took a step backward, +and the hand that had gone to his hip-pocket was swiftly upflung.</p> + +<p>Ann's shriek rang out almost simultaneously with the shot, at one with +the leaden fall of the horse and the sharp echo sent back from the Mine +Banks and the chattering lift of the birds in the woods. A crow cawed +wildly as it rose; all about was the stir of startled and scurrying +things.</p> + +<p>Baird had whirled to look at Ann, who stood bent over and with arm +hiding her face, and his angry exclamation were the first words spoken: +"God, Garvin, are you mad? What a thing to do—before her!"</p> + +<p>He strode to Ann and touched her shaking shoulder. "Come away," he said +with a note of shame. "The idea of his doing such a thing before a girl! +His fall must have knocked the sense out of him!"</p> + +<p>But Garvin Westmore was almost as quick as he. He also had turned, with +brows raised high and eyes wild. Then on the instant his face was swept +of expression. He was pale again, collected, even protective when he +drew Ann from Baird's touch. "Don't be frightened, Ann," he said softly, +with the air of one who knew her well. "I'm sorry. I forgot you were +here. I couldn't see the animal suffer—that was all." Then meeting +over Ann's head the commingling of disgust and anger and something else, +the touch of aversion in Baird's eyes, he continued even more softly, +his softness a little husky: "Why should anything that's done for be +allowed to go on suffering a minute more than is necessary? That's what +I was thinking.... Wasn't I right, Ann?"</p> + +<p>He addressed the girl, but he was answering Baird's look.</p> + +<p>"You looked as if you enjoyed doing it," Baird retorted bluntly.</p> + +<p>A flash of expression crossed Garvin Westmore's face, a gleam menacing +and dangerous, like the momentary exposure of a dagger. It came and +went. "I wanted the beast out of pain—if that is what you mean," he +said with hauteur. "Ann knows me better than you do," and he bent over +her. "Don't cry, Ann; the horse is better off than any one of us."</p> + +<p>He continued to bend his height to her and to talk in low tones, until +she consented to look up at him. "I don't see how you could—" she said, +in a smothered way. "I—I want to go home—"</p> + +<p>"You shall in a minute—but not like this." In her run down to the creek +her hood had slipped off, and he tried now to draw it up over her fallen +hair. She lifted shaking hands and began hurriedly to coil the dark mass +about her head.</p> + +<p>Baird watched them curiously. The girl was something more than pretty. +The brown cape with hood attached had concealed her, but when she +lifted her arms he saw that she was slim and rounded, very perfectly so, +and not too tall. Her hair was noticeably black, a dense black, heavy +and with a tendency to curl. As she gathered it up, Baird noticed how +beautifully it grew about her low forehead—that her features were +regular, and that, contrasted with black hair and brows and lashes, her +skin was very white, luminously white. She was certainly very young; her +cheeks and chin were as softly rounded as a baby's. And Garvin was a +particularly good-looking man, of the unmistakably inbred type, tall, +slender, dark, with clear-cut features, well-marked brows and fine eyes. +His were the Westmore features refined into nervousness by inbreeding, +the features of his great-great-grandfather, colonial aristocrat and +owner of the Mine Banks.</p> + +<p>Nickolas Baird, as noticeably but one generation removed from the ranks +and of the type that carves its own fortunes, watched the two curiously.</p> + +<p>He was not the only onlooker. A man had ridden out of the woods just as +the shot was fired and had come slowly down to the creek. His horse had +leaped when the report came and had sidled nervously as if eager for a +run, but his rider had reined him sharply, held him to a walk, while he +eyed the group in the distance. Though well mounted and in faultless +riding attire, he was evidently not of the hunt; he wore no signs of +haste or eagerness. He had crossed the bit of pasture deliberately, and +had come to the other side of the creek. Then, as if he considered +himself breakable, he had dismounted deliberately and, dropping the +reins, slowly crossed the creek, selecting and testing his footing in +the same careful fashion. His eyes alone, gloomy under their lowered +brows, showed interest in what was passing.</p> + +<p>He stood just behind the group before he spoke: "What's all this, +Garvin?"</p> + +<p>The three started and turned and Garvin stepped back hastily from Ann, +who with hands still lifted to her hair and eyes wet with tears stared +at the new-comer.</p> + +<p>It was Garvin who answered quickly. "It's plain enough what's happened, +Ed. The sorrel went down in a rabbit-hole and broke his +leg—incidentally, he nearly did for me too."</p> + +<p>"And you shot him without giving him time to say his prayers. I was in +time to see that."</p> + +<p>"He was no gift of yours—I raised him," Garvin answered, with an +instant note of antagonism.</p> + +<p>There had been stern rebuke in the elder man's remark, though so quietly +spoken. But they were very evidently brothers. Their features were the +same, the Westmore features; only the elder man's black hair had streaks +of gray about the temples and his face was sallow and his eyes somber. +Garvin at twenty-eight looked less than his age, and his brother, ten +years his senior, looked full forty.</p> + +<p>Edward Westmore made no answer. He had looked from his brother to Ann, +at her wistfully moist eyes and air of distress. But if his caught +breath and slowly heightening color indicated the same anger Baird had +felt, he restrained himself well. He said nothing at all, simply looked +at her steadily, flushing and breathing quickly. Then he turned abruptly +and looked up the slope of pasture at Ann's ramshackle buggy; then, +turning more slowly, he gazed an appreciable moment at the looming Mine +Banks.</p> + +<p>Possibly it was his way of gaining self-control. Possibly he was looking +for an explanation of the girl's presence and discovered it in the +waiting buggy. At any rate, his manner was calm and courteous when he +faced them again.</p> + +<p>"It's too bad it happened," he said, more to Baird than any one else. +"But it can't be helped.... You'll have to get the animal off this land, +it's not ours—unless you can get permission to bury him, Garvin?"</p> + +<p>"Not likely," his brother said in an undertone. "It's old Penniman's +land. He hasn't learned to hate us any less these years you've been +away."</p> + +<p>Edward Westmore's brows contracted sharply. "I'll take her to her buggy, +and come back," he said, and turned hastily to Ann, who was clambering +down into the creek.</p> + +<p>Garvin looked after him in surprise. Then, conscious of his brother's +backward glance, he turned away. Nevertheless, he listened intently to +Edward's low-toned courtesy.</p> + +<p>"Let me help you—the bank is slippery."</p> + +<p>Both he and Baird could hear distinctly Ann's soft rejoinder, the +slurred syllables that marked her a southern child, but without the +nasal twang usual with the country-folk of the Ridge. "Don't you come, +suh—I can get up easily." She was more embarrassed than distressed now; +her face was rosy red under her hood and her eyes were lowered.</p> + +<p>But Edward went on with her, up the stretch of pasture. They saw him +help her into the buggy and stand for a time, evidently talking to her. +And, finally, when she drove off, he bowed to her, as deeply as he would +to any lady on the Ridge, standing and looking after her as she drove +into the woods.</p> + +<p>Baird had observed the whole proceeding with interest. The Westmore +family interested him. Ann interested him also, perhaps because he +"couldn't place her," as he himself would have expressed it. During his +two weeks' stay on the Ridge he had assimilated its class distinctions. +There were three classes on the Ridge: the aristocracy, depleted and +poverty ridden as a rule, clinging tenaciously to bygone glory while +casting a half-contemptuous and at the same time envious eye on the +sheer power of money; the second somewhat heterogeneous class developed +during the forty years since the "war," and that, on the Ridge, had as +its distinctive element the small farmer who, in most cases, though not +so well-born, possessed wide family ramifications and an inbreeding and +a narrow jealous pride quite on a par with that of the descendants of +governors and revolutionary generals; and the third class, the class +that had always been, the "poor-white-trash."</p> + +<p>In which social division did Ann belong? Certainly not to the latter, +and not to the first, either, Baird judged, for he had watched Garvin's +manner to the girl closely. And he had also noted Garvin's look of +surprise when Edward had followed her. He saw that while Garvin was +audibly considering the best means of getting rid of the dead horse, his +real attention was given to the two at the edge of the woods.</p> + +<p>Baird asked his question a little abruptly. "Who is she, Garvin?"</p> + +<p>Perhaps Garvin expected the question. "Ann Penniman," he said, without +looking up from the horse.</p> + +<p>"One of your people?" Baird asked, conscious that he was expressing +himself awkwardly.</p> + +<p>Garvin caught his meaning at once. "Heavens, no! Her people are farmers. +She's old Penniman's grand-daughter. His farm runs down through the +woods there, and this field is part of it—up to the Mine Banks. They're +ours, worse luck—just waste ground. I wish the sorrel was up there in +one of the old ore-pits."</p> + +<p>Baird felt that Garvin wanted to lead off from the subject. "She's the +prettiest girl I've seen in a year," he declared.</p> + +<p>"Ann is pretty, but I don't see what good it's going to do her," Garvin +answered carelessly. "She'll marry some one of the Penniman +tribe—they're all inter-married—and go on working like an ox. Old +Penniman would take a shotgun to any man who came around who wasn't a +cousin, or a Penniman of some sort. Ann's just a farm girl and has been +brought up like all of them about here." Garvin nodded in the direction +of the disappearing buggy. "She's back now from taking butter and eggs +to the village in exchange for a few doled-out groceries—they're hard +up, the Pennimans." He looked down then at the horse, bent and stroked +its tawny mane. "Poor old Nimrod!" he muttered. "You had a short life of +it—though between us we sometimes had a merry one." His voice had +changed completely, deepened into genuine feeling. "I raised him from a +colt," he remarked to Baird, with face averted.</p> + +<p>In the light of what had happened, Baird found it difficult to explain +the man's present emotion. Baird had had a good deal of western +experience which had taught him to regard thoughtfully any man who was +as quick with his pistol as Garvin Westmore had been.</p> + +<p>But Baird's real interest was elsewhere. He asked no more questions. In +his own mind he decided that the dormered roof, crisscrossed by naked +branches, which he could see from his window at the Hunt Club, covered +the Penniman house. And he also reflected that he had plenty of spare +time in which to reconnoiter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>PENNIMAN AND WESTMORE</h3> + + +<p>Ann drove on through the woods, with the color still warm in her cheeks. +She could not have told just why she was still trembling and felt +inclined to cry. As Garvin Westmore had said, it was best to put the +sorrel out of pain at once. She did not feel, as the young man Garvin +had called Baird had felt, that it was an outrageous thing for Garvin to +have shot the horse while she was there, for Ann had never been shown +any particular consideration by anybody; she was well acquainted with +the hard side of life.</p> + +<p>But Garvin's look had been so strange. It had shocked and puzzled +her.... And then Edward Westmore's manner to her? He had been so "nice" +to her, a protective, considerate niceness. He had asked her about her +family and about herself. He had been away from the Ridge for many +years; he had never brought his foreign wife to Westmore. But, now that +she and his father were gone, he had returned to Westmore with the +fortune she had left him and was head of the family. And yet he +remembered them all, her grandfather and her Aunt Sue and her father, +who had been away from the Ridge as long as Ann could remember, and her +mother, whom Ann had never seen. Edward Westmore had not referred to the +life-long enmity that had existed between his father and her +grandfather, and yet he had made her feel that he did not share in it; +that it was a bygone thing and should be buried. Ann had liked him, as +suddenly and as uncontrollably as she had liked Garvin.</p> + +<p>For Garvin Westmore had also been "nice" to her, though in a different +way. Back in the days when she used to disobey her grandfather and steal +off to the Westmore Mine Banks for fascinating visits to its caves and +ore-pits, the tall boy who galloped recklessly up hill and down, always +with several hounds at his horse's heels, was one of Ann's terrors. Then +there had been the vague period when she had been "growing up" and had +seen him only very occasionally and had not thought of him at all.</p> + +<p>But ever since the day, a few weeks ago, when he had met her and had +ridden up the Post-Road beside her buggy, he had become a vivid entity. +Under his smiling regard she had quickly lost the Penniman antagonism to +any one bearing the name of Westmore. His had been an astonishing and +exhilarating "niceness" to which Ann's suddenly aroused femininity had +instantly responded. Ann had learned that day, for the first time, that +she was pretty and that it was possible for her to arouse admiration. +And during the last two weeks.... It was not merely pity for the sorrel +that had set her cheeks aflame and made her eyes moist; it was +excitement, the stir of commingled emotions and impressions. Her nerves +were always keyed high, vibrant to every impression. And during the last +weeks she had been hiding from every one something of graver import than +her usual thoughts and feelings. Those she had always kept to herself, +partly because she was inclined to be secretive, partly because of +native independence.</p> + +<p>Ann had reached the end of the woods now and stopped to compose herself. +Her grandfather would not notice that she had been crying, but her Aunt +Sue would. She would have to tell of the tragedy in the Mine Banks +field; news of that sort had a way of traveling. She would have to say +that she had seen what had happened, but not a word of Edward Westmore's +talk with her or of Garvin—not even to her Aunt Sue. Sue, in her quiet +way, hated the Westmores as bitterly as her grandfather did. Ann's swift +liking for these two men who had, each in his own fashion, been nice to +her, and her swift determination to be nice in return, was a thing to be +carefully concealed. As she had come through the woods, she had looked +at the dead chestnut tree in the split crotch of which there had once +been a flicker's nest. Garvin had not said so, he would not with the +other man standing by, but it probably held a message for her. This was +not the best time to get it, however. Some one might see her and wonder.</p> + +<p>Ann took off her hood and smoothed her hair and pressed her hands to +her hot eyes; sat still then and let the wind cool the ache in them, her +face settling into its usual wistful expression, eyes dark under +drooping lids, lips full but smileless, cheeks and chin so rounded and +infantile that they were appealing. Life might make hers a voluptuous +face, there was more than a hint of the probability in the desirous +mouth and full white throat. It was the straight nose with its slightly +disdainful nostrils and the arched and clearly penciled brows that gave +her face its real beauty—a nobler promise than was suggested by lips +and chin.</p> + +<p>Through the few intervening trees Ann could see the Penniman barn, a low +wide structure with a basement for housing cattle, an arrangement that +the sharply sloping ground made possible. The house, a little to the +left and beyond, even in winter was obscured by trees. Two tall Lombardy +poplars guarded the kitchen entrance and the woodshed, towering high +above a steep-pitched roof and the alanthus and locust trees that in +summer shaded it. The woods through which Ann had just passed +semicircled the upward sloping field that lay between her and the farm +buildings. To the right, the slope was crested by an orchard, and to the +left, stretching from the house like a long line of melancholy +sentinels, was a double row of magnificent cedars, guarding the road +that led straight across open country, past the Hunt Club and to the +Post-Road. That was the way by which Ann should have come had not the +hint of spring tempted her to take the Back Road, through the pastures +and the woods.</p> + +<p>There was no one in sight. In the bit of marsh made by a spread of the +creek several pigs were wallowing, as if glad to find the ground soft, +and in the enclosure behind the barn a horse and three cows stood in the +sun amid a clutter of chickens. Beyond the marsh, under a group of +weeping-willows, was the spring and the usual accompaniment, a +spring-house. Ann had expected to see her aunt's red shawl either at the +spring or on the path that led up between the double row of grapevines, +a full three hundred yards of upward toil to the kitchen door, for it +was the hour for carrying the day's supply of water. But there was no +one in view, not even her grandfather moving feebly about the barn.</p> + +<p>Ann took up the reins with a sigh, and drove on. She always sighed when +she approached her home, and tingled with the sensation of embarking on +an adventure when she left it, for Ann possessed in abundance the +attributes of youth: faith, hope, imagination and the capacity to enjoy +intensely. Home meant work, work, work, and few smiles to sweeten the +grind. But for her Aunt Sue, the smoldering rebellion the farm had bred +in Ann would have flared dangerously. As long as she had been too young +to understand, and had had the fields and the woods, it had not mattered +so much. In a vague way, Ann had always felt that she was nobody's +child, a nonentity to her grandfather except when her high spirits, +tinged always by coquetry, and her inflammable temper aroused in him a +sullen anger. And Ann knew that to her aunt she was more a duty than a +joy; Sue Penniman appeared to have an enormous capacity for duty and a +small capacity for affection. But, with the necessity to cling to +something, Ann clung to her aunt. For Sue she worked uncomplainingly. +For Sue's sake she hid her resentment at being a nonentity.</p> + +<p>For in the last year of rapid awakening Ann had realized that she had +never been permitted an actual share in the narrow grinding interests of +the family, though, of necessity, she was tied fast to the monotonous +round and, together with her grandfather and aunt, lay between the upper +and nether millstones. The clannish pride that lay in every Penniman lay +in her also, and yet, Ann had felt, vaguely as a child and poignantly as +she grew older, that she was of them and yet not of them. Her +grandfather, even her aunt had made her feel it—and above all the +father who had forsaken her when she was barely old enough to remember +him. Ann never thought of her father without an ache in her throat that +made it impossible for her to talk of him.</p> + +<p>At the barn Ann hitched the horse. Her grandfather might want the buggy; +it was best not to unharness until she knew. She took the bundles of +groceries and went on to the house, past the basement door, to the +stairs that led up to the kitchen, for the house, like the barn, was +built on the slope, its front resting on the crown of the slope, its +rear a story from the ground, permitting a basement room and a forward +cellar that burrowed deep into the ground.</p> + +<p>Ann had glanced into the basement, but her aunt was not there. The +kitchen, an ancient-looking room, whitewashed and with small +square-paned windows, was also empty. Ann put down her parcels and went +into the living-room. It and the kitchen and the two rooms above were +all that remained of the colonial house that antedated even Westmore. It +was low-ceilinged, thick-walled, and casement-windowed, and had a +fireplace spacious enough to seat a family. Built of English brick +brought to the colony two centuries before, the old chimney had +withstood time and gaped deep and wide and soot-blackened. This room had +been one wing of the colonial mansion, and, because of the solid masonry +that enclosed the cellar beneath it, had not fallen into decay like the +rest of the house.</p> + +<p>But it had not been built by a Penniman. A hundred years before, a +Penniman, "a man of no family, but with money in his pocket," had bought +the house and the land "appertaining" from an encumbered Westmore, and +had become father of the Pennimans now scattered through three counties. +The first Penniman and his son's son after him had been tobacco growers +on a small scale and slave owners, but they had never been of the +aristocracy.</p> + +<p>It was Ann's grandfather who, some thirty years before, ten years after +the war, had torn down the other two wings of the old house and had +built the porch and plain two-storied front that now sat chin on the +crown of the slope and looked out over terraces whose antiquity scorned +its brief thirty years; looked over and beyond them, to miles of rolling +country. The narrow, back-breaking stairs that led from the living-room +to the rooms above, a back-stairs in colonial days, was now the main +stairway. The mansion had become a farmhouse, for the first Penniman had +been the only Penniman "with money in his pocket."</p> + +<p>There was no one in the living-room, and Ann paused to listen, then +climbed the stairs, coming up into a narrow passageway, at one end of +which were three steps. They led to the front bedrooms, her +grandfather's addition to the old house. One room was his, the other had +been Coats Penniman's room, Ann's father's room. Like many of the +Pennimans, Ann's mother had married her first cousin, a boy who had +grown up in her father's house.</p> + +<p>The stir Ann had heard was in this room, which, except when it had +accommodated an occasional visiting Penniman, had been closed for +fourteen years. The door stood wide now, the windows were open, and her +aunt was making the bed.</p> + +<p>Ann stopped on the threshold, held by surprise. She had not known of any +expected visitor. For the last six years they had been too poor and too +proud to entertain even a Penniman. And there was something in her +aunt's manner and appearance that arrested Ann's attention. Sue Penniman +was always pale, Ann could easily remember the few times when she had +seen color in her aunt's cheeks, and, though she always worked steadily, +it was without energy or enthusiasm. But there was color in her cheeks +now, and eagerness in her movements. She was thin and her shoulders a +little rounded from hard work, but now, when she lifted to look at Ann, +she stood very erect and the unwonted color in her face and the +brightness in her blue eyes made her almost pretty.</p> + +<p>"Is some one comin', Aunt Sue?" Ann asked.</p> + +<p>Her aunt did not answer at once. She looked at Ann steadily, long enough +for a quiver of feeling to cross her face. Then she came around the bed, +came close enough to Ann to put her hands on Ann's shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Coats is comin', Ann," she said, her nasal drawl softened almost +to huskiness.</p> + +<p>Her <i>father</i> coming! The color of sudden and intense emotion swept into +Ann's face, widening her eyes and parting her lips, a lift of joy and of +craving combined that stifled her. It was a full moment before Ann could +speak. Then she asked, "When—?"</p> + +<p>"Sunday—to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"When did you know?" Ann was quite white now.</p> + +<p>"Last night—Ben Brokaw brought the letter."</p> + +<p>"And you-all kept it to yourselves!" All the hurt and isolation of Ann's +seventeen years spoke in her face and in her voice.</p> + +<p>Sue was surprised by the passion of anger and pain. It was a tribute to +Ann's power of concealment; she had not suspected this pent feeling.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you'd care so much," Sue said in a troubled way. "It +seemed like you didn't care about anything, you're always so—gay. An' +Coats has been away since you were a baby. I didn't think you'd care so +much. I wanted to tell you, but your grandpa didn't want I should till +we'd talked it over. And I was worried about your grandpa too—he was so +excited."</p> + +<p>"Grandpa hates me! And father must hate me, too, or he wouldn't have +left me when I was a baby and never even have written to me!" Ann +exclaimed passionately, restraint thrown to the winds.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ann!</i> What's come over you to talk like that! Your grandpa doesn't +hate you! If you only knew!... You see, Ann, you've got a gay, +I-don't-care way with you, and it worries your grandpa. He's seen a +terrible lot of trouble. And since the stroke he had four years ago he's +felt he was no good for work any more, and what was going to become of +the place. It's all those things has worried him."</p> + +<p>Ann said nothing. She simply stood, quivering under her aunt's hands.</p> + +<p>Sue's voice lost its warmth, dropped into huskiness again. "You don't +understand, Ann, so don't you be thinking things that isn't so." She +drew Ann to the bed. "Sit down a minute till I tell you something.... +It's always seemed to me foolishness to talk about things that are past, +so I never told you, but now Coats is comin' you ought to know: your +mother died when you were born, Ann, and it almost killed Coats. He +loved your mother dearer than I've ever known any man love a woman. +Every time he looked at you it brought it back to him. We went through a +lot of trouble, Ann—dreadful trouble. It was too much for Coats to +bear, an' he just went away from it, out west. But he wasn't forsakin' +us—it wasn't like that. Why, all these years his thoughts have been +here, and he's sent us money right along—we couldn't have got on if he +hadn't." Sue's voice rose. "There's no better man in all the world than +Coats Penniman, Ann!... And I <i>know</i>. He was your mother's own cousin +and mine—we grew up with him, right here in this house—and I know like +no one else does how fine Coats is!" Sue was shaken as Ann had never +seen her, flushed and quivering and bright-eyed.</p> + +<p>Ann's eyes were brimming. "But I wasn't to blame."</p> + +<p>"Of course you weren't to blame," Sue said pityingly. "I'm just telling +you because I want you to understand and be patient if Coats seems like +a stranger. Don't you feel hard to him. Just you remember that you're a +Penniman and that the Pennimans always stand together and that there +never was a better Penniman walked than Coats.... Just you do your duty +and be patient, Ann, and your reward will come. I've lived on that +belief for many years, and whether I get my reward or not, I'll know +that I've done the thing that's <i>right</i>, and that's something worth +living for."</p> + +<p>Sue had struck a responsive cord when she called upon the family pride. +Ann's shoulders lifted. And hope, an ineradicable part of Ann, had also +lifted. She looked up at Sue. "Perhaps father will get to love me," she +said wistfully.</p> + +<p>Sue drew an uneven breath. Then she said steadily, "Perhaps he will, +Ann.... Just you do right, like I tell you—that's your part." She got +up then. "We won't talk any more now—I've got too much to do. An' +there's something I want you should do, an' that's to talk to Ben +Brokaw. He says he's goin'. He's sitting down in the basement glum as a +bear. When your grandpa tol' him Coats was comin' he up an' said he'd +go—there was goin' to be too many men about the place. I couldn't do +anything with him. But he's got to stay—anyway till Coats gets some one +else. You see if you can persuade him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll try—" Ann promised absently, for she was thinking of +something else. "Aunt Sue, does father hate the Westmores too?"</p> + +<p>Sue's start was perceptible. She stared at the girl. "Why are you +askin'?" she demanded sharply.</p> + +<p>Ann grew crimson, and there was a touch of defiance in her answer. "You +and grandpa hate them—I wondered if he did."</p> + +<p>"Have any of them spoken to you?" Sue asked. In all her knowledge of +Sue, Ann had never heard her speak so sharply.</p> + +<p>It frightened her, though it did not alter the sense of injustice to the +Westmores which Ann had been cherishing. She gave her version of what +had happened that morning, and Sue listened intently. When Ann had +finished, she bent suddenly and smoothed the bed, averting her face.</p> + +<p>"Just like him!" she said in a voice that was not steady. "Just like +every Westmore I've ever known. 'Do-as-I-please' and 'what-do-I-care!' +They've heart neither for woman nor beast. It's brought them to what +they are. Edward Westmore may think his wife's money'll build up the +family, but it won't. Coats will do more with his little twenty thousand +than Edward with his big fortune." She lifted and brushed the fallen +hair from her face, a gesture expressive of exasperation. "And to think +they dare ride over our land!" She looked at Ann as Ann had never seen +her look before. "The next time a Westmore tries to break his neck, just +you drive on, and if any one of them ever speaks to you, turn your back +on him."</p> + +<p>"But what have they done to us?" Ann persisted.</p> + +<p>Sue quieted, a drop to her usual patient manner. "Never mind what they +have done," she said wearily. "There never was a Westmore who was friend +to a Penniman. But I don't want to think about them—least of all +to-day.... Just you go on and talk to Ben—that'll be helping me, Ann. +There's a world of things to be done before to-morrow.... And go +quietly—your grandpa's lying down in the parlor."</p> + +<p>Ann went, still flushed and unconvinced. What was the sense of hating +like that, just because one's father hated before you? And it was plain +that her father shared in the family enmity.</p> + +<p>Then defiance slipped from Ann. Her father was coming! Would he be nice +to her? It was not natural for a father to be cold to his child. And she +was grown up now, and pretty. This recently discovered asset of hers +meant a great deal to Ann. And if her father was bringing money with him +to the farm everything would be changed. To Ann, anticipation was one of +the wonderful things in life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>BUT IF HE FAILED HER?</h3> + + +<p>Ann had learned early that with every one except her grandfather smiles +won far more for her than argument. When she put her head into Ben +Brokaw's room she was smiling, though her eyes were observant enough. +The basement was the "wash-room" and the "churning-room," with one +corner partitioned off for the combination of boarder and hired man +that, for the last four years, her grandfather's disabilities had made +necessary. As was customary on the Ridge, the negroes lived in their +cabins, "taking out" their rent in work. Ann had tiptoed in and studied +Ben and his surroundings through the half-open door.</p> + +<p>There was no furniture in the little room. Ben's bed was a canvas +hammock, and the decorations of the place were of his own design: +several dozen mole-skins neatly tacked to the walls; coon-skins and +opossum-skins, a fox-skin and a beautifully striped wild-cat-skin were +all stretched in the same fashion. A gun, a pistol and fishing tackle +hung above the hammock, sharing the space with a wide-winged, dried bat. +The hide of a Jersey cow, its soft yellow stained by marks of muddy +feet, carpeted the floor, so much of it as was not occupied by traps, +bird's nests and other woodland litter, and the entire place smelled of +animals.</p> + +<p>On the hammock, feet firmly planted on the floor, sat a phenomenally +long-armed, broad-chested, squat man who rolled his huge head and +shoulders gently from side to side, while his hands deftly whittled the +figure-four intended for the box-trap at his feet. His heavy face, +circled by a shock of rough brown hair, suggested the hereditary +drunkard, it was so reddened and ridged and snout-nosed. It was his +appearance that had earned him the sobriquet, "Bear Brokaw." He rolled +like an inebriate when he walked, yet never in his forty years on the +Ridge had Bear Brokaw been known to "take a drink." He knew and was +known by every soul on the Ridge, and by many in the adjoining counties, +for he had worked, in intermittent fashion, on almost every farm and +estate on the Ridge, more that he might be free to shoot and snare than +for the wages he earned. Ben knew the intimate habits of every wild +thing, and the family secrets of mankind as well, and plied a thrifty +trade in skins. He was adored by the children on the Ridge, and in spite +of his queer personality was respected by their elders.</p> + +<p>"What are you doin', Ben?" Ann asked.</p> + +<p>The small brown eyes he raised to Ann were as bright as a squirrel's and +at the same time shrewdly intelligent. Just now they were reddened by +an angry light and he looked as morose as the lumbering animal he +resembled.</p> + +<p>"Fixin' this here trap." His voice was a growling base; his manner +indicated that he wished to be let alone.</p> + +<p>Ann selected the cleanest spot on the cowhide and seated herself with +arms embracing her knees. Ever since she could remember Ann had +conversed with Bear Brokaw seated in this fashion, at his feet, and many +had been the secrets each had told the other. For Ben had worked on the +Penniman farm, or, rather, had shot and trapped there, as the desire +took him, for thirty years. He and Ann were fast friends; both were of +the open country.</p> + +<p>Ann had cast about in her mind for a topic that would be arresting. +"Ben, Garvin Westmore's sorrel is dead," she announced dramatically.</p> + +<p>Ben stopped both his work and his rolling motion. "What you sayin'?"</p> + +<p>"He broke his leg, Ben."</p> + +<p>"Whee—ee—" he whistled, through his teeth. "How, now?"</p> + +<p>Ann told him the story, as she had told it to Sue.</p> + +<p>"An' Garvin up an' shot him—I can jest see him at it," Ben muttered, +more to himself than to Ann.</p> + +<p>"It was better than having the poor thing suffer," Ann declared with +some warmth.</p> + +<p>Ben shook his head in a non-committal way. But he did not take up his +work. He looked down, still shaking his head.</p> + +<p>Bear Brokaw had solved many problems for Ann; he had reasons for most +things. She changed her tone. "Why did he do like that, Ben? I wondered +why?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause he couldn't help it."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean—because he liked doing it?" Ann asked; Baird's remark +had clung to her memory.</p> + +<p>Ben looked up quickly. "Why you askin' that, Ann?"</p> + +<p>Ann was silenced. She would have to tell too much if she explained. She +was usually quick-witted. "Why, you spoke like that."</p> + +<p>"Don't you be seein' meanings where there ain't none," he growled.</p> + +<p>Ann knew that he did not mean to explain. But she had succeeded in +drawing him from his grievance, and that had been her first object. He +did not take up the figure-four again; instead, he was meditative.</p> + +<p>"That there sorrel was the best hunter in the county," he said +regretfully. "He was great grandson to ole Colonel Westmo's white +Nimrod. That was one horse, Ann! A regular fightin' devil! He jest +naturally loved the smell o' powder. The colonel took him to the war +when he was a colt, an' fifteen years after the colonel was still ridin' +ole Nimrod—ridin' him to the hounds, too. The colonel jest lived on his +back, an' Nimrod were faithfuller than a dog. When there weren't no +huntin', the colonel were in the habit of takin' in every half-way +house fo' miles, an' Nimrod always there to tote him back to Westmo', +whether the colonel was laid acrost his back like a sack o' oats, or +sittin' shoulders square like he always did when not soaked through an' +through. Nimrod knew when to go careful.... I mind one night—that was +the year I was huntin' on Westmo' an' helpin' Miss Judith run the +place—I was bringin' Miss Judith back up the Post-Road from the +station, an' where the Westmo' Road cuts into the Mine Banks we come +plumb on a white objec'. I don't take no stock in ghosts, all I've ever +seen has turned out to be a human or a' animal or a branch wavin' in the +wind. But that bit of road has got a bad name. Them convicts the +Westmo's worked to death over a hundred years ago, over there in the +Mine Banks, is said to come out an' stand clost to the Post-Road, +waitin' for a Westmo' to do for him. 'Twas in that cut the colonel's +grandfather was shot down from his horse, an' nobody never did find out +who done it. An' it was there the Ku-Klux used to gather—guess the +colonel had his share in that, though.... Well, there was that white +thing, an' our horse give a snort an' stopped, an' my heart come up in +my mouth. But Miss Judith, she stood straight up in the buggy.</p> + +<p>"'Who's there?' she called out, quick an' clear.</p> + +<p>"An' the Banks called back, sharp, like they do, 'Who's there?' but it +was Nimrod whinnied.... It was the colonel gone to bed in the road, an' +Nimrod standin' stock-still by his side, like he always did, till some +one passin' would lay his master acrost his back again.</p> + +<p>"Miss Judith sat down when we knew, an' she sat straight as a rod; +there's all the pride of all the Westmo's in Miss Judith, and was then, +though she weren't no older than you. 'Some gentleman has met with an +accident,' she says, very steady. 'Help him to his horse, Ben,' an' I +did.</p> + +<p>"But the colonel weren't too far gone not to recognize a petticoat—he +had a' instinc' for anything feminine an' his manners couldn't be beat. +I'd put his hat on his head, but he swep' it off.</p> + +<p>"'My grateful thanks to you, Madame,' he says in his fine voice. 'I met +with a little accident. I shall hope to thank you in person to-morrow.' +He were too far gone to know his own daughter, but he hadn't forgot his +Westmo' manners.</p> + +<p>"An' Miss Judith sat straight as ever, an' all she says was, 'Drive on, +Ben.'... That's Westmo' for you!" Ben concluded, with deep admiration.</p> + +<p>Ann had heard the story before, and always it had brought the color to +her cheeks, for it stirred her imagination, but she had never flushed +more deeply than now. "You like Garvin, don't you, Ben?" she asked +softly.</p> + +<p>Ben eyed her in his shrewd way, "Yes, he's got feelin' for the woods—a +born hunter. Trouble is, everything's game to Garvin, Ann."</p> + +<p>Ann was afraid to say anything more. "It was a bag-fox they had this +morning," she remarked for diversion.</p> + +<p>"Shame!" Ben said curtly. Then, irrelevantly, "I reckon I'll choose +Westmo' fo' my nex' shootin'. I mean to tote my traps over there +to-night."</p> + +<p>Ann was recalled to her errand. "You mean you'd go away from us, Ben?" +she asked in well-simulated surprise.</p> + +<p>Ben's eyes twinkled. "I'm tellin' you news now, ain't I! What did you +come down here for?"</p> + +<p>Ann laughed; she knew it was no use to pretend. "You're so smart, +Ben—you know what's in people's heads ... Aunt Sue told me. She's just +heart-broken, an' I said I'd come an' beg you. How could we have got on +without you this winter, and how are we going to get on without you now? +Don't you go, Ben!"</p> + +<p>"Reckon Coats can run this place without me," Ben said determinedly.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he can," Ann persisted. "I know he'll want you."</p> + +<p>"Not he. I know Coats Penniman."</p> + +<p>"Of course you know him better than I do," Ann said wistfully. "Don't +you like my father, Ben?"</p> + +<p>Ben moved restlessly. "He's a Penniman an' awful set in his ways—Coats +Penniman's a fearful steady, determined man—though that's not sayin' +anything against him."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Sue says he is the best man who ever walked," Ann said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"She's reason to think that way.... I reckon I don't like too much +goodness, Ann—not the kind that's unhuman good. That's because I'm jest +'Bear' Brokaw, though.... No, I'm goin'."</p> + +<p>Ann could not puzzle out just what he meant. She let it drop, for +thinking of it made her unhappy. She moved nearer and put her hand on +Ben's great hairy paw, stroking it as she would have stroked the collie. +"You stay, Ben?" she pleaded softly. "Just stay a while and see how it +will be. Stay 'cause I want you to. What'll I do without you to talk +to—if my father doesn't care about me?... An' maybe he won't, you +know—I can't tell.... You think he will, though, don't you, Ben?" It +was the anxiety uppermost in Ann and must out.</p> + +<p>Ben's little animal eyes were very bright as he looked down at her, and, +whatever his thoughts, his expression was not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"You reckon if you smiled at the spring the water would run up hill to +you?" he asked. "You sure could bring the birds down from the trees, +Ann." This was certainly one way of avoiding her question.</p> + +<p>Ann knew Bear Brokaw as well as he knew her. She knew she had won. "And +we'll make the swimmin'-pool down in the woods—soon as it's warm," she +coaxed. "We'll have fun this spring, Ben." This was a project that lay +close to Ben's heart. His room might be redolent of animal skins, but +Ben himself was not; he had a beaver's love for the water.</p> + +<p>"Um!" he growled, his eyes twinkling.</p> + +<p>It was complete surrender, and Ann sprang up. "I've got to help Aunt Sue +now," she announced brightly. "And, Ben, I didn't put the horse out."</p> + +<p>"Want I should, I reckon."</p> + +<p>Ann only laughed as she pirouetted out and danced up the stairs to the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>She did not go back to Sue, however; not immediately. She caught up her +cape and a bucket and, as soon as Ben was on his way to the barn, +started for the spring. But it was evidently not her ultimate +destination, for she dropped the bucket there and, after a cautious +study of the barn and the house, sped like a rabbit across the field and +into the woods.</p> + +<p>From their shelter she again studied her surroundings, then darted for +the dead chestnut tree. She climbed as agilely as she had run, and +quickly gained the split crotch. The flicker's hole was bored deep in +the dead wood, and Ann brought up from its depth a folded slip of paper. +She curled up in the crotch and read it:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Ann</span>:</p> + +<p>"You are the sweetest and the most beautiful thing I know. Did +you mean what you said when you promised to be friends? I hope +you did. I've been living on that hope for the last two weeks. +Will you come to the Crest Cave at the Banks on Sunday +afternoon, at four, and tell me again that our +great-grandfathers' quarrels don't matter to us? Please come, +dear! Please!</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Garvin.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Though the color came warmly in Ann's cheeks and a smile lifted the +corners of her mouth, she looked grave enough when she sat thinking over +what she had read. So far her meetings with Garvin Westmore had had the +excuse of chance; he knew on what days she drove to the village, and the +chestnut tree had treasured only notes expressive of pleasure over the +meeting of the day before. But this was different.</p> + +<p>Sue Penniman had done her duty; Ann was not altogether ignorant; less +ignorant and far more imaginative; more eager for life and at the same +time more certain of herself than most of the girls on the Ridge. +Beneath her coquetry, the new and intoxicating realization of her +allure, was the craving for the certain something that distinguished the +Westmores from the Pennimans; a "niceness" Ann called it, for want of a +clearer understanding. She had been immediately at home with Garvin, and +with his brother also. They were not beyond her intelligence. Something +in her had arisen and met, on a footing of equality, the thing in them +that delighted her.</p> + +<p>In her ignorance of much that would have been clearer to a more +sophisticated girl, Ann was not nearly so self-conscious or so afraid of +this more plainly revealed attitude of the lover, and of the sanction +she would be giving to secrecy, as she was doubtful of her duty to the +Penniman cause. It was that troubled her most. She felt no great sense +of duty to her grandfather, and Sue's blind clinging to the family +quarrel seemed senseless. But there was her father? Ann wanted his love +more than she wanted anything else in the world; the tenderness that +would cherish her, against which she could nestle and that would caress +her in return. She longed for it, and would joyfully give implicit +obedience in return.</p> + +<p>Ann thought the matter out as she sat there. When she put the note in +the bosom of her dress and climbed soberly down from her perch, she had +decided: if her father loved her—and she would know instantly if there +was about him the something that had always held her apart from her +grandfather and even from her Aunt Sue—she would not meet Garvin +Westmore. She would tell her father every circumstance, and if he willed +that it must be so, his quarrel would be hers.</p> + +<p>But if he failed her? Ann's full lips set and she put her hand over the +note in her bosom.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>IN COLONIAL FASHION</h3> + + +<p>The Westmores were giving a dinner after the hunt, as had been customary +in the days when Westmore was noted for lavish hospitality. It was by no +means a Hunt Club dinner, however, for, according to Westmore standards, +the Hunt Club had become a lax institution. In order to exist it had +taken in members, excellent people, of course, who, because of their +money or because of prominence acquired during the last few years, had +partially compelled their way into Ridge society. The men affiliated +fairly well, their clan spirit rarely stood in the way of sociability, +perhaps because many of them had been forced into the city, into +business relations with the newcomers.</p> + +<p>But the feminine aristocracy of the Ridge still clung to traditional +usage. Changed conditions had partly demolished traditional barriers; +they were forced to countenance, in a formal way, women who were not of +"the family connection," but as every member of the old Fox-Ridge +aristocracy was related to every other member, Fox-Ridge society was +quite sufficient unto itself.</p> + +<p>And the newcomers on the Ridge bore their partial exclusion from the +intimate circle with equanimity. As a general thing they possessed more +money than the old Ridge families and had numerous friends in the city +whom they entertained at their Ridge homes. They were the gayest element +on the Ridge, nearly all of them merely summer residents; in the winter +appearing only at the Hunt Club meets.</p> + +<p>Nickolas Baird, who had been "put up" at the Hunt Club by a city member, +and who, for reasons of his own, meant to remain where he was for some +time, was decidedly gratified by his invitation to the Westmore dinner. +He had formed a casual friendship with Garvin Westmore which had been +furthered by his purchase of a Westmore horse. Then he had met Judith +Westmore, and from that moment had been welcome at Westmore.</p> + +<p>"It will be just a family gathering," Judith had explained to him the +week before, as she stood on the top step of the entrance to Westmore, +whipping her riding-skirt lightly with her gold-handled crop. "You, of +course, will find it endlessly dull, Mr. Baird—still we want you."</p> + +<p>Baird had assured her that no gathering of which she was a part would be +dull; that he was beyond measure pleased.</p> + +<p>"You are to bring your dress clothes strapped to your saddle, in true +colonial fashion, and spend the night here," Judith had continued. "Be +sure to bring your dancing shoes," and, with a lithe turn and a smiling +nod, had vanished into Westmore.</p> + +<p>Baird had cantered off down the two miles of impossible road that led +across Westmore to the Post-Road, smiling to himself, or, rather, at +himself. How old was Judith Westmore, anyway? Certainly in the thirties. +"Bo'n sho'tly after de war," the old negro who curried his horse at the +Hunt Club had told him, for Baird had his own methods of making +discoveries. She looked possibly—twenty-eight; slim, with the bust of a +young Venus and the hips of a Diana. She certainly carried her head like +a goddess. Baird had never seen a more graceful creature on horseback. +And she walked as she rode, gracefully, spiritedly. Hers were the +Westmore features at their best: a face not too long to be beautiful; +arched brows, straight nose, a very perfectly molded chin, eyes a dark +hazel and thickly lashed, a dainty head bound about by ink-black hair. +Time had barely touched her. She was vivacious, yes ... but a little +cold?</p> + +<p>Baird was not certain. He thought, with slightly heightened color, of +that quick turn at the door that had drawn her riding-skirt taut over +the curves of hip and leg; and of her easily dilated eyes. Hers was not +a warm mouth, too perfectly chiseled for that, but her hand was a live +warm thing. Why in heaven's name hadn't she married?</p> + +<p>Baird was twenty-six. He had reached the age when youth's first missteps +lay in retrospect; the turning point, when analysis enters into the +pursuit of the feminine. That he would endeavor to capture masterfully +and in headlong fashion was legibly scrolled upon him. Whether +faithfulness was any part of his composition was not so easy to +determine. Certainly there was far more admiration than desire in his +thoughts of Judith Westmore. What imagination he possessed had been +busied with her for the last three weeks. She was wonderful! A belle +that would have swayed three states—in colonial days. She had told him +that the gold handle of her riding-whip had been presented to her +grandmother by Henry Clay, and that the comb which sometimes topped her +black coronet had frequently courtesied to General Washington. She had +simply not had her grandmother's opportunities.</p> + +<p>It amused Baird that his hard sense had been captured by the glamour of +it. Backgrounded by Chicago or Wyoming the thing would have been +ridiculous. But where people rode to the hounds and talked easily of +governors and generals, their great-grandfathers, it was quite a natural +thing.</p> + +<p>"'In true colonial fashion,'" Baird quoted, on the afternoon of the +hunt, as he prepared to strap his Gladstone bag to the back of his +saddle. "The damned thing'll bounce about like hell and I'll have a +runaway if I'm not careful. Wonder how Mistress Judith's ancestors +managed it? Saddle-bags, of course.... Hey, Sam?" he called to the old +negro who was leading two of the returned hunters up to the stable, +"haven't got any colonial saddle-bags about the place, have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh, suttenly, suh," Sam assented promptly. He came up with face +beaming. Baird's joking, accompanied as it was by shining half-dollars, +delighted every negro on the place.</p> + +<p>"Let's have them, then."</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh—dey sho' is about de place, suh—tho' I don't 'zactly knows +where."</p> + +<p>Baird laughed. "Of course.... Take in those horses and bring me a piece +of rope—I don't trust these straps."</p> + +<p>Sam came back with a hitching-strap and between them they did their best +to make the bag fast.</p> + +<p>"Where does that road between the cedars come out?" Baird asked when he +had mounted. "Can't I get to Westmore if I go that way?"</p> + +<p>Sam looked dubious. "Yes, suh—hit comes out to de County Road, an' from +there am de road thro' de woods to Westmo'. Hit's the shortest way, but +hit goes thro' de Penniman place."</p> + +<p>"I thought it did—I'll go that way."</p> + +<p>"But ole Mr. Penniman, he done built a gate by his house, suh, an' put +on a padlock an' set up a sign. He don't 'low Hunt Club folks ridin' +thro'."</p> + +<p>"But he wouldn't mind my going through, would he?"</p> + +<p>Sam looked grave. "I dunno, suh. He done had Mr. Garvin 'rested 'cos he +rode thro'. He had him up to co't—yes, suh."</p> + +<p>"Fined him, did he?" Baird asked with interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>suh</i>! He done fin' him, an' when Mr. Garvin paid, Mr. Penniman, +he refuse' to take de money. He give hit back to de co't, an' tol' 'em +to give hit to the first orphan they seen, dat he don' want no Westmo' +money."</p> + +<p>"He did!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh.... I reckon tho' 'twas mostly 'cos of Mr. Garvin bein' a +Westmo'," Sam added cautiously.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not a Westmore—I'll chance it," Baird said decidedly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>BAIRD RECONNOITERS</h3> + + +<p>When he had turned in between the cedars, Baird was glad he had come. +They were set close and now, in their middle-age, stood with branches +interlocked, forming a canopy dense enough to shut out the sun. The +soughing gloom through which Baird rode was mournful on a March day, but +he had some conception of what it must be like in summer, cool and +sweet-scented and perpetually whispering. The branches drooped so low in +places that they shut out the country, nooks into which one could crawl +and, with a tree-trunk and big roots forming a couch, dream away an +entire day. And, protected from the dew, sleep through the night as +well.... What a trysting place for lovers, thought Baird.</p> + +<p>The gigantic hedge ended abruptly at the foot of what had evidently once +been a lawn, but overgrown now and too much shaded by locust trees. The +Penniman house showed through the trees, a steep-pitched roof broken by +dormer windows. Clumps of lilacs topped the bank which partially hid the +road from the house, and, as he came up under their shelter, Baird eyed +his surroundings keenly. But there appeared to be no one about.</p> + +<p>The road passed within a few yards of the front porch, yet he saw no +one. He could see, a short distance ahead, just beyond where the road +forked, leading off to the barn, the gate and sign of which Sam had +spoken.</p> + +<p>Baird had planned this intrusion upon the Pennimans' privacy; he had no +intention of going on, at least until he had searched for the person he +wanted to see. He went on to the gate, then dismounted, having decided +to attempt the barn first. The wide door, the entrance to the +wagon-shed, stood open, and Baird looked in. Beyond was another door +through which Baird glimpsed a pile of hay. He stood listening for a +moment, then tiptoed across to it, for there were sounds here, a voice +humming lightly.</p> + +<p>It was the hay-loft he had come upon, a wide space half filled with hay; +the remainder of the floor swept clean, a sweet-scented, airy space +warmed by a broad band of sunlight. Not ten feet from him, beside a +basket of eggs, sat a huge collie, forepaws planted, tail impatiently +beating the floor, intent on what was passing. Baird looked on also.</p> + +<p>It was Ann playing in the sun. She was without her cape and hood now; a +slender thing in warm brown, some indeterminate garment without a belt, +a sheathe-like apron, possibly. She appeared to be playing with the band +of sunlight, moving in and out of it, in time to the minor, negroesque +thing she was singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mr. Frog, he went a-courtin',<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—a-hung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mr. Frog, he went a-courtin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sword an' pistol by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—a-hung."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The excited collie barked and whined, but Ann went on, absorbed in the +joy of motion, a bit of the cake-walk with its suggestion of abandon +carrying her the length of the sunlight band; a waltz step backward and +forward, from sunshine into shadow; a gliding turn and sweeping courtesy +that might have been stolen from the minuet:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He rode right up to Miss Mousey's den,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—a-hung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rode right up to Miss Mousey's den,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I say, Missy Mouse, is you within?'<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—a-hung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Yes, here I sits, an' here I spin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift the latch an' do come in.'<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—a-hung."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Her voice leaped suddenly into a joyful note:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Suh! He took Miss Mousey on his knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Say, Missy Mouse, will you marry me?'<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A-hung—<i>a-hung</i>!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She had swept into a pirouette that spun her like a top, stopped +abruptly at the hay, and clapped her hands teasingly at the quivering +collie: "A-hung, suh—<i>a-hung</i>!"</p> + +<p>The dog was on her with a bound. The two came down on the hay and rolled +over and over, the collie snarling in mock ferocity, Ann rippling with +laughter, an ebullition of sheer animal spirits, a child at play, the +gaiety Sue deplored.</p> + +<p>But Ann was soon spent. She sat up then, flushed, panting and +disheveled, the dog held at arm's length. She looked at the animal, for +a full moment, into the creature's affectionate eyes, and her laughter +died suddenly. She put her arms about the dog's neck and buried her +face. "Oh, Prince!" she said, with a sob in her voice, "I reckon you an' +Ben are the only ones that love me."</p> + +<p>Baird had watched Ann dance with the delight one feels in a stolen +pleasure—she was so utterly pretty and graceful, and so unconscious. +When she rolled about in sheer abandonment on the hay he almost laughed +out, in spite of the warmth that rose to his face. But, at the sob in +her voice, he felt ashamed, like one caught eavesdropping. Baird was not +overburdened with fine feelings, in some respects he was coarse-fibered, +but there was too much genuine sorrow and longing in the girl's voice. +It made him uncomfortable; he had no right to be there. He drew back +into the wagon-shed, uncertain just how to present himself.</p> + +<p>Ann solved the difficulty. She came out carrying the basket of eggs and +with the collie at her heels. At sight of Baird, the dog barked +furiously, and Ann stopped dead; the look she gave Baird was scarcely +more friendly than the dog's bark; she was so evidently startled.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm trespassing," Baird said promptly. "I thought I might +come through this way to Westmore, but the gate is locked. I'm sorry I +frightened you." He made his apology with the best air possible to him, +cap in hand.</p> + +<p>Ann quieted the collie, and when she looked at Baird again a smile had +dawned in her eyes. "You're a stranger—you couldn't be expected to know +about the gate," she said in her soft drawl. "I'll let you through."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Baird said, "but I hate to give you trouble."</p> + +<p>Ann said nothing, yet Baird observed that she was not embarrassed. She +put down the basket of eggs and led the way, her head carried quite as +spiritedly as Judith Westmore bore hers. Not a vestige of the playful +child remained; she was collected, polite. And she was lovely. Judith +could never have been as pretty—she had never had this girl's ripe lips +and warm throat, or her trick of lowered lashes. Baird saw now why her +eyes appeared so dark; her lashes were black and the eyelids +blue-tinged, giving her eyes both brilliancy and languor. The eyes +themselves were a gray-hazel, and, except when surprised or smiling, +their expression was wistful, almost melancholy. A facile face, capable +of swift changes, and captivating because of it. Baird knew now why he +had thought her something more than merely pretty.</p> + +<p>He made his observations as he walked on beside her. "It must be a +nuisance—having people come through in this way," he remarked, in order +to be saying something.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind, but grandpa does," Ann answered. "Perhaps when my father +comes he will let the gate stay open."</p> + +<p>"Your father doesn't live here then?"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't been here for a long time—he's coming home to-morrow." There +was anticipation in her voice.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking this morning that if I owned land about here I'd kick at +having my crops ridden over as we were doing."</p> + +<p>"It's always been done, you see. Around here the best reason for doin' +things is because they've always been done." Her tone was faintly +sarcastic; she glanced at him, a swiftly intelligent look.</p> + +<p>"She's bright," was Baird's mental comment. Aloud he said, "And in my +part of the world the best reason for not doing things is because +they've been done before—every one's looking for a newer and better +way."</p> + +<p>"Your part of the world?" It was the first sign of personal interest she +had shown.</p> + +<p>Baird was not supersensitive, but he had felt polite antagonism in her +manner. He attempted to capture interest. "I came here from Chicago. +Before that I was in Wyoming for a time. I've ranched, and done a lot of +other things. I spent two years in South America—got rid of fifty +thousand dollars down there and nothing but a year of fever to show for +it. I could tell you a few tales that would make your hair rise."</p> + +<p>He had won her wide look. "Were you on the Amazon? Are there flowers +there that catch insects and snakes that make hoops of themselves an' +chase animals?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've been on the Amazon—worse luck. I don't know about the +hoop-snakes, but I've seen plenty of insects that are flowers and +flowers that are insects—everything in nature preys on something +else.... How do you come to know about the Amazon?"</p> + +<p>"I read a story about it."</p> + +<p>"Do you like to read?"</p> + +<p>"I like it better than anything else," she said brightly.</p> + +<p>They had come to the gate, and she looked at the bag strapped to his +saddle, then laughingly at Baird. "Looks funny, doesn't it?" he +remarked. "I'm taking my dress clothes over to Westmore—they're having +a dinner-dance to-night."</p> + +<p>Ann's smile vanished. "Oh—" she said, her face grown wistful. Then with +a flash into gaiety she sprang lightly to a notch in the gate-post, +swung herself up by the foothold, and took a key from the niche in +which it was hidden.</p> + +<p>"Here!" Baird exclaimed. "Why didn't you let me do that?... Let me help +you!"</p> + +<p>Ann looked at him, innate coquetry in her eyes. "If you'll stand aside, +suh, I can step down."</p> + +<p>Baird answered the look in the fashion natural to him. He took her by +the waist, held her up long enough to prove the strength of his arms, +then set her down; his lips pressed her cheek and his breath warmed her +neck as he did so. "Arms like mine are made for reaching—and for +holding," he said.</p> + +<p>The color swept into Ann's face, and her eyes widened into brilliancy. +For an instant Baird did not know what to think. Then her lashes dropped +and she held the key out to him. "You know where to find it now," she +said softly.</p> + +<p>"I'll come again—I'm staying at the Hunt Club," he answered swiftly. He +took her hand as well as the key; he had flushed as deeply as she.</p> + +<p>The tacit invitation had struck Baird as involuntary, and so did her +answer, a sudden inclination and as quick a shrinking; the color fled +from her face. "<i>No!</i>" she said decidedly, and pulling her hand away +sped to the house.</p> + +<p>Baird started in pursuit, the first step, before he remembered where he +was. Then he stopped. "Whew!" he said, under his breath.</p> + +<p>He went back to the gate and unlocked it, led his horse through, and +returned the key to its hiding-place. Before he mounted, he gave the +house a long scrutiny. "We'll see!" he said, his eyes grayed to +coldness, his cheeks still hot.</p> + +<p>He rode for half a mile before he regained his usual aspect. Then he +laughed shortly: "That was funny—she regularly took hold on me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>THE WESTMORES OF WESTMORE</h3> + + +<p>Baird thought, when he sat down to dinner that night, that he had never +looked on a better favored company or on a more interesting setting.</p> + +<p>They were twenty-five in all, with the great mahogany table drawn +crosswise of the room to allow passage between silver-laden sideboards +and china-cupboards whose aged mahogany was brightened by arrays of dull +blue and gold-banded Worcester and the pinky red of platters and plates +of Indian Tree pattern which Judith told him had been presented, in +1735, by Lord Westmore to his colonial cousin, the first Westmore of +Westmore. From where Baird sat he could look across the hall into the +drawing-room, a glimpse of dark paneling, wide fireplace, and above it +the two portraits, Edward Stratton Westmore, first Westmore of Westmore, +and his cousin, Lord Edward Stratton Westmore, of Stratton House, +Hampshire, England.</p> + +<p>Westmore was typically a southern colonial mansion, a spacious central +building with two wings and with a collection of outbuildings for the +housing of servants. The ballroom and the plantation office were in one +wing, the kitchens in the other. Westmore's massive brick walls had +withstood time, as had the heavy oak paneling of dining-room, hall and +drawing-room. There were no modern touches to disturb the Georgian +atmosphere; this was 1905, yet Westmore was still the Westmore of 1735.</p> + +<p>And with the picturesque additions of frilled wrist-bands, perukes, +looped skirts and powdered coiffures, Baird thought this might well have +been a clan gathering of a hundred years ago. In the hour before dinner, +Baird had met them all, Westmores, Copeleys, Dickensons and Morrisons. +The Dickensons were from the city, the others were all of the +county—had always been of the county, and all were interrelated.</p> + +<p>Conscious of his own too muscular neck and shoulders and massive jaw, +Baird had noticed that there was not a paunched or bull-necked man in +this family. He was not fat, thank heaven! and did not intend to be, but +he would never be able to attain the nice muscles and graceful carriage +that, in this family, seemed to be inherent. Even old Colonel Ridley +Dickenson had a perfect boot-leg. Most of the younger men were too +long-backed for great strength, good horsemen but poor wrestlers, Baird +judged, and the two boys of twenty who represented the third generation +were inclined to be weedy and hatchet-faced; but, on the whole, they +were a clean-limbed and exceedingly well-featured collection.</p> + +<p>The women struck Baird as delicately pretty rather than beautiful or +handsome. Though in several delicacy was pronounced enough to suggest +ill-health, the Westmore features predominated, fine brows, dark hair, +clear skin, slimness and roundness combined. The only golden-haired girl +of the company was Elizabeth Dickenson, and it was easy to see how she +came by her fairness; her mother was not of the clan, a somewhat +hard-faced, blonde New Yorker, who had brought money to her husband, and +modern social proclivities as well. Elizabeth Dickenson was more like +the Chicago girls Baird had met, more striking and self-assertive than +her county kin, and far more fashionably gowned.</p> + +<p>But Judith Westmore was easily the beauty of the entire collection. +There was something joyous about her mien this evening; perhaps because +for the first time in many years Westmore was like the Westmore of old. +Baird had gathered from the conversation he had over-heard between Mrs. +Dickenson and Mrs. Copeley that this was the inauguration of a new era +at Westmore.</p> + +<p>"Edward's money—" Mrs. Dickenson had said significantly. "Judith will +make the best of it."</p> + +<p>"And who deserves it more than Judith!" Mrs. Copeley returned warmly. +"When I think of all Judith has gone through! Where would Westmore be +but for Judith? Sold to some carpetbagger, years ago! It nearly went, I +can tell you, Cousin Mary."</p> + +<p>"If Garvin would follow Edward's example now, and marry a girl with +money," Mrs. Dickenson had remarked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Copeley had said nothing.</p> + +<p>"But, then, Garvin Westmore is not Edward—any more than Sarah Westmore +is Judith," Mrs. Dickenson had concluded dryly. From the cloud that +settled on Mrs. Copeley's face, Baird judged that the reference was not +a happy one. Who Sarah Westmore was he did not know; she was not of the +assembled party.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dickenson was evidently giving thought to Westmore's new +prosperity, for it was she who asked Edward, across the table, "Ed, +while you are getting things, why don't you get an automobile? You'd +look particularly well in an automobile." She had a carrying voice; it +reached Baird at his end of the table.</p> + +<p>Edward sat at the head of the table, Judith at the foot; Baird was at +Judith's left, with Elizabeth Dickenson as his dinner partner. Garvin +was on the other side of the table, and both he and Elizabeth Dickenson +ceased to talk and waited for Edward's answer.</p> + +<p>Baird thought that he had never seen a more smileless and at the same +time a more attentive host than Edward Westmore. The man's white face +was carven, his eyes melancholy, yet he talked easily and gracefully. In +spite of his pallor, he was the most distinguished-looking man in this +gathering of well-favored men, perhaps because he lacked their local +flavor. He looked what he was, a much-traveled man with a fund of +experience.</p> + +<p>He did not smile at Mrs. Dickenson, though he answered pleasantly, "Not +for me, Cousin Mary—but Garvin may have a machine if he wants it."</p> + +<p>Garvin flushed but said nothing. It was little Priscilla Copeley who +exclaimed, "Do you mean it, Cousin Ed?"</p> + +<p>"Take him up on it, Garvin! Take him up quick!" Colonel Dickenson cut in +mischievously. "By George, suh, you'd be the most popular spark in the +county—with the ladies! Every man whose horse you scared could cuss you +all the way to limbo. Hot water you'd be in! and that's what you +like.... Go ahead, suh!" He might have been hallooing on the hounds. The +colonel was a keen sportsman, and a bon-vivant, a member of two hunt +clubs and several city clubs—his wife's money had given him both the +leisure and the opportunity.</p> + +<p>Garvin was not allowed an immediate hearing. "Oh, Garve! I can see you +making a Nebuchadnezzar of yourself under that machine!" Elizabeth +Dickenson exclaimed, and one of the Copeley boys added: "I'd rather have +it than the sorrel, Garve. George Pettee told me there were two hundred +automobiles now in the city—every fellow wants one. Yours would be the +first out here—unless father'll get us one. Will you, suh?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Copeley was a tall white-haired man, second cousin to the Westmores, +and markedly a Westmore. He had looked his surprise at Edward's offer, +then had looked thoughtful. "No, suh," he said quietly. "I don't like +them. If the county's goin' to be overrun with them, I'll move.... +Garvin, you'll have to get to work on that two miles of road from here +to the Post-Road befo' you can run a machine over it—that would be the +most sensible thing you've done in years. I reckon Edward would like you +to get to work at something—it doesn't matter much what.... You +wouldn't be furnishing a chauffeur, would you, Ed?"</p> + +<p>"No," Edward said.</p> + +<p>Baird had watched his opportunity. It was only in his sleep that +Nickolas Baird lost sight of business, and not always then. "I can get +you a good machine, straight from the factory, and at trade price, +Garvin."</p> + +<p>Garvin had given his, cousin Copeley a flaming glance, but he answered +his brother courteously. "Thank you, Ed. I'll take the machine—and I'll +put the road in shape."</p> + +<p>"Very well—we'll thank Mr. Baird to-morrow for his kind offer."</p> + +<p>"Will you take me riding, Garve?" Priscilla Copeley asked softly, under +cover of the remarks that followed.</p> + +<p>Baird had noticed her, the pretty, dark-eyed girl who sat beside Garvin. +She nestled against his elbow for her half-whisper, and Baird saw the +look her mother gave her and the sharp gesture that made her daughter +straighten and flush. Baird did not know why he felt sorry for Garvin at +that moment; possibly his sensing of the general disapproval. He did +not like the man, but that was mainly because of his wild act that +morning. But it was a little hard on a fellow, having every one down on +him. And it was plain that Garvin mourned his horse. The hunt and +Garvin's mishap had been thoroughly discussed in the drawing-room, and +Garvin had been restless under it. All they knew was that Garvin had had +to shoot his horse. There had been a touch of desperation in Garvin's +aside to Baird: "God! I wish they'd let up on the subject—I've had +about enough for one day!"</p> + +<p>And now Mr. Copeley was giving him another thrust. "You're in for it +now, Garvin—are you going at the road pick and shovel?"</p> + +<p>Judith spoke for the first time since the subject had been introduced. +"Bear Brokaw would be the best man to help you, Garvin," she suggested +brightly.</p> + +<p>She had been watching the serving of dinner, a word now and then to the +three negroes who bore around the best viands Baird had ever tasted. +Soup had been followed by roast oysters, terrapin and turkey, and +accompanying vegetables and hot breads. The evening had turned very +mild, as warm as a May night, and the mint-juleps taken in the +drawing-room had been soothing. Edward was evidently a connoisseur, the +wines were of the best and the array of glasses were not allowed to +languish; the men one and all appeared to be good drinkers.</p> + +<p>But Judith had evidently not been too absorbed to follow the +conversation and to note Garvin's curled lip and angry eyes, for her +remark instantly created a diversion. Mrs. Morrison, Judith's aunt, a +stately woman with proudly-carried head, spoke from Edward's end of the +table. "I'm surprised at you, Judith—after the way that white-trash +robbed me! Ben's nothing but a common thief!"</p> + +<p>The young people smiled covertly, but Edward asked with genuine concern: +"Bear Brokaw rob you, Aunt Carlotta! Why, I remember Bear—I used to go +hunting with him. I thought there wasn't an honester man living than +Bear Brokaw."</p> + +<p>"He is a thief, Edward," Mrs. Morrison reiterated decidedly.</p> + +<p>Edward looked his surprise.</p> + +<p>"Ben Brokaw bought a tree of Aunt Carlotta Morrison," Judith said +demurely. The look she flashed on Baird was a-gleam with mirth.</p> + +<p>Edward glanced casually about the table and caught the covert smiles. +"Well?" he questioned more equably.</p> + +<p>Baird had discovered that the interests of the clan were entirely local +and centered in themselves; he had not heard a single remark that +ventured beyond their native state. They evidently criticized one +another freely, but Baird judged that any stranger who essayed the same +freedom would be set upon by the entire connection, with the ferocity of +a pack of hounds.</p> + +<p>"It was a thoroughly thievish transaction, Edward," Mrs. Morrison +maintained warmly. "You know I never approved of the man—a creature +that climbs trees like a monkey and sleeps out in the woods like a +savage. Your uncle would have known better, but I consented to sell him +that tree—you know, one of the big chestnuts down by the cabins. It was +dead, and I wanted it down, and I didn't tell Ben I thought he was crazy +when he wanted me to sign a slip of paper, just sayin' that I'd sold the +tree to him, half shares on the wood. I thought the lumberin' old thing +had got some funny notion. But he knew what he was about.... Edward, it +was a honey-tree! He'd been watching and had seen the bees goin' in and +out. He got forty buckets of honey out of that tree!... If that's not +stealing, I don't know what is, and I think the family ought to boycott +him."</p> + +<p>Edward kept his countenance in spite of the titter about him. "Did he +cord his wood according to agreement?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he did," Mrs. Morrison admitted.</p> + +<p>"He was doing up-to-date business—that's all, Aunt Carlotta," Judith +remarked.</p> + +<p>"Something more than that," Edward said. "I remember Uncle Morrison +broke up some of his traps and warned him off the property. You urged +him to it, if I remember, Aunt Carlotta."</p> + +<p>"But think of such revengefulness—after all these years! And your uncle +dead, too!"</p> + +<p>"There's a good deal of such undying hatred about," Edward answered +evenly. "It's a pity." He looked down at his plate.</p> + +<p>But the younger people were still smiling. "Don't worry, Aunt Carlotta, +Bear isn't going to work for any of us," one of the Copeley boys said. +"I saw him this evenin' on my way here—he's at the Pennimans'.... By +the way—he said Coats Penniman was coming home."</p> + +<p>It was Judith's perceptible start and Edward's quick lift of the head +that arrested Baird's attention. But neither of them spoke; it was +Garvin who asked swiftly, "When is he coming?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, Bear said."</p> + +<p>Garvin made no comment, but Mr. Copeley exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell +your bit of news sooner, my boy?... It means Coats will take hold of the +place. I'm afraid it does, Ed."</p> + +<p>His remark had some significance that was evidently not clear to other +members of the family, for Mrs. Morrison asked, "Why, what difference +does it make to you who runs the Penniman place, Edward?"</p> + +<p>Edward paid no attention to her question; he was motioning to one of the +servants to bring him more wine, and when his glass was filled he +emptied it at a draft. It did not flush him, however; if anything, he +looked paler. It struck Baird that the man must be ill, there must be +some reason for such persistent pallor.</p> + +<p>The dinner was nearing an end, and Baird himself was warmed through and +through. He had been well treated. Priscilla Copeley had played prettily +with him across the table, and not been reproved by her mother; she had +promised to ride with him the next day. And Elizabeth Dickenson had said +that his name would be on the list for the next Assembly Ball. Baird was +not particularly fond of dancing, and a formal ball was a nuisance, but +he welcomed her invitation to the next Fair Field Hunt Club meet. +Colonel Dickenson was president of the club, and Baird knew that he +would be well presented to a group of sportsmen who would be useful to +him.</p> + +<p>But it was Judith who stirred him. He was alive to his finger tips with +admiration, and fully conscious that he had given himself up to a new +experience; delighting in it. In the last few days he had merely touched +the fringe of the new thing. He had seen very little of society, nothing +at all of people such as these, and Judith was the embodiment of caste. +Her ancestry spoke in every atom of her. She was a thoroughbred. She was +superb; so truly a part of that old Georgian house with its indelible +history.</p> + +<p>And Baird loved to see good generalship. Judith had handled that long +tableful of people as a gambler would a pack of cards. She had attended +to every one's needs, been observant of every face, and at the same time +had devoted herself to him. She had furthered the two girls' play with +him, and then had drawn him back to her again. She was wonderful and +very beautiful. He was giving her the first adoration he had ever +experienced.</p> + +<p>This was the first time Baird had seen Judith with shoulders bared, the +tantalizingly perfect shoulders and bust of a mature woman, but that +realization did not stir him half so much as his capture of the +brilliant glance with which she swept the table. It softened into +intimacy when he caught it; took him into her confidence. When, on their +way to the ballroom, the negro fiddlers paused under the dining-room +window and played the first bars of a waltz, and the young people sprang +up to follow, leaving their elders to coffee and wine, Baird was as +eager as any one of them. Judith had promised him the first dance, she +would be in his arms for the first time, but Baird was thinking less of +that than he was of what she was going to say to him, a favor she had +said she meant to ask.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE COLONEL IS SUSPICIOUS</h3> + + +<p>Like most big-framed men who have a sense of rhythm, Baird danced well, +though a little lazily. He found Judith an exhilarating partner. A touch +of languor would have made her an exquisite dancer, but Baird discovered +that her apparently soft curves covered muscles of tempered steel; there +was subdued energy and swift grace in every movement of hers; no wonder +she was a perfect horsewoman.</p> + +<p>During their first dance Baird told Judith, in his downright fashion, +that she was the most delightful hostess he had ever known and the most +beautiful woman he had ever seen; a "wonder-woman" he called her, which, +for Nickolas Baird, was a poetic flight. When they danced again, he +begged her to set him his task: "What is it you are going to ask of me, +Wonder-woman?... I've never had the least inclination to became a knight +until I met you. I'm aching to swear allegiance—what is it I'm to do +for you?"</p> + +<p>Baird was accustomed to making love somewhat roughly and altogether +carelessly, he merely yielded a little to habit when he held Judith +closely and spoke in her ear. Nevertheless, it was plain to even an +onlooker that the spell of profound respect was upon him. It made his +rough strength appealing, the sort of appeal a young man of Baird's +virile type usually makes to a woman older than himself. What he was +asking was how best to please her; his forgetfulness implied restrained +impetuosity, not presumption. And evidently he pleased Judith; her +occasional upward glance was not disapproving.</p> + +<p>So Colonel Dickenson thought as he watched them dance. He had forsaken +the dining-room for the moment, and, avoiding the drawing-room where the +elder women were gathered, had come by the veranda to the ballroom. He +had a jovial remark for each couple as they circled by him, and for +Judith and Baird also:</p> + +<p>"I couldn't trip it more lightly myself—damme if I could!"</p> + +<p>But Judith had caught his eye. "I see Cousin Ridley over there—I'm +afraid I'm wanted," she said, when the dance was over. "That's the +penalty I pay for being 'a delightful hostess.'" If her lips had been +fuller they would have pouted.</p> + +<p>"Can't you be allowed a little respite?" Baird exclaimed. "I want +another dance—and another after that!"</p> + +<p>Judith smiled and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me what I'm to do for you, yet, Wonder-woman?"</p> + +<p>"It must wait.... There will be some square dances by and by, and an +even number of couples without us."</p> + +<p>"And we can go to the porch—somewhere where we can talk—where it is +cool?"</p> + +<p>Judith made a little affirmative gesture.</p> + +<p>"I'll do my duty till then," Baird said bruskly. "I hate dancing—except +with you."</p> + +<p>She allowed him to capture her intimate glance, but the instant she had +turned away her face settled into gravity, an expression both hard and +apprehensive. It made her look more nearly her age.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Ridley?" she asked sharply. "Anything wrong—up-stairs?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" the colonel said. "I just wanted a word with you befo' I've +lost my feet—Edward's goin' to have us all under the table befo' +mo'nin'." The colonel usually abbreviated his syllables when warmed.</p> + +<p>Judith drew a quick breath. "Oh—well, come out to the veranda—"</p> + +<p>The entrance to Westmore was the usual Georgian portico; the veranda +crossed the back of the house, a gallery, really, overlooking the +terraces and connecting the two wings of the house, affording an +entrance to the ballroom at one end, to the kitchens at the other, and a +rear entrance to the main hall. There were high-backed benches here, and +Judith led the way to one of them. She sighed inaudibly as she sat down.</p> + +<p>The colonel began promptly: "I wasn't meaning to spoil your dance, +Judith, but Mary's been telling me to ask that young friend of Garvin's +to our Fair Field meet. Of co's' you can be relied on to choose your +friends sensibly, but Garvin's not so certain. Who is this Nickolas +Baird? If I introduce him, I've got to stand fo' him. I want to know a +little more about him than Mary could tell me. I'll be damned if I'll +present him—knowin' no more about him than I do! What's his family?"</p> + +<p>"I doubt if he has any," Judith answered equably. "In fact, I know he +hasn't—he told me that both his father and his mother were dead."</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean, Judith!" the colonel objected warmly.</p> + +<p>"Of course the first question would be, 'What's his family?' and the +next, 'Has he money?'" There was amusement in Judith's voice. Then she +added more seriously, "I really know very little about him, +Ridley—except that he seems to be a nice, clever sort of boy. Edward +approves of him, so I asked him here. Edwin Carter can tell you more +about him than I can. He put him up at the Hunt Club and introduced him +to Edward and Garvin. Edwin Carter spoke highly of him."</p> + +<p>The chill of the veranda had cooled the colonel somewhat. "Edwin Carter, +eh!" he said more quietly. "Well, he generally knows what he is about. +He has more social sense than most of his money-makin' crowd—but then +he would have—he's a Carter. He certainly has a deal more business +sense than any Westmore born, and if he's back of this young fellow, +there's some business reason fo' it. Has he money, Judith?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Baird? I think so. He seems to make money easily, at any rate. He +speaks of losing fifty thousand dollars with far more lightness than you +would of dining, or of being deprived of the meal. His brain appears to +be stored with schemes, and all sorts of useful knowledge as well. He is +entertaining, for he has been everywhere and knows all kinds of people. +Get him to tell you about South America some time, Ridley, and you'll be +repaid for the trouble."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope he's not scheming to relieve Edward of some of his money," +was the colonel's frank comment.</p> + +<p>"Now, Ridley!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're a clever woman, Judith, that's sure, but you don't know +anything about promoters. I know too much about 'em. I'll wager my best +horse this young man's a promoter—in with the Carter gang and out here +at the Hunt Club fo' a purpose. What does he mean—givin' away +automobiles. He spoke up like a flash at dinner; there's something in it +fo' him, I'll wager." The colonel expressed himself with all the +astuteness of the man who had never in his life handled a dollar of his +own making, and whose business ventures had been confined to a lordly +interest in his wife's safety-deposit box.</p> + +<p>Judith laughed. "I hope there is something in it for him, I'm sure.... +I wish he would teach Garvin his secret," she added with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"He'll probably lead Garvin into mischief," the colonel returned +severely. "There are too many of this young man's kind bein' received +into our first families. I'm continually at odds with Mary over the +young men she recommends to Elizabeth. I don't feel inclined to +countenance this young man, Judith."</p> + +<p>"Would you have Elizabeth marry a cousin?" Judith asked coldly. "There +has been a little too much of that in our family, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>The colonel said nothing.</p> + +<p>Judith continued more brightly: "I'll tell you, Ridley, exactly what I +think of Mr. Baird: I think he is a very clever young man, with no +family background and not much money, but with influential men behind +him. They know he is a financial genius. If you're wagering a horse, +I'll wager Black Betty that in ten years Mr. Nickolas Baird will be +worth a million.... And your discountenancing him will not make a +particle of difference. Christine Carter told Elizabeth that he was +going to be asked to the next Assembly Ball, and you know that that +places him. If he wants to go to the Fair Field meet, he will go—he is +the sort of man who'll always get what he wants. It's just as well for +people like ourselves to realize that Mr. Baird's type is becoming +plentiful—right here in our stronghold—and adapt ourselves to the +inevitable. If we are sensible, we'll draw what advantage we can from +it.... I'll tell you what I should do, if I were you, Ridley: I'd ask +Mr. Baird to dinner at your club and study him a little—you are an +excellent judge of character"—Judith's voice was soothing at this +point—"and if you don't like him, drop him.... As for me, I have no +intention of dropping him—principally because Edward likes him." She +concluded firmly enough.</p> + +<p>"It's not so much Edward who likes him, is it?" the colonel blurted out. +"The young man's pretty well smitten with you, if I'm any judge, and if +I should see Elizabeth at your tricks I'd say that she was something +more than flirting."</p> + +<p>Judith was plentifully endowed with Westmore temper; the colonel was +wont to say that there had never been a more imperious Westmore than his +Cousin Judith; he grew uncomfortably warm during the perceptible pause +that followed his hasty speech.</p> + +<p>Then Judith's laugh rang clearly. "My dear Ridley! You are amusing!... +Yes, that clever boy is scheming to take Edward's money, and I am +helping him to it! Either that, or he is in love with me and I am +forgetting that I am thirty-four and he twenty-six—a little romance +snatched at in my old age!" She rippled into more subdued mirth as she +rose. "You go on in and talk to Edward—he'll give you the best of +reasons for <i>our</i> countenancing Mr. Baird." She changed then suddenly to +sternness. "I'd advise you, though, not to make any such remarks to him +as you've just made to me, Cousin Ridley. Edward is head of our family, +remember, and you're more Westmore than Dickenson—at least I've always +thought so. I'm certainly Westmore enough to set the family interest +before everything else—I've always done so in the past, and am likely +to do so in the future."</p> + +<p>The colonel had been entertaining a jumble of thoughts, among others, +that women of thirty-four were sometimes emotionally erratic, +particularly if they had had so barren an emotional existence as Judith; +and also, that young fellows of twenty-six were apt to be dangerously +impressionable. But at Judith's reproof he came up standing:</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Cousin Judith," he said, in his old-fashioned, +florid manner. "Edward's hospitality has been a little too much fo' +me—my tongue has run a little too loose. That happens to me sometimes, +as you know. I beg yo' pardon. What I really think is that you are a +woman in a million, Judith—a very splendid woman, my dear. Westmo' owes +everything to you—we all know that, and I'm on my knees to you—I +always have been."</p> + +<p>Judith Westmore was not demonstrative, so her answer to his apology +surprised and vastly pleased the colonel. She framed his tanned face +with her hands and kissed his cheek. "You are a dear," she said +brightly. "Now go in to Edward and be nice to him. He's worried over +Garvin—and a number of things.... I'm going in now to talk to Cousin +Mary, and after that I'll have to go up-stairs. If any one wants to see +me, just say I'm busy."</p> + +<p>The colonel did as he was bidden; Judith was usually obeyed. She had her +own methods with each member of the clan, and it was a rare thing for +one of them to venture upon criticism of Judith. The colonel had been, +as he said, a little overcome by Edward's hospitality.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>A FEMININE PROCEDURE</h3> + + +<p>But Judith did not go up-stairs.</p> + +<p>After nearly an hour spent in the drawing-room, she left her elder +cousins engrossed in whist, saying that she was going up until time for +supper. She went to the foot of the stairs, then half-way up, to where +the stairs made a turn, and stood for a time, listening. Everything was +quiet above. In the dining-room the men were still talking, and the +drawing-room was silent except for an occasional remark. Smothered by +the intervening walls, the music and the stir in the ballroom seemed +distant.</p> + +<p>Judith listened to the conclusion of a waltz, then to the chatter on the +veranda—until it was drawn back again into the ballroom by the less +rhythmic measure of a square dance. Then she crept down, went quickly +through the hall and out to the veranda.</p> + +<p>Baird was there, waiting for her. He sprang up from a bench. "I hoped +you'd come!" he said. "I didn't like to go in and ask for you."</p> + +<p>They stood for a moment. "Have you been enjoying yourself?" Judith +asked.</p> + +<p>"No, you didn't come back."</p> + +<p>Judith laughed softly. "You are not polite to my party, suh."</p> + +<p>"Never mind." He touched her bare arm. "Where can I get something to put +around you?"</p> + +<p>"My cape is in the hall—behind the stairs—and my overshoes.... It is +so warm—we might go down to the walk."</p> + +<p>"Down to the terraces," Baird said with the quickness of the man alert +to every advantage.</p> + +<p>Possibly Judith had the terraces in mind, but she demurred. "Oh, no—the +ground is too damp."</p> + +<p>Baird's answer was to dive into the hall. When he came out he had +Judith's cape on his arm and a pair of overshoes in each hand. He held +up the larger pair. "I've jumped some one's claim!... Think any one will +want these before we get back?"</p> + +<p>"They'll certainly not guess where to look for them.... You know how to +surmount a difficulty, don't you?" She had planned for this adventure, +and her cheeks were warm.</p> + +<p>"By helping myself to some one else's belongings—if there is no other +way.... Sit down and let me make sure you will be dry."</p> + +<p>Baird had also planned for an hour on the terraces, and was elated. He +knelt and put on Judith's overshoes with much care, a caressing clasp +for each foot before he planted it on the floor. "They are so small," he +said. "There are not many women whose feet are kissable." Then dashed +by his temerity, he added quickly, "You must descend on me if I +talk—nonsense. I am apt to be forward—I need training badly. I'm in +your hands, you know."</p> + +<p>Judith thought, as she looked down at his massive jaw with its +suggestion of animal force, that undoubtedly he spoke from much +predatory experience; his air of deference sat oddly on him; he was most +attractive when presumptuous. Her reflections caused her a pang. +Retrospective jealousy over affairs that were none of her concern? She +shrugged mentally. She was foolish! For the first time in her life she +was deliberately tampering with forces which she knew were dangerous.</p> + +<p>She thought it best to say gravely, "You are a little—assured, Mr. +Baird."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I am," he assented ruefully; then added with native +shrewdness and candor combined, "I suppose because I've usually found it +paid."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it does—with some people," Judith returned with instant +hauteur. She was glad he could not see her flush.</p> + +<p>Baird got to his feet. "May I help you with your cape?" he asked so +humbly that the prick of his previous remark ceased to smart. Why take +offense at his candor; his respect for her was apparent enough.</p> + +<p>She regained her usual manner as Baird helped her down the steps and, on +reaching the walk, dropped her arm, and vented his discomfort by +criticizing the moon. "The stars are doing their best—why doesn't the +silly thing choose the end of the month to be full in?" he complained. +"I'm afraid you will stumble."</p> + +<p>Judith did stumble a few moments afterward, and, as a matter of course, +Baird took possession of her arm. Judith judged that he had been +sufficiently rebuked and also that she had proved that she needed +guidance and yet was not eager to accept it, a truly feminine procedure.</p> + +<p>And Baird was evidently bent upon gaining the terraces without offending +her by too much urgency. They had come to the verge of the first +terrace, and he tested the ground. "It's not muddy," he announced. "The +sod is too heavy.... Shan't we go down?"</p> + +<p>"I ought not to go so far away—some one will be wanting me," Judith +objected.</p> + +<p>"That is one reason you should go," Baird said decidedly. "You've been +on duty all evening. Come, shunt it all for a few minutes." Baird had +regained his assurance; it never deserted him for long.</p> + +<p>"I should like to," Judith confessed, and her sigh was genuine enough.</p> + +<p>"Of course you would. Isn't there a bench down there—somewhere?"</p> + +<p>"On the edge of the last terrace—under those two cedars."</p> + +<p>"Let's go to it—please, Wonder-woman! They'll all be out after that +dance and I won't have a moment with you. Come!"</p> + +<p>He pleaded a little masterfully, Judith thought, but as long as he did +not suspect that it was his forcefulness that attracted her, all was +well. "I suppose I can hear down there, if any one called," she said +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Certainly you can."</p> + +<p>They went down to where the two cedars loomed, a dark mass, and groped +their way to the bench. It was dark beneath the trees and quite dry. +Below them was a hollow and beyond it a steep slope crowned by a group +of trees, their outlines distinct against the sky. In every direction +but this the country dropped away from the house, affording views for +miles. Except for the music in the house behind them and the occasional +snort or stamp of a horse in the stables, it was very still.</p> + +<p>"This is splendid," Baird said, "but are you warm enough? You have +nothing on your head—there's a hood to your cape ... may I?"</p> + +<p>He drew it up over her hair, restraining his impulse to touch her cheek +as he did so. The cape reminded him of Ann Penniman and his afternoon's +adventure, and he smiled a little to himself. That had been so natural a +performance, and this enforced deference was so entirely a new +experience. He was enjoying it; he liked the way in which Judith kept +the distance between them. She sat well against her corner of the bench. +He could see her face now, black and white and rounded into girlishness +by the encircling hood, again reminding him of Ann.</p> + +<p>"I like those hooded capes," he remarked. "I don't know that I ever saw +one till I came here."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you? Almost every woman here has one—they are so convenient. +Do you know what sun-bonnets are? If you're here in the summer you'll +become acquainted with them, too. But I suppose you will be off befo' +then." She spoke more lazily than usual, slurred her words more, another +reminder of Ann.</p> + +<p>"I shan't be able to get away when I go—if you continue to be kind to +me."</p> + +<p>Judith laughed. "Do you happen to be Irish?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm Irish! Haven't you noticed my long upper lip? My father +was a pretty successful Chicago ward politician and I have the gift of +gab and manipulation too. I can talk money out of a man—any hour of the +day. Now that I have had enough of adventure, I mean to settle down to +handling people and making money. I was born to it.... But that sort of +thing is contrary to all your traditions, isn't it?" he added.</p> + +<p>Judith thought that he judged himself rightly; his voice alone would +accomplish for him; it had both a persuasive and a compelling quality. +"It is, but I admire it," she returned decidedly. He had offered her the +opportunity she wanted.</p> + +<p>"You do?" Baird said, surprised. Then his shrewdness added, "No, you +only think you do. I don't believe there is a man in your family who +would thrill over making money. I mean, thrill at the fight one must +make in order to gain power over men and circumstances, for that is +really the thing that buoys the money-maker, sheer joy in the tussle. +There is the miser, of course, but he's rarely a genius. Any one can be +a miser, if so inclined."</p> + +<p>"You are right—the men of my family have very little business ability," +Judith answered. "Garvin is the only one who has. He would be a success, +if given the opportunity. He is tremendously interested in anything he +undertakes and is capable of concentration—and he wants to make money."</p> + +<p>It was not Baird's reading of Garvin Westmore, but he answered promptly: +"He seems to be an energetic, wide-awake sort." Baird's alertness warned +him that there was purpose in Judith's remarks.</p> + +<p>Judith continued. "Yes, and I should like Garvin to have his chance.... +You see, ever since he was a child he has been tied down to this place. +They will tell you about here that I have run the farm—for it is that +now—the days of tobacco growing were over long ago—but it is Garvin, +really, who has done all the buying and selling. He has made quite an +income from his horses, simply because he has been interested in it. He +would be just as interested in manufacturing automobiles, for +instance—if he could get a position in some promising company."</p> + +<p>Baird understood now. He had thought swiftly while Judith talked. So +that was the reason he had been welcome at Westmore! That was the favor +Judith meant to ask—he was to find a place for Garvin.</p> + +<p>It did not trouble Baird in the least that he was expected to make a +return for what he received—his experience had taught him that life was +run largely on that basis—but he was stung by the thought that Judith +had smiled on him for a purpose. He had mentioned his plans to no one; +it spoke well for her keenness that she had divined the industry he had +selected for his own advancement. But if she expected to gain more from +a bargain than he did, she was mistaken.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps as well that Judith did not see his expression. His voice +did not lose its pleasing quality, however. "Garvin has some capital, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Very little, I am afraid," Judith said regretfully.</p> + +<p>Baird did not say, "But his brother has." He looked down at her, +studying her clear-cut features closely. Evidently he had been right +when he had decided that she was cold; she had simply unbent for a +purpose. Aloud he said, "The manufacture of automobiles is going to be a +tremendous industry. I have some automobile connections—I'll talk to +Garvin a little."</p> + +<p>It was not his voice that acquainted Judith with the chill he felt; she +simply sensed it. She looked up at him. "That was the favor I was going +to ask of you," she said softly. "Just to talk to Garvin a little and +interest him in some plan that will get him away from all this." She +indicated their surroundings by a gesture. "The family traditions have +very little hold on Garvin—they make him impatient and dissatisfied. +You see, I am older than my brother and I have had a great deal of +responsibility. I feel more like a mother than a sister to him. His +dissatisfaction worries me terribly. It would be doing me a very great +favor if you would interest yourself a little in Garvin.... We Westmores +rarely ask favors, Mr. Baird, and only of those whom we really like. I +have so much confidence in you." Judith's voice was sweet and pleading +at the end; her hand stole out from her cape and touched his arm.</p> + +<p>She had lifted him quickly out of coldness into something warmer than +admiration. His doubts had melted like a fog under sunshine. He took her +hand and kissed it. "There are few things I would not do for you, +Wonder-woman.... Thank you, dear."</p> + +<p>He would have kept her hand, but she drew it away, and Baird was almost +instantly glad that she did. He was forgetting himself. The thing he +liked best in her was her aloofness. "I've often wanted to thank you for +the way you have taken me in and made me feel at home," he declared. +"I've never had much of that sort of kindness shown me—I appreciate +it."</p> + +<p>"I want you to feel at home at Westmore," she answered. "You must come +often—and always be nice to me." She had regained her usual graceful +vivacity. "Some day we will ride all over the place and you shall become +really acquainted with it.... Do you see that group of trees beyond +there, against the sky? That is our family burying-ground—generations +of Westmores. There are several quaint tombstones up there."</p> + +<p>"You keep even your dead to yourselves, don't you? In a way, I like the +clannishness of it. You keep everything to yourselves, birth and +marriage and death.... I think there's too much fuss and ceremony over +all three. The first is generally a misfortune, the second is apt to be +no cause for rejoicing, and the end of it all no real reason for +mourning."</p> + +<p>It was the first time Judith had heard this note from him. "Mr. Baird! +How unlike you!... It might be Garvin talking."</p> + +<p>Baird did not want to talk about Garvin, so he made no reply. There was +silence for a time. For some unaccountable reason Baird was touched by +depression. This family with their close interests reminded him that no +one would care particularly how he lived or when he died.</p> + +<p>He was aroused by Judith's sudden movement. She was sitting taut, her +hood flung back. "What is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Her hand caught his arm, a grip of steel. "Hush!" she said sharply. +"Listen!... There are voices at the barn—and don't you hear +galloping—on the road? Don't you hear it?"</p> + +<p>Baird could hear it distinctly, furious galloping, now a thud on soft +ground, then the click of hoofs against stones, and several men's voices +at the barn.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I hear it—what has happened?"</p> + +<p>But Judith was off and away, running up the terraces, and her +exclamation of distress reached him indistinctly, "Oh, <i>why</i> didn't I +stay at the house!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>THE INFINITELY PAINFUL THING</h3> + + +<p>Judith was not running to the house; she cut across the terraces to the +stables, and Baird followed her with all the speed possible to him. And +yet he did not catch up with her until after she had reached the group +of men and horses. When he came up they had just parted, four horsemen +off at a gallop down the road in the direction of the Post-Road, two men +and Judith left standing beneath the stable lantern.</p> + +<p>Baird recognized Edward and the colonel as he came up, and he was near +enough to hear Edward's more distinct answer to Judith's indistinct +question: "Yes—Garvin—to the Mine Banks.... My <i>God</i>!"</p> + +<p>"What has happened?" Baird asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>All three turned on him, and Baird saw Judith's white hand grip Edward's +arm. He was answered by a curious silence, a portentous silence that +conveyed a sense of tragedy. It was Judith who spoke finally:</p> + +<p>"They are after Garvin's horse, Mr. Baird," she said evenly and clearly.</p> + +<p>Garvin's horse? Baird looked from one to the other, three white faces +carven into sudden and violent self-control. There was something in the +way in which they faced him that affected Baird queerly. They stood +together as if they hid something infinitely painful from him that the +light of the lantern failed to reveal; something that hurt and shamed +them, and yet about which they rallied determinedly—as Judith had lied, +clearly and resolutely; as if they stood guard over a painful secret, +and appealed to him to respect it.</p> + +<p>Baird heard himself say in a voice that was robbed of everything but +assumed relief: "That was what we heard then—the horse making off. Can +I help?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, Mr. Baird—thank you—Copeley and the others—have gone," +Edward answered, his pauses marking the steadiness of each word.</p> + +<p>Judith's clear voice followed her brother's effort instantly. "We may as +well go in, I think, Edward. There is nothing we can do." She still had +her hand on his arm, and she turned with him, as if guiding him, and +kept by his side, leaving Baird to follow with the colonel.</p> + +<p>The colonel spoke for the first time. "That's true. There's no good of +our standin' about—not a bit.... It's a pleasant enough evenin' to be +out in, though, Mr. Baird—like May, suh. You'll not know Westmo' by the +middle of next week—the trees and the lilacs setting out green. It +takes only a few days fo' spring to come here, on the Ridge, and this is +an early year—a very early year, suh."</p> + +<p>If Baird had not been sobered by a sense of tragedy, he might have been +amused by the colonel's attempt to follow Judith's lead. But the old +gentleman's determinedly hearty voice failed him sadly, and Baird hoped +that he had played the part he had instinctively chosen better than the +colonel was playing his. And at the same time Baird's quick brain was +trying to solve Edward's agonized, "My <i>God</i>!" What had Garvin done? +Baird saw the man as he had looked that morning, with pistol raised.</p> + +<p>He was answering the colonel. "I have been looking forward to spring +here. I suppose you don't hunt after the crops are up."</p> + +<p>"No, suh—we do have a little consideration fo' others, though we are +not given credit for it. Now at Fair Field—"</p> + +<p>The colonel had stopped abruptly. They had come to the veranda and from +its lowest step a huddled heap had got to its feet, a big negress whose +black hands were torturing her white apron. "Miss Judith—?" she said +whimperingly.</p> + +<p>Judith stopped dead. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was as sharp +as the lash of a whip.</p> + +<p>"Miss Judith—I didn't go fo' to do it—" the woman begged humbly.</p> + +<p>Judith cut her off. "Go up-stairs and stay there!... Go!"</p> + +<p>The woman slunk by them and around the corner of the house like a +whipped dog, and Judith went on, her head high, her hand still on +Edward's arm. As they went up the steps and the light from the hall +shone on her, Baird saw her face distinctly, immobile as a death-mask, +but with restless eyes glancing at the ballroom, which was lighted but +silent, then searching the hall. The front door stood wide, and on the +portico the family were gathered, all except Mrs. Dickenson and her +daughter, who were in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>If Baird had needed confirmation of his fears, he had it in Mrs. +Dickenson's face. She was clinging to her daughter, her face chalk-white +and her eyes terror-stricken. The truth might escape from her at any +moment; she looked on the verge of hysteria.</p> + +<p>But Judith had noticed more quickly than Baird, and she spoke to the +colonel in the same clear way in which she had spoken from the +beginning. "Take her up-stairs, Ridley. She's frightened at all this +galloping about, and no wonder." Then dropping Edward's arm she went +straight on to the front door, her voice raised somewhat more, like an +officer giving his orders, and at the same time conveying a warning:</p> + +<p>"Come on in, all of you, and get ready for supper. I dare say Mr. Baird +is hungry—I am—and we can't get Garvin's horse back by staring after +it.... Aunt Carlotta Morrison, come help me get every one together. +Come!"</p> + +<p>It was all for him, Baird knew it—all this bravery. He was the stranger +among them; the one person from whom the painful thing, whatever it was, +must be kept. They could not gather together in grief or sympathy or +council—he was there. And it devolved upon him to play his part; to see +nothing; understand nothing; and escape as soon as he could.</p> + +<p>Baird would have given much to be able to get his horse and disappear. +But that was not possible. He was experiencing the painful embarrassment +of a guest whose absence was earnestly, even tragically desired, but +whose departure would cause more pain than his presence—so long as he +could successfully maintain an air of unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>He must stay, but it occurred to Baird that he could give them a few +moments in which to remove their masks, in which to consult together. +"I'll go wash up," he said to Edward.</p> + +<p>Edward stood with hand on the stair-rail, erect but deadly pale. He +answered steadily and courteously, "Very well, Baird—it's what I must +do in a moment. If you need anything, ring. I suppose some of the +servants are about."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Baird said, and escaped.</p> + +<p>He washed his hands and smoothed his hair mechanically. He was generally +cool when excited, but he muttered to himself, "What in hell can it be? +It's serious, whatever it is." His brain had already traversed several +possibilities. Had Garvin suddenly gone mad? Or committed murder?... Or +had his own brain gone back on him, registered an entirely erroneous set +of impressions?... Of course it hadn't. Those people were both terrified +and ashamed.</p> + +<p>But he must go on with it. He had answered to the spur of Judith's +voice. He was a poor sort if he couldn't play his part also.... Baird +judged that he had given them time enough in which to consult, and not +too much time in which to suspect him. He must go down.</p> + +<p>Baird never forgot that supper. They were gathered in the dining-room +when he came down, composed, courteous, charming. It was a depleted +company, five of the men were absent, and Mrs. Dickenson and her +daughter, but the colonel was there, and Edward, and again Baird sat by +Judith. The younger people were silent; there was a hushed strained air +about them, but their elders covered their silence. The beautiful old +mahogany table, bared now of linen, had been made smaller to hide +vacancies, bringing them together: Edward, with the sharp lines of +suffering growing and deepening about his mouth, but with quick +attention for everybody; Mrs. Morrison, with her stately white head even +more erect than usual; the colonel, with recovered aplomb.</p> + +<p>The colonel told stories that Baird guessed the family knew well; Mrs. +Morrison reproved every one present and was really amusing, and Judith +smiled brilliantly and tossed the conversational ball back and forth. +She did not let it rest for a moment. A change had come over her; there +was a vivid spot in either cheek and her eyes were shining—nerves +strained to breaking point, Baird guessed, and, when he saw how her +hands shook, he himself began to talk—of South America, of Wyoming. He +dragged forgotten experiences out of obscure corners of his brain and +presented them.</p> + +<p>He talked as he had never talked before, not even when he talked "money +out of a man." He was talking against time, the first moment when he +could relieve that proudly secretive company of his undesired presence; +talked with the full consciousness that Priscilla Copeley was looking +wanly at food she could not touch; that Edward's ear, inclined as if +listening to him, was bent to catch every sound from without; that +Judith's restless hand was beating a tattoo on the edge of the table +while she also listened and waited. Baird did not enjoy what he was +doing, but he liked always to play up to a demand. Judith needed what +little help he could give her.</p> + +<p>It was over at last. Baird knew just when Judith judged that appearances +had been sufficiently maintained, and the moment had arrived when the +party could break up. He said good night then, but, first, he asked +Priscilla Copeley, "You'll not forget our ride to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>He wondered what her answer would be, but even in this slip of a girl +the family spirit was alive. "No, indeed," she returned through +colorless lips. "At four o'clock, Mr. Baird," and she succeeded in +smiling.</p> + +<p>Judith went with him to the stairs, and Baird thanked her "for one of +the pleasantest and most interesting evenings I have ever spent," as he +phrased it.</p> + +<p>"And I am grateful to you," she said quietly. "You were wonderful at +supper." For the moment there was all of Edward's melancholy in her +anxious eyes.</p> + +<p>So she had guessed. Baird hoped the others had not; he felt almost +certain they had not. He took her hand and kissed it—there was nothing +he could say.</p> + +<p>The color deepened in Judith's face. "Sleep well—" she said softly, and +turned away.</p> + +<p>Baird had no intention of sleeping. He changed into his riding clothes +and lay down fully dressed. He also was waiting and listening; he would +sleep as little as any one else in that house; he had never felt less +like sleeping.</p> + +<p>There were steps and voices for a time; some of the family were taking +leave. Then, gradually, the house settled into watchful quiet; now and +then carefully silenced movements on the stairs, and the steady ticking +of the clock in the hall. Baird had already thought of every +possibility, so he was without conjectures, but sometime before daylight +those who had ridden away would return. He was waiting for that.</p> + +<p>They came during the stillest hour, just after the clock struck three. +Baird heard a stir at the stables and went to the window. He could not +see the stables, the kitchen wing of the house shut them off, but he +could hear cautious voices and the movement of horses. Would they come +in by the front or by the veranda?</p> + +<p>They rounded the kitchen, a compact group which was in full view for a +moment or two, then drew in so close to the house that the veranda roof +hid them. They passed along, moving slowly, to the other wing of the +house, evidently to what had been the old plantation office. Then sounds +ceased.</p> + +<p>Baird drew a short breath. He had not been able to see very clearly, but +the group kept together in a fashion he knew well; they were carrying +some inert burden.</p> + +<p>And he had to stay where he was till morning!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>KEPT IN THE DARK</h3> + + +<p>The dawn ushered a brilliant spring day, a sky without a cloud, a light +warm breeze from the south, the song of birds awakened early by the +promise of nature.</p> + +<p>Baird lay unconscious of it all, for a little before the pinky gray of +morning lighted his room he had fallen asleep. Dawn had crept over him +before he knew, and he lay stirless until the knock on his door aroused +him into habit.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he called, still held by sleep.</p> + +<p>It was the negress he had seen the night before, bearing a tray.</p> + +<p>Baird sat up and stared at her. He was fully dressed and lying without +covering, and after a rolling comprehensive glance, she stood with eyes +lowered.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" Baird asked, only half awake as yet.</p> + +<p>"Miss Judith done send you a cup of coffee, suh, an' she says fo' you to +res' till dinner if you feels like it. I tol' her I thought you was +movin'—I didn't go fo' to wake you."</p> + +<p>Baird was still dazed, for at the mention of Judith's name the events +of the dark hours had rushed over him. It was difficult to connect them +with this brilliant sunshine, or this collected ebony statue with the +weeping, cringing creature of the night before.</p> + +<p>Baird sprang up; he was fully awake now. "What time is it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Hit's mos' ten, suh."</p> + +<p>"Lord! Why didn't some one wake me before! I don't deserve any +breakfast. The family—I hope nobody waited for me?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Judith an' Mis' Morrison, they ain't had breakfus yet."</p> + +<p>Baird pulled off his coat. "Tell them I'll be down right away—it won't +take me ten minutes to shave.... Just bring me some hot water, will +you?"</p> + +<p>The woman served him in silence. Baird would have liked to get some hint +of the state of things before he went down, but the family reserve +seemed to reside in the black woman also. He saw now that, though +powerfully and superbly built, she was not young; she was probably an +old family servant. In the hasty minutes he required for dressing, Baird +tried to adjust himself to the perfectly normal atmosphere. What had +happened while he slept he could not guess. He could tell better when he +went down.</p> + +<p>Judith and Mrs. Morrison were in the drawing-room, and welcomed him +exactly as he had been welcomed when he first entered Westmore. Both +bore the marks of anxiety and lack of sleep. In the bright light Mrs. +Morrison looked blanched and old, and Judith was also colorless and with +heavy shadows under her eyes, but both were gracefully vivacious; their +manner was as usual.</p> + +<p>"It was a perfect shame to wake you!" Judith declared, when Baird +apologized. "We were so certain we heard you moving."</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, Mr. Baird," Mrs. Morrison said. "I only just came down +myself, and it was I told Hetty you were up—my old ears deceived me.... +Let us go in, Judith—I'm ready fo' your beaten-biscuits."</p> + +<p>It seemed that they were to breakfast alone, and with no account given +of the absent ones, though Judith did say, "Sunday breakfast is an +elastic meal at Westmore. We come down early or late, alone or in +relays, as we feel inclined, and, somehow, we manage to be fed."</p> + +<p>"I never have been certain which a man likes best—to eat or to sleep," +Mrs. Morrison remarked briskly. "The fascinatin'ly natural creatures +seem to like both so well—and to drink best of all."</p> + +<p>Baird laughed. "That depends on who is ministering to us at the moment. +Just now, I should much prefer to eat."</p> + +<p>It was all so perfectly normal and natural, with the sunshine slanting +across the floor and the windows open to the breeze, that Baird might +almost have persuaded himself that he had dreamed—except for the +consciousness that he had slept in his clothes and for the telltale +pallor and lines of anxiety in Judith's face. And he was certain that he +had been waked purposely; he was not wanted at the noonday meal. They +intended that he should depart from Westmore in ignorance.</p> + +<p>He was soon given a chance to declare his intentions. "I am going to +ride to church this morning," Judith said. "Do you care to go, Mr. +Baird?"</p> + +<p>"Drive to church, you mean, Judith—I'm going with you," Mrs. Morrison +intervened.</p> + +<p>"Not this morning," Baird said. "I want to get back to the club before +noon."</p> + +<p>Judith did not urge him, and Baird decided that their determination to +drive four miles to church when they were both still ridden by anxiety +and drooping with fatigue must also be with purpose, a still further +maintaining of appearances; doubtless others beside himself were to be +kept in the dark. They were heroic in their methods, these people. They +were quite capable of sitting in church with heads high, knowing +meantime that something ghastly lay in the disused office. His eyes had +not deceived him the night before.</p> + +<p>Baird was thinking of it, when, suddenly, heavy steps sounded on the +veranda, followed by the tumbling and whining of several hounds, and a +voice he knew well said sharply: "Be off, now! Get out!" Then the rear +door opened and shut and a man strode through the hall, his spurs +jingling as he came.</p> + +<p>It was Garvin Westmore.</p> + +<p>At the first sound, Judith had half risen; then she dropped back, and +the next moment Garvin came in, in riding clothes, booted and spurred, +clean-shaven but haggard. Baird was astounded to say the least. Had he +been a nervous person, he would have been shocked. His surmises had +fallen flat.</p> + +<p>Garvin tossed aside his cap. "Still at breakfast?" he said casually. +"Hello, Baird." He drew up a chair and sat down.</p> + +<p>Baird did not know how the other two looked; he was conscious that he +was staring. "Hello—" he returned blankly.</p> + +<p>"You'll have coffee, Garvin—" Judith was saying, "and what else?"</p> + +<p>"Anything. I'm not hungry."</p> + +<p>He looked infinitely tired. His eyes harbored melancholy easily, as did +Edward's; he looked somberly at Judith as he tossed a folded slip of +paper across to her. "From Ed," he said briefly. Judith glanced at it, +then set it aside.</p> + +<p>Baird's brain was working again. So Edward had gone—where? And why?</p> + +<p>"Is it going to be hot, Garvin?" Mrs. Morrison asked.</p> + +<p>"It is already hot, Aunt Carlotta." His voice was too even for sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Carlotta and I are going to church, and Mr. Baird thinks he must +go back to the club. What are you going to do?" Judith said, in the same +clear way in which she had spoken to her own people the night before.</p> + +<p>Garvin straightened a little under its warning note. "I? I am going to +ride—if I can have Black Betty—the bay is about done. You and Aunt +Carlotta can represent the family at church, and I'll show myself at the +village. I'll ride as far as the Post-Road with you, Baird." He spoke +more heartily, though his always disdainful lip curled.</p> + +<p>Judith's anxious eyes said that he looked a fitter subject for bed than +for the saddle, but she made no comment. For her sake, Baird excused +himself and rose. "I'll get things into my bag, then."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>A VENDETTA</h3> + + +<p>They went together, as far as the County Road, Judith and Mrs. Morrison +driving and Baird and Garvin riding beside them. There the two men +turned into the extension of the Westmore Road that skirted the Mine +Banks, the shortest way to the Post-Road, leaving Judith and Mrs. +Morrison to go by the more roundabout way; the disused Mine Banks Road +was possible only to riders.</p> + +<p>Judith reached from the buggy to shake hands with Baird, and there was +the same sweetness in her voice as there had been when she parted from +him the night before. "You must come to see us very soon, Mr. Baird. I +shall expect you," and her eyes said, "Welcome you."</p> + +<p>And Garvin's voice also had a kinder note when he parted with her, as if +he had his worn nerves under better control. "I'll be back for dinner, +Judy."</p> + +<p>"Be sure you are," she returned brightly.</p> + +<p>"Poor Judith!" Garvin said, as he and Baird rode on. "She has the world +on her shoulders—or, rather, the Westmore family—and it's something of +a weight, I assure you." He sighed impatiently and looked up at the +looming conglomeration of sear undergrowth and trees and bald red +patches which they were approaching. "Ever been up there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, but I'm going."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't go without a guide—there are some ugly pitfalls about.... +That was a steep broad hill once, dug down and muddled into what it is +by the picks and shovels of English convicts. If all that's said is +true, they fared worse under my great-great-grandfather's rule than the +niggers did. It's not easy to make slaves of Englishmen.... For the last +hundred years it's been simply a game warren. There are caves and +underground passages and ore-pits full of water up there, and some soft +little hollows, too, where the pines and cedars have grown up. I know +every inch of it. It always fascinated me, but there are some of our +family who couldn't be driven to set foot in the place, and there's not +a nigger in the county will go near it. And that's a good thing—keeps +it free of pests." He laughed shortly. "Lord! I've slept off more than +one drunk up there—and played with a girl there, too, on occasion, and +only the moon the wiser for it." He spoke steadily, carelessly, but with +an undercurrent of feeling.</p> + +<p>Edward's exclamation still rang in Baird's ears. Garvin had not been +drunk the night before; that he knew. When he and Judith went down to +the terraces Garvin was dancing with Priscilla Copeley, and with an air +of enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Baird studied him closely. Garvin was riding with face lifted, and it +brought his profile into relief, bold brow, haughty nose and lip, +beautifully modeled chin. The lines about his eyes suggested both +weariness and sadness, the curled lip measureless disgust and +discontent; a thoroughly unhappy man—if he was any judge of +physiognomy. And again Baird felt sorry for him; there was something +radically wrong with him.</p> + +<p>Garvin's face changed suddenly. "Look there!" he exclaimed. "By jove! +Any one would say it was a bear."</p> + +<p>He was pointing with his whip to a clambering object which was clearly +outlined against one of the red patches above, a bald spot just below +the cluster of evergreens that darkened the highest ledge on the Banks. +There was a red crag behind them, tipping the summit, and the trees +stood as if guarding it; the creature that went on all fours was +apparently bent on gaining the ledge.</p> + +<p>"It does look like a bear—it's a man, though," Baird said.</p> + +<p>"It's Bear Brokaw.... What's he climbing up to Crest Cave for? Not for +an afternoon nap, I hope. The old cuss knows there's a better way up +than that—he's shinning up that slope just because he enjoys it." +Garvin looked interested, amused.</p> + +<p>"So he's the honey-tree thief."</p> + +<p>"Poof!" Garvin said. "He served Aunt Carlotta right. There's not a +stancher, closer-mouthed creature in existence than Bear. He swears by +Judith and would do almost anything for me. He taught me to handle a +gun—many's the night I've gone coon-catching with him."</p> + +<p>They rode on, and Garvin's face settled into gravity. "I wonder what +he's doing up there?" he said musingly. "I should have thought he'd had +enough of the Banks last night," he added, and fell into silence.</p> + +<p>It was the first reference to the night Baird had heard, but he dared +not question. They were well under the Banks now and the going very +rough, a road once, but no more than a trail now, leading over mounds +and down into hollows, the trees hedging them closely. Baird felt tired, +and they rode in silence for the next half-mile. Then they dipped into a +deep cut between high banks, and Garvin aroused to speak again.</p> + +<p>"See that?" he said, pointing to a large white stone that stood planted +like a monument in the red soil of the roadside. "That's where my +grandfather dropped when he was shot by some one hidden up above there. +A good place for a murder and a getaway, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Who did it?" Baird asked with interest.</p> + +<p>"That's what we don't know—we never will know, I suppose. The family +tried to fasten it on a Penniman, old William Penniman's father, but +they had no proof at all—except that there was bad blood between +them—there always had been, ever since a Penniman got part of the +Westmore tract by buying the old house over there. The accusations of +our family didn't help matters. I've always had my theory about it, +though: old Penniman's father had nothing to do with it; those men my +great-grandparents worked up there in the Banks didn't all die or leave +the country—somebody's son or son's son did it." He shrugged with a +look of bitter disgust. "Lord! the thing's nearly a hundred years old, +and still we go on with it! There's not a Penniman will bend his head to +a Westmore, or a Westmore to a Penniman. We go on with things +endlessly—just our sickening, effete pride! It gets on my nerves." He +looked as if it did; he looked harried.</p> + +<p>"There's one Penniman who doesn't seem to bear a grudge," Baird +remarked, "the little girl who came to your rescue yesterday morning."</p> + +<p>"Ann?... Ann's young and light-hearted. There's plenty of time for the +Penniman to develop in her," he answered carelessly, but Baird noticed +that his color rose.</p> + +<p>Garvin dropped the subject, talked of trivial things, until they reached +the Post-Road. They came upon a man here, a sturdily-built, +dark-featured man, clad in neat business gray and carrying a bag. He +stood at the juncture of the three roads, the Westmore Road, the Back +Road to the Hunt Club and the Penniman farm, and the Post-Road. His hat +was tipped back like one who had walked far and was warm, and had +stopped to rest and look about him. He was looking at the Mine Banks; +when the two riders came up out of the cut, he looked at them, or, +rather, at Garvin; he had merely glanced at Baird.</p> + +<p>It was his steady grim stare at Garvin that arrested Baird's attention. +There was no curiosity in it, it was too cold; fraught with recognition +and a settled frozen antagonism. He stood his ground though Garvin's +horse almost brushed him, planted firmly, like one who would instantly +contest the few inches he covered. There was a quiet determined force +about the man; Baird was affected by it, even before they reached him.</p> + +<p>Baird glanced questioningly at Garvin and saw that he was giving the man +stare for stare, erect in his saddle, chin slightly lifted. But Garvin's +look lacked the animosity that froze the other man's features, and just +before they passed Baird saw Garvin's hand lift half-way to his cap then +drop. They passed with Garvin's eyes shifted to look straight ahead, but +the man's stare never wavered.</p> + +<p>"Speak of the devil and you see him," Garvin muttered, after they had +passed.</p> + +<p>"Who is he?" Baird asked.</p> + +<p>"Coats Penniman.... No forgiveness for the past there—why should I have +any compunctions over the future." He spoke icily. The cut he had +received had evidently stung.</p> + +<p>Baird had already guessed. There was an unnamable likeness to Ann in the +man's features.</p> + +<p>They had come to the center of the Post-Road. "Well, here we part," +Garvin said more lightly. "I'll see you soon, I hope."</p> + +<p>"Come over to dinner with me to-morrow," Baird returned. "We've got to +arrange about that machine."</p> + +<p>"I meant to thank you about that," Garvin said quickly. "I haven't my +usual wits about me to-day. It's good of you, Baird." There was all the +Westmore charm about the man when he smiled.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it—I'll see you to-morrow," and they parted, Garvin going +off at a gallop down the Post-Road.</p> + +<p>Baird took the Back Road, glancing at Coats Penniman as he did so. He +had not moved; he was looking after Garvin. "I'd hate to have a man look +at me like that—especially if I was in love with his daughter," Baird +said to himself.</p> + +<p>He rode slowly, for he was thinking—of the past night, of many things +that were not clear to him. He came up through the pastures, then +skirted the woods, as Ann had the day before. He was thinking of her, +among other things, so it did not startle him greatly when he saw her a +short distance ahead, standing and looking in his direction. But before +he reached her she slipped back into the woods. He hurried his horse and +stopped to look about him when he had gained the woods, but she had +hidden herself.</p> + +<p>Though tired, Baird was tempted to dismount and search for her; he was +constitutionally opposed to anything escaping him. He did prepare to +dismount, then went on, when it occurred to him why she was there: "To +meet her father, of course," was Baird's conclusion. "She took me for +him, at first."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<h3>INERADICABLY BRANDED</h3> + + +<p>Baird was right; Ann had come to meet her father.</p> + +<p>Saturday afternoon and evening had been filled with preparations for +Coats Penniman's coming. Ann's pause for play in the barn and her +adventure with Baird had merely been an interlude in the rush of work. +Sue had worked late into the night, and Ann had helped her. When they +went to bed, the house shone in readiness for the home-comer.</p> + +<p>Ann had worked steadily and silently; she had had her afternoon's +adventure to think over, with a commingling of anger and astonishment +and a stir of feeling that made her cheeks burn. The big mannerless +creature! He had taken advantage. He had held her and looked at her in +imperious fashion; in a way that had made her heart bound. And she had +not resented it until it was over. Ann was always truthful to herself; +she had liked the hot pressure on her cheek; she could feel it yet, +though now it made her angry. She was enraged with herself for having +liked it, and with Baird for having touched her. He could not have a +particle of respect for her or he would not have dared. Ann tossed about +uncomfortably on her bed. If he came again—and she hoped earnestly that +he would—he should see! All Ann's considerable will was aroused.</p> + +<p>Then the ever-present hurt took possession of her. If she had not grown +up with the longing to be petted unsatisfied, the caress of a mere +stranger would not have seemed so sweet. At least, so Ann explained +herself to herself, having had no experience in passion to tutor her. If +only her father would love her, she would be happy. If only she knew?</p> + +<p>It was then the plan to meet him sprang into Ann's mind and filled it. +He had written that he was not to be met at the station; that he wanted +to walk home. Ann decided that he was certain to come the back way. She +would meet him and come proudly back with him—if he was loving to her. +And if he was not?... Ann did not know what she would do. At least, her +aunt and her grandfather would not be there to see.</p> + +<p>Ann kept her purpose closely to herself during the morning, working +feverishly over the tasks Sue set her, her cheeks vivid, as were Sue's. +Her grandfather was very silent. He sat with his Bible on his knee, as +was his custom on Sunday morning, his thin body bent over it, his white +hair hiding his face; but Ann saw him look up once as Sue passed him, +moving quickly and energetically. It was a long intent look he gave +her, his eyes, always vividly blue, brighter and keener than Ann ever +remembered seeing them. His lips, the sunken mouth of an old and broken +man, shook. He loved Sue, Ann knew that well; he often watched her at +work, but with lips tight set, as if in pain; now they trembled. Coats +would be bringing Sue deliverance from toil.</p> + +<p>Ann stole off in plenty of time to the Back Road. She had waited almost +an hour before Baird came upon her. She saw him when he was some +distance away, but it occurred to her that he was probably Garvin +Westmore, and from him she had no desire to run; she wanted to tell him +that her father was coming.</p> + +<p>When she saw who it was she hid herself. Crouched in the creek, she +watched Baird's pause and close scrutiny of his surroundings. When he +was about to dismount, she was frightened; when he rode on, she was a +little disappointed, and yet she wanted him away. Ann did not leave her +hiding place until she was certain that Baird was well on his way to the +club; then she went back to her post. And when she saw a man coming +across the pastures, she forgot Baird, everything; it was her father, +come at last.</p> + +<p>She watched him with the blood throbbing in her ears, a heavily-built +man, not thin and sharp-featured like most of the Pennimans, yet with +the Penniman look about him. She had waited eagerly enough, but with +each step that brought him nearer, her terror of what might be held her +back; she did not stand out where she could be seen until her father had +nearly reached her.</p> + +<p>When she came out suddenly from behind the undergrowth that screened +her, they were only a few yards apart, and Coats Penniman stopped on a +forward step, stood quite still. Ann saw the spasm that crossed his +face, lifting his brows and widening his eyes. She thought that she had +startled him; he did not know who she was.</p> + +<p>"It's Ann, father—" she said, with a quivering smile. "I—I came to +meet you—"</p> + +<p>His face changed, settled into deep lines about his mouth, into wrinkles +about his eyes, the look of her grandfather upon him—until he smiled, +though it was more a twitching of the muscles in his cheeks than an +actual smile.</p> + +<p>"Ann—" He drew an audible breath. "I—wasn't expecting it—"</p> + +<p>He came to her, for Ann stood rooted; no volition of hers could have +brought her an inch nearer to that look of her grandfather, covered by +that painful smile. "So you came to meet me?" He put his hands on her +shoulders. "It's fourteen years since I saw you—you have grown +up—child."</p> + +<p>There was all the sorrow of the forsaken in the dazed shrinking look Ann +gave him. "Yes, I've grown up," she said in tones as colorless as her +face. "But I know you—you look like grandpa."</p> + +<p>He bent and kissed her cheek, then took his hands from her shoulders, +and he said what Sue had said: "And you are a Penniman, too, Ann—we're +all Pennimans—we'll never outgrow that.... How are you, child?"</p> + +<p>"I am well, suh."</p> + +<p>"And Cousin Sue and Uncle Will?"</p> + +<p>"They are well—they are expectin' you."</p> + +<p>Coats Penniman took up his bag and they turned into the woods. Ann's +eyes were fixed straight before her. Things looked curiously white and +unreal, as they do after a shock. Her father looked at her as they went +on, at her proud brow and eyes, then at her softly-rounded chin and warm +mouth, reminders of her mother, and, again, the deepening lines in his +face made him look old. "I'm glad you came to meet me," he said kindly.</p> + +<p>And Ann answered to the note of kindness, just as she had always +answered to the same note in Sue's voice, by an offer of service. "Can't +I carry your satchel for you, father? You've walked so far."</p> + +<p>"No, Ann, I've not come home to be waited on.... There're going to be +better times at the farm, now I have come home. Until the last year I +haven't had the means to make it easier for you all. For fourteen years +I've prayed to make money, and then, all at once, when I'd given up +hope, it came. For your sake, and for Sue's sake, I wish it had come +sooner." He spoke with a deep note of feeling.</p> + +<p>"It has been hard for Aunt Sue," Ann said tonelessly.</p> + +<p>She felt numb and sick; she was more conscious of a feeling of illness +than of anything else. The necessity of walking steadily on when she +wanted simply to hide herself somewhere, was infinitely painful. Sue had +said, "If Coats seems like a stranger to you, don't you feel hard to +him." He did not seem like a stranger to her, any more than her +grandfather did, or even her aunt did, at times. But he did not seem +like her father, any more than they did. From the height of her +isolation, Ann could even look at him calmly.</p> + +<p>His dark face had lighted, now that he was looking about him. "Uncle +Will has not cut down the trees—every tree is here—just as it used to +be," he said with deep satisfaction. "I was afraid he'd had to make +cord-wood of them.... How well I remember it all!" he added, half +eagerly, half sadly. He walked faster, until they reached the open, and +then he stopped. "The house and the barn ... and the spring-house!" he +said. "Not a stick or a stone changed! My, my!... And fourteen long +years!... When I went, I never wanted to see it again, but it has pulled +at me, just the same. It's brought me back."</p> + +<p>He turned slowly, half circled to look about him, his eyes finally fixed +on the nobly solemn line of cedars. He looked at them long and steadily; +he lifted his hat and took it off. "'For better or for worse' ... and +so it has been—" His face was wiped of expression; his momentary +excitement gone.</p> + +<p>"He is thinking of my mother," Ann thought.</p> + +<p>He stood a moment longer, motionless, then put on his hat, drawing the +brim low over his eyes, and went on, forgetful of his surroundings, and +of Ann. Perhaps it was habit that guided him, for he took the usual way, +across the field and up the path between the grapevines, and Ann dropped +behind; when he went into the house, she could escape.</p> + +<p>But Sue had seen them coming. Sue who never ran, who was wont to go +about wearily, ran down the kitchen stairs and her father followed, +slowly, holding to the stair-rail. Sue sped across the few yards that +separated them. "Coats!" she said, "oh, <i>Coats</i>!" and Coats Penniman +dropped his bag and opened his arms to her.</p> + +<p>Ann stood on the path and watched them, Sue's arms about Coats' neck, +his arms holding her—and then her grandfather's welcome. The two men +clasped hands, the three stood, held together in their joy, then went on +slowly, her father helping her grandfather up the stairs.</p> + +<p>Ann slipped in between the grapevines, skirted the barn enclosure, then +ran like a hunted thing for the shelter of the woods; not to the hollow +through which the road came, but up higher, to the group of pines that +edged the woods. There was neither road nor path there; the pines were +clothed and would hide her.</p> + +<p>She stumbled as she ran, for she could not see; her sobs were blinding +and strangling her. She crept beneath the sheltering branches and clung +to the earth, the only mother she had ever known, beat upon the breast +to which she clung, and clung the tighter.</p> + +<p>In that hour of anguish, Ann parted with her childhood, the blessed +capacity to weep one moment and laugh the next with sorrow and pain +forgotten. The collie had lost his playmate, the birds a +fellow-songster. Ann had not lost spirit, nor the power to endure which +is a woman's heritage; but a hurt to a child is a scar carried through +life, and Ann had been ineradicably branded.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE MISFITS</h3> + + +<p>The sun, well on its way to the west, reddened the bald peak above Crest +Cave and shot its rays through the screen of pines on the ledge below, +mottling the bed of pine-needles at the mouth of the cave. The midday +sun had warmed them; they were still warm and resinous, a comfortable +resting place.</p> + +<p>Garvin Westmore lay full length on the sweet-scented bed, motionless, +except when he lifted to his elbow to look out at the country below. +His, or some other hand, had cut away the branches that hid the view; +one could sit at the mouth of the cave and see, as through a tunnel, the +slope of grain-land, the winding creek, the pastures and the Back Road; +and, beyond the semicircle of woods, the roof of the Penniman house, and +beyond that, open country stretching into blue distance.</p> + +<p>Garvin was keeping watch. He quickly singled out Ann's brown cape from +the browns and duns of the woods. He sat up and watched each step of her +approach. He had not been at all certain that she would come; she was a +resolute little thing to brave discovery in this fashion—and both +ignorant and innocent ... and vastly trustful. Nevertheless, it was the +eternal attraction that was bringing her—and leading him into deep +waters as well. There would be all hell to pay—if he were not careful.</p> + +<p>He sprang up, more to get away from his thoughts than to be able to see +better. He had searched about the Banks and had made sure, and had +watched the open country—there was no one about. And she was well away +from the woods now, following the creek; its undergrowth would hide her +from any one who might turn in from the Post-Road.</p> + +<p>She did not leave the shelter of the creek until where it curved away +from the Mine Banks. She was just below him now. Then she crossed the +open space quickly and was lost in the trees that edged the Westmore +Road. Garvin knew that she would come up behind the Crest.</p> + +<p>They were safe from observation now, and he circled the Crest and +started down the path which was more an animal trail leading through the +bushes, than a path. He heard Ann's approach before he saw her, the +rustle of sear leaves, and he stopped on one of the bare red patches +that the noise of his approach might not startle her. The bushes parted +presently, and Ann looked out. Then she looked up and saw him, and +smiled. She was lovely as she stood there, half screened, flushed and +doubtful and faintly smiling.</p> + +<p>Garvin hurried down to her. "It's all right," he said. "I've been +watching.... My, but the bushes have pulled you to pieces!"</p> + +<p>They had; her cape was off, her hair loose on her shoulders, her breath +short. "It's—more grown up—than it used to be," she complained.</p> + +<p>"And so are you.... Don't pin up your hair, Ann—it's beautiful that +way: I love your hair."</p> + +<p>She did not give him the merry glance that was her usual answer to such +speeches. She gave him the cape to hold and resolutely gathered up her +hair. "Now!" she said, when it was in place.</p> + +<p>Garvin had watched her in silence. Her decision had checked him; it was +unlike her usual manner. "We'll go up to the cave," he said. "You can +rest there."</p> + +<p>"I can take my cape now."</p> + +<p>"No, I'll carry it.... You're tired, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"A little," she answered quietly.</p> + +<p>She let him help her up, her hand in his, her lowered eyelids his to +read. He could find nothing there, except that they were darker-tinged +than usual—and her lips grave. He decided that she was frightened.</p> + +<p>"It was a shame for me, to bring you all this way," he said, with the +gentleness which he usually had at command. "I wanted so much really to +talk to you, and I couldn't think of a better place."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to come," Ann returned. "I wanted to see the Mine Banks +again—"</p> + +<p>"And to see me, too, Ann?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She gave him a half-questioning, half-appealing glance. "I wanted +to talk to you, too." The laughter that usually danced in her eyes was +not there.</p> + +<p>Garvin was still certain that she was frightened, at her own temerity, +and doubtful of him. "Well, we can talk all we want to here, dear. No +one will disturb us, and you are safe with me.... See, isn't this +perfect?"</p> + +<p>They had come to the ledge. Ann looked into the umbrella-like cave with +the yawning hole at the back, the burrow of some animal; then at the +screen of pines. The place was shut in, warm and restful. "It's lovely," +she said softly, "an' I'm not afraid of it now. I came up here once, +when I was little, an' something moved in the hole, an' I was scared. I +ran, and I never did come back—I imagined it was a lion.... That's why +it was fun to come to the Banks—I could have such fearful +imaginings—imaginings are fun." She was more like herself now, laughing +softly and coquetting with the hole in the cave.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing but a fox-hole, Ann. I used to let them have it in the +winter and then trap them. When I got to coming here often, I didn't +like the smell of them about, and I have made it too hot for them. I let +the rabbits have it now—I don't mind their scuttling about while I lie +here."</p> + +<p>"You talk as if you lived here. It is a peaceful, far-away place to +live." She was looking through the tunnel and had lost her smile.</p> + +<p>Garvin had a sudden remembrance of some of the scenes the place had +harbored, and he turned away from it, impatiently. "Let's sit under the +pines, where we can look out," he suggested. He took her cape and spread +it close to one of the trees. "How do you like that?"</p> + +<p>Ann had not heard him. She was looking steadily at the roof of the +Penniman house. She turned sharply, turned her back on it, sat so she +could lean against the tree-trunk.</p> + +<p>"Why do you sit that way?" Garvin asked in surprise. "Don't you want to +look out?"</p> + +<p>"No, I like this way best."</p> + +<p>Garvin studied her closely. He had seated himself as near to her as he +could, with a mental curse for the tree-trunk that allowed no excuse for +the support of his arm. The flush of exertion had left Ann's face, and +Garvin saw now that she was very pale and heavy-eyed, and her lips +compressed. Her hands also were tightly clasped. She was not frightened, +or even shy; she was wretched. It was he who was flushed and doubtful. +He had not lived well, how ill only he himself knew, but this was his +first tampering with innocence.</p> + +<p>He put his hand on hers. "What's the matter, Ann?"</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"What is it, dear?" he asked tenderly. "We're friends, aren't we? Are +you sorry you came up here? What is it? Tell me?"</p> + +<p>Ann drew one of her hands away and, taking up a pine-needle, began +pricking the bit of cape that lay between them. "No, I am not sorry," +she said evenly. "The only comfort I've had to-day is thinking I was +coming." She looked up at him, her eyes full of grief. "My father came +home to-day."</p> + +<p>Garvin would have taken her in his arms, but for the fear that touched +him. "But he doesn't know you are here?"</p> + +<p>"No. I didn't tell him—I couldn't tell him—anything.... Mr. Garvin, +your people are fond of you—my people don't—love me." She had wrenched +the thing out, despite the hurt.</p> + +<p>Garvin breathed more freely. What a child she was! "What do you mean, +dear? Have they been unkind to you—to-day?"</p> + +<p>"They are kind to me, but they don't love me," Ann repeated, beginning +to quiver. At one wrench and with tremendous effort, she had parted with +reserve and the Penniman pride, and plunged on. "I don't know why they +don't love me as they love each other. They have never loved me—even +when I was little. My father went away an' left me because I reminded +him that my being born killed my mother. An' now that he's back, I can +see that he's never felt I was part of him. I understand better +now—they're kind to me because they pity me. I don't want to be +pitied—it's hateful to be pitied!... Your people love you, Mr. Garvin, +so you can't understand—I reckon no one will understand." She had ended +helplessly, not in tears, for she had wept herself into a decision that +morning, and she was holding to that.</p> + +<p>Garvin's hand had grown lax on hers and his face gloomy. She had swept +away the sensuous emotion to which he had yielded while waiting for her. +He had given himself up to a contemplation of possibilities as an escape +from harassment. His pursuit of Ann had been just that, from the very +beginning, an escape from unendurable conditions. Her, "They're kind to +me because they pity me ... it's hateful to be pitied!" had brought back +with a rush the thoughts that had darkened his face while he rode with +Baird that morning. "Your people love you—so you can't understand." His +people love him! How well he understood, indeed!</p> + +<p>He had looked straight before him while she talked; now he looked down +at her, stirred for almost the first time in his life by a sense of +fellow-feeling. "Yes, I understand," he said steadily. "It takes the +spirit out of you—gives you over to the very devil—to be dreaded and +pitied—almost from your cradle up. I understand, Ann. It's so in some +families—for one reason or another.... Some of us are born misfits; +we're throwbacks—to something or some one that doesn't quite jibe with +our environment. I reckon you're a bit too fine and spirited for your +environment, Ann." He was looking at her brow and eyes, not the brow and +eyes of a Penniman—not as he had known them.</p> + +<p>Ann's sense of isolation caught at the note of sympathy, and she gave +her decision into his keeping. "I can't bear things as they are, Mr. +Garvin. I made up my mind this morning—I'm going away just as soon as I +can."</p> + +<p>She had startled him. "<i>You</i>, go away? Why, you're nothing but a child, +Ann! Where could you go?"</p> + +<p>Ann lifted her hands, held them out for him to see. He had noticed them +before, not small hands, work-hardened, but shapely and flexible, with +tapering fingers blunted a little at the tips, almost certain sign of +manual labor imposed upon childhood. "Look at them!" Ann said tensely. +"Would I work any harder with them for other people, than I have for my +people? I'm goin'—there's the city for me to go to."</p> + +<p>Garvin knew, far better than a stranger would, what such a decision +meant to a Penniman—or a Westmore. It meant flinging away caste. They +could toil unceasingly, bend their backs to the most menial labor, so +long as they toiled upon their own freehold. But to become a servitor, +labor with their hands for a wage!</p> + +<p>"You can't do that, Ann," he said positively.</p> + +<p>"I can, and I will," Ann returned with equal decision.</p> + +<p>"If you tried such a thing, your father would bring you back—you're not +of age."</p> + +<p>She drew a short breath and considered a moment. "But I will be in the +fall—they can't make me come back then, can they?"</p> + +<p>"No—" Garvin said slowly. "They couldn't—not if you were determined."</p> + +<p>He was thinking. A possibility had occurred to him that made him flush; +brought him back to the thing to which he had given himself up of late, +his desire for Ann.... The thing that was almost impossible here was +possible in the city. And what a haven to escape to!... He looked at her +as she distressfully pondered her future. She had never seemed more +lovable or less a girl to be taken by storm; she had shown an amount of +decision he had not known she possessed. He had her confidence; he would +do well to keep it.</p> + +<p>"If you are determined enough, Ann, and careful to keep what you mean to +do a secret, I think you could carry it through," he supplemented. "And +why shouldn't you go? Almost anything is better than life as you've had +it. I'll help you to go, when you're ready for it."</p> + +<p>"You could help me to get something to do, maybe?" she asked quickly. +"I've been thinking maybe you could. That's one reason I wanted to talk +to you."</p> + +<p>"Possibly. I'd do almost anything for you, Ann, especially now I know +you're not happy down there."</p> + +<p>Her pleasure and relief were evident; she flushed brightly. "You're very +nice to me Mr. Garvin."</p> + +<p>"We're really friends, then, Ann? You don't share the family grudge?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I don't! I can't see why they are so bitter."</p> + +<p>"It's just an hereditary quarrel, that's all, and you are the first +Penniman and I the first Westmore who has buried it.... Will you really +bury it; dear—and show me that you have?"</p> + +<p>"I'm showing that I have," she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Shan't we kiss each other to prove that the ugly thing is gone from +between us?" he asked gravely.</p> + +<p>Ann's flush deepened, but not because of any particular +self-consciousness; she neither dropped her eyes nor smiled. Ann had +gone down in the depths that day and, for the time being, had parted +with coquetry. The longing for affection and interest and consideration +such as Garvin was offering her was her immediate need. She was +desperate for want of it. And yet she hesitated. She felt certain now +that Garvin was very fond of her, and to Ann's way of thinking love led +to marriage. She was quite as certain that she liked him very much. She +hesitated because she was a Penniman and he a Westmore; there was a +class distinction between them that had held for generations.</p> + +<p>Garvin saw her hesitation and obeyed a subtle instinct when he kept his +hands from her and chose the words that would appeal to her, and the +more irresistibly because of genuine feeling. "I'm not any more happy +than you are, Ann—I'm wretched. My people are kind to me, too, just +that, and they pity me endlessly. If ever there was a misfit, it is I. +I'm sick to death of it all, and lonely enough to take the short way +out.... Be nice to me, dear."</p> + +<p>She lifted her lips to him, and his arms took her and held her, and she +clung to him with a tensity of affection. He kissed her long and +passionately, but with self-control enough to realize the quality of +what he received, its affection and gratitude and lack of passion. And +when her lips parted from his and he buried his face on her shoulder +shaken by the first effort for restraint he had ever cared to make, her +hand stroked his hair, gently. "I didn't know you were unhappy, too," +she said softly.</p> + +<p>When he raised his head he was pale. "You're a child yet," he said. +"You'll wake up one of these days—then you'll love me as I love you."</p> + +<p>"I like you a great deal," Ann answered, with conviction.</p> + +<p>He laughed shortly. "Yes, we're good friends—that's it, isn't it, Ann?"</p> + +<p>The note of urgency and dissatisfaction made her uncomfortable. "You +asked me to be friends," she said.</p> + +<p>She moved away from his hold, and he let her go. "There's all the +future," he said more quietly. "You'll love me by and by.... Ann, have +you really the courage to go away from all that down there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And the wisdom to keep our friendship to yourself?... It will be a +terrible thing for both of us, if they know. I met your father this +morning, on his way home, and I'd have spoken to him, if he had let me. +I did speak and he cut me—he has neither forgotten nor forgiven."</p> + +<p>"What is it they've not forgotten or forgiven?" Ann asked earnestly. +"Aunt Sue wouldn't tell me."</p> + +<p>Garvin told her what he had told Baird.</p> + +<p>Ann flamed scarlet. "There isn't any Penniman would have done that!"</p> + +<p>"And there's not a Westmore now who thinks it," Garvin said positively. +"The thing's more than half a century old, but it's an insult your +people will never forgive.... It's not going to matter to you, is it, +now you know?" he added, for Ann looked so perturbed. "I never have +believed it for a moment—or Edward either. I know he's terribly sorry +for the quarrel, and ashamed that father let the thing rankle. It +worries Ed. If it worries you, I'm sorry I told you."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't worry me," Ann said firmly. "It doesn't make the least +difference to me—in the way I feel to you and Mr. Westmore—we had +nothing to do with it, an' to hate an' hate is sickening. But I know how +it is with my people. I think grandfather would almost kill me if he +knew that we were friends. Even Aunt Sue would be fearful to me." She +drew a quick nervous breath. "It makes me want to get away more than +ever."</p> + +<p>"You shall go—I'll help you," Garvin promised. "But in the meantime I +want to see you—I must. If I think of a safe way, you will meet me, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>Ann thought of the thing that had added hurt to hurt, her father's +pleasure in Sue. They had been painfully kind to her at dinner, and +after the meal was over he had gone off with Sue, they two to talk +together.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Ann said. "I'm not afraid. We're doing nothing wrong in liking +each other."</p> + +<p>"I'll think of a way and write to you."</p> + +<p>She got up. "An' I must go now." Her lips quivered and set. "My father +has gone with Aunt Sue—to walk around the farm—but they'll be coming +back before supper."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you must, dear. If I brought them down on you, I should +never forgive myself.... I can go with you to where I met you."</p> + +<p>He went with her around to the back of the Crest, down the steep +red-clay slope and into the shelter of the bushes. There he lifted her +up and kissed her. "Ann!" he said. "Ann! I'm going to make you love me."</p> + +<p>Ann received his kiss more shyly, turned her cheek to it. She had +emerged a little from wretchedness, and the quality that invites +pursuit, that draws passion and gives sparingly in return, the quality +with which Ann was plentifully endowed, was coming to the surface. She +escaped from his hands without answer and with eyes down.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<h3>AS WITH A CHILD</h3> + + +<p>Ann gained the woods in safety, so much Garvin saw from his perch, but +he could not see what followed. At the point where the Back Road forked, +she came face to face with Edward Westmore. He was coming from the club, +riding slowly, as always.</p> + +<p>Ann was flushed from rapid walking; she flushed more deeply when she saw +him, and nodded and smiled shyly.</p> + +<p>Edward lifted his cap, his tired face lighting. "So we meet again!" he +said. "I was thinking of you—have you walked far?"</p> + +<p>"Just across the pastures," Ann answered in embarrassment, the more so +because he had checked his horse.</p> + +<p>She had not expected him to do that, or to look so pleased when he saw +her, still less to dismount and come to her which he did immediately. +"You look warm, aren't you tired?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Ann answered, too much surprised for anything but a monosyllable. +She was wide-eyed and a little startled, the child look that made her +prettiest, and he studied her intently, as if absorbing her features. +And yet his manner was deferential; he looked and smiled as he had the +day before when he had talked with her.</p> + +<p>"I am tired, too," he said. "I have just ridden up from the station to +the club.... Won't you rest a few minutes? I wanted to talk more +yesterday—I was interested in all you told me, and promised myself to +take the first chance to talk again, but I hardly expected this good +fortune."</p> + +<p>Baird would have been astonished by Edward's air of animation and +pleasure, more so even than Ann. "He hates quarreling and wants very +much to be friends," was Ann's thought, and she was pleased. The +miserable day was ending more happily; Garvin had told her that he loved +her and that there was "all the future," and now his brother was showing +her that he liked her. There were people in the world to whom she +mattered; Garvin was interested in her, deeply interested. Ann was being +carried away from her troubles; transformed into beauty and charm.</p> + +<p>She gave Edward her drooping glance and slow smile. "I should like to +talk, too."</p> + +<p>"Shall we sit down then, for a few minutes?... Over there by the creek, +don't you think? There used to be a hollow there, and a flat rock."</p> + +<p>"Yes—it's there yet," Ann assented willingly.</p> + +<p>It was the spot where she had hidden from Baird that morning, where the +bank of the creek shelved sharply to a big rock around which the water +fretted and quarreled. Clumps of chinkapin bushes intervened, +effectually hiding the hollow from the road.</p> + +<p>Edward led his horse around them and, after a swift survey that +convinced him that they would be well screened, dropped the bridle. +Carefully and attentively, as if she were fragile, he helped Ann down to +the rock, and Ann, who had sprung down that morning as nimbly as a +chamois, lent herself daintily to his guidance, instantly adapting +herself to it, enjoying it. This was something quite new to her, as new +as Baird's impetuosity or Garvin's restrained passion. And she took, +quite as her due, the step-like ridge in the rock that seated Edward at +her feet. She was neither embarrassed nor awed, partly because of +Edward's well sustained ease and deference, partly because of his very +evident interest in every word she uttered.</p> + +<p>With a skill which Ann was not experienced enough to recognize, he led +her to talk of the farm, then of her people, then of herself. He had +been away so long, he told her. He had been everywhere—except at +Westmore—much of the time in Europe; everything she told him was news. +He drew from her an accurate picture of her life as it had been from her +earliest remembrance and as it was now, and that without any such +passionate outburst as she had visited upon Garvin. With his knowledge +of her family and his growing knowledge of her, it was easy to read +between the lines. She was apart from her family; she was not happy +with them. Whether she had attained to seventeen years without a romance +was the one point upon which he was uncertain; even a very young girl +would know how to guard that secret.</p> + +<p>Ann could not know that she was being manipulated by a master-hand. When +he looked up at her, his eyes held only pleased interest. When he looked +down at the resentful, quarreling water and they were hidden from her, +his expression was different.</p> + +<p>Edward Westmore's combination of ease and impenetrable reserve, of swift +intelligence and yet guarded speech, the melancholy that shadowed him, +like a thin veil drawn over a smile, had baffled more astute people than +Ann. It had made him a noticeable man wherever he had gone; a man of +acknowledged charm and suspected subtlety. His family had known him as a +spirited and yet dependable boy, the most dependable of the Westmores, +until the upheaval which had sent him away from his home had revealed +passions his family had not suspected. He had demanded a release from +Westmore and Westmore conditions and had gained it. That he had married +beyond all expectations well a woman older than himself and possessed of +a fortune, and had settled into the inscrutable man he was, with the +welfare of Westmore apparently his closest interest, was one of the +inexplicable things about him.</p> + +<p>Judith perhaps understood Edward better than any one else did; +certainly, in their twelve years of married life, his wife had not +fathomed him. If his charm had won him conquests, they had never +obtruded. If he had craved youth and beauty, he had given no intimation +of it. He had unwaveringly upheld both his wife's dignity and his by an +unswerving courtesy; how much or how little love he had given her was a +secret she had carried with her—she had left him her fortune, +unconditionally.</p> + +<p>He had led Ann up to the very present, and she told him what he already +knew: "And my father came home to-day." She paused on that, because of +the tragedy it had been to her, but her face was more expressive than +she knew.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he will sell the farm and take you all west with him when he +goes back? That will mean a different life for you," Edward said.</p> + +<p>The suggestion was an entirely new one to Ann; she grew wide-eyed over +it. Then she shook her head decidedly. "No, he won't do that—he loves +the place."</p> + +<p>"Then he will probably send you to school in the autumn."</p> + +<p>This also was a new idea, but after consideration she dismissed it. +"No.... I didn't study very well when Aunt Sue sent me to school," she +added with a touch of shame.</p> + +<p>"You didn't?" Edward was genuinely surprised; it was not his reading of +her.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't ever learn arithmetic—I tried hard, but I couldn't. The +teacher told Aunt Sue that I had no brains for study, an' she took me +away from school." Ann hated to make the admission, she had been led +into it before she knew, and added quickly, "But I liked history and +composition—I like to read. I've read my father's books through and +through."</p> + +<p>"They don't know what good brains are in that school in the village," +Edward said quietly. "My greatest pleasure is reading, too—you are +fortunate to have grown up in a library."</p> + +<p>Ann was forced to admit that it was not a library, just a cupboard in +her father's room stacked with books. Edward knew that, as a boy, Coats +Penniman had been an omnivorous reader and something of a student. He +selected in his mind the books Coats was likely to have read, many +histories, the lives of great men, and the staider fiction which he +himself had enjoyed when a boy, and Ann warmed into vivid pleasure when +she found that they had acquaintances in common. She talked of George +Eliot's characters as one would of friends, and lovingly of Maggie +Tulliver, that creation of a great woman's brain always tenderly loved +by misfits such as Ann.</p> + +<p>"She was a nobody's child," Ann said softly.</p> + +<p>Edward noticed that the dramatic and emotional appealed profoundly to +her, and the sentimental very little. He thought as he listened to her +and looked at her beauty that, if the right sort of man possessed her, +she would grow into a superb woman; a few years' training would make +her a finished product, something more than presentable, a really +fascinating woman. But the emotional in her would have to be satisfied. +It was innate, patent, unmistakable—her power to arouse passion, an +irresistible inclination to test the emotional, and it was quite +possible that in the process she might be irremediably marred.</p> + +<p>Edward thought of the thing he had witnessed the morning before, his +brother's face bent to Ann's, and his own face darkened. He had thought +of it frequently in the last twenty-four hours, and with a full +realization of what her appeal to Garvin would be. He thought of the +night just past, when the family skeleton had broken loose and been +captured and locked away again, only after hours of dread and terror to +them all.</p> + +<p>He turned from the sickening recollection to look again at Ann. He +reflected that with her type the brain is apt to be constant and the +emotions less dependable, and love, actual love, rarely a sudden thing +and almost always a consecration. How much of herself she would give +would depend largely on the man who captured her; to hold her he would +have to appeal to her brain as well as her emotions. Edward was certain +that he read her aright. He had traveled a long way before he had +learned what little he knew of women; what man ever knew more than a +very little of the riddle the Creator intended man should not solve.</p> + +<p>To Ann he said, "But you haven't read many of the more modern novels, +have you? And very little poetry?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't get them," Ann answered regretfully. "There's no library in +the village." She did not add, "And I have no money to buy books," but +Edward understood.</p> + +<p>"I have any number of them—good and bad—at Westmore. I should be glad +to lend you anything you would like to read."</p> + +<p>Ann did not know what to say. She had collided again with the family +quarrel. But she wanted to see Edward again. No one had ever talked to +her as he had, or treated her as he did. He was quite different from +Garvin, far more deferential, and yet eager to please her. She felt +intensely sorry for Garvin; things seemed to be all wrong with him, just +as they were with her. And she wanted him to love her; she wanted every +man to love her—even Ben Brokaw. It was delightful to feel that she +could interest them—as she was interesting Edward Westmore. It was +wonderful that she could interest him. He was the most courtly man she +had ever seen, and the most distinguished-looking. She was accustomed to +tanned faces; the black and white contrasts of Edward's face pleased +her. He was tall and erect and dignified. She felt a tremendous respect +for him, and at the same time she felt perfectly at one with him; he was +so pleasant to be with.</p> + +<p>"I'd like very much to have the books," she said somewhat helplessly.</p> + +<p>Edward smoothed out the difficulty without mentioning it. "I go by here +so often, to the club—I could easily leave them up there, beside the +bushes. If some one else found them or they got rained on, it wouldn't +matter—there are plenty of others." He looked up at her, smiling +quizzically. "I go to the club almost every afternoon, and ride back +about this time—just when you will be curled up here in the hollow +examining what I have left. I know you will do just that, because that +is what all book-lovers do—an unread book is as tantalizing as ripe +fruit just out of reach."</p> + +<p>Ann thought it was a nice way of being told that he wanted to see her +again, and she answered with much of his own manner. "Maybe—but never +as late as this, though. See, the sun's most down, an' supper waitin' +for you at Westmore, like it is for me up at the farm."</p> + +<p>"That means that I am dismissed—that it's growing late, and that I've +let you sit here without your cape around you.... Let me put it on for +you—before we go up."</p> + +<p>He wrapped it about her, his touch light yet lingering, brought it +together under her chin, as one would with a child. "Have you felt +cold?" he asked tenderly, as if guarding something infinitely precious.</p> + +<p>For the second time that day affection lifted in Ann's eyes. In all her +life no one had looked at her or spoken to her in just that way; even +Garvin had not. "No, I have been warm," she answered softly.</p> + +<p>Edward looked full into her eyes, the veil of melancholy that so often +shadowed his face stealing over it. "Then I've done you no harm, and you +have given me a great pleasure," he said. "Now run home quickly—while I +get my horse back to the road."</p> + +<p>Ann went, as he said, quickly. It had seemed to her that morning, as she +had walked along the same road with her father, that she could never be +comforted. But she had been—doubly comforted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<h3>"IT WAS BORN IN HER"</h3> + + +<p>"Is Ann always like this?" Coats Penniman asked Sue that evening.</p> + +<p>They had come from supper and were sitting together on the porch. +Preparing the meal had been Sue's work; Ann had insisted that the +clearing away was her task, and Sue knew why she had been so determined; +she did not want to join them on the porch.</p> + +<p>"She's always quiet when father is around," Sue answered.</p> + +<p>"And I'm a strange element—well, it's natural."</p> + +<p>Sue knew that Coats meant to talk of Ann, and she dreaded it. They had +spent almost the entire day together, going over the farm and talking of +its possibilities, and Coats had scarcely mentioned Ann. But Sue knew +that he was thinking of her from the occasional questions he asked and +from the way in which he had studied Ann, surreptitiously, with a +pitying intensity which Sue understood well. When he spoke to Ann +directly his usually deep voice softened to its kindliest note, and Ann +had answered dutifully, but Sue noticed that she kept her eyes turned +from him.</p> + +<p>Poor Ann! Sue sighed inaudibly. She was very sorry for the girl, but +she had known just how it would be; the love Coats had seemed incapable +of giving the child was not likely to be given the grown girl who +reminded him even more poignantly of the bitterest days of his life.</p> + +<p>She knew Coats so well. They had grown up together, she and her sister +Marian and Coats, and his love for her sister seemed to have been born +with him. He had loved Marian as a child, as a boy he had adored her, +loved her with an all-engrossing passion when they were grown. He would +gladly have given his life for the girl who was his wife for less than a +year, and over whom he had agonized with an intensity that had almost +deprived him of his reason. She had borne her child and had left him +desolate. She seemed to have taken with her all his capacity for love. +They were like that, the Pennimans; an affection for each other and a +tremendous sense of duty, but only one love. She herself was like that. +No one had ever guessed; she alone knew who it was <i>she</i> had loved all +those years; loved in spite of everything, steadily loved and loved.</p> + +<p>It was dark, and Sue could think and feel without her face betraying +her. Coats' figure was a vague outline, but his presence was an +intensely palpable thing. It pressed on her, enveloped her. <i>What</i> that +day had been to her! After all these years, he her companion, his hand +on her arm, his first thought for her, and no one to come between +them—except the ghost of the past. She wanted it laid, buried too deep +ever to rise again. So far he had not mentioned the past; was he going +to drag the thing out now and agonize over it again?</p> + +<p>She had not answered his remark, and he said nothing for a time, smoking +in silence. Finally he said, "I wish I could make the future a little +easier for her."</p> + +<p>Sue drew a breath of relief. She was quite willing to talk of the +future, even Ann's future. "I've often wondered what was best to do for +her."</p> + +<p>"Has any man ever made love to her, Sue?"</p> + +<p>"No, no one," Sue said positively. "Who would? You know how away from +people we've had to live—we haven't even had the relations here—it was +the only way to do when we were so poor.... Besides, Ann's not much more +than a child."</p> + +<p>"You've always written that she was a thoughtless child. She's less of a +child than you realize, Sue. And she's not thoughtless, either. She does +a deal of thinking, but keeps it to herself."</p> + +<p>Sue remembered Ann's burst of feeling which had so surprised her. "I +reckon that she has grown up so gradually I haven't noticed. She has +such a careless way with her most of the time. She plays with every +mortal thing that comes her way, Coats—peeps at it with her eyelids +down—seein' if it's goin' to give her any fun, it seems to me. It +drives father mad to see her. I've often watched her, with the collie, +with Ben—with every breathing thing that comes her way. An' she does +lay hold on people—if there's a creature on earth Ben Brokaw loves, +it's Ann. It's Ann has kept him here these last two years—she can do +anything with him."</p> + +<p>"It was born in her," Coats said evenly. It was his first reference to +his wife and he turned from it, spoke more clearly. "Sue, Ann's the +quintessence of attraction—I've realized it to-day. She's one of those +women you might wall up and use plenty of stone and mortar to do it, and +still she'd draw some man to her. It's her portion—we might as well +recognize it and allow for it in the future."</p> + +<p>"You mean she's bound to marry?"</p> + +<p>It was not all Coats had meant, but he said, "Yes."</p> + +<p>"But she mustn't marry here, Coats—it's what father has always said.... +What chance is there here for a girl, anyway. The few boys that have +stayed here are a shiftless lot, an' the Hunt Club set—they're rich, +most of them, an' fast—we're just farmers to them—a girl situated like +Ann is mustn't have anything to do with them."</p> + +<p>"The club is since my time—are they about much, the men?"</p> + +<p>"They're all over the place—as long as there's huntin'," Sue said with +disgust, "an' they're always about the club, summer and winter. Father +stopped their ridin' through here—he put up the gate an' notice—and he +arrested Garvin Westmore, Coats."</p> + +<p>Coats was silent, Sue guessed, because he might say too much; hatred of +the Westmores lay deep in him. Sue liked the restraint he put upon +himself. He had gone away a wretched silent man, and had returned a +restrained yet forceful personality. He had broadened and gained weight, +both mentally and physically. She had guessed from his letters that he +had improved, and she had often thought, miserably, that she was not +keeping pace with him. She had never had her sister's beauty or +attraction, and even her prettiness was fading. And mentally?... What +chance had she had, tied down to the farm?... Then bitterness slipped +from her. He was here and, she hoped intensely, was going to stay. The +fear that had tormented her, that he might marry out of sheer +loneliness, was set at rest, and if she could feel certain that he would +stay, her cup of joy would be full. All she dared hope for was that he +would stay where she could care for him.</p> + +<p>Coats spoke again, and of Ann. "I don't know just what to do for her," +he said thoughtfully. "You wrote that she had no head for study. If she +hasn't, sending her away to school would be a mistake—just courting +mischief.... I'm inclined to think that she'll be best off here—until +she's older—then I'll try to send her west—put her with people who +will look after her and see that she gets a chance to marry, for that's +what it will be with her. She's bound to have her bit of life, have it +and pay for it, the certainty of it is written all over her, and she'll +have a better chance of happiness somewhere else than here." His voice +deepened. "You see, Sue, she's not really one of us—that's the thing +has been borne in on me to-day. It's an old wound opened, and it's made +me feel a little sick; her mother was never meant for this place—or for +me. You know how it was with her—just that craving for all the things +we were not. It showed in every look and word of Marian's, +unconsciously, and it shows doubly in Ann.... Why, Sue, when I looked up +this morning and saw her standing there, where Marian often stood, black +and white, that hair and brow of hers, and with Marian's lips smiling at +me, it was exactly as if a ghost had risen up and beckoned to me! I lost +hold on myself. I did the best I could, but my best was bad. I froze +whatever affection the child has for me—just froze it forever." He +ended helplessly, a sudden breaking away from the restraint that was +habitual with him: "She's a woman grown, Sue—I didn't expect it to be +that way—I never dreamed it would be like that—you never told me she +looked like that—you never told me how she looked!"</p> + +<p>"You never asked me to tell you," Sue said painfully.</p> + +<p>Coats quieted, gained control of himself almost instantly. "I didn't +mean to let myself go like that. It's the last time I'll speak of things +that can't be helped. The best I can do is to watch over Ann and give +her a chance."</p> + +<p>"It's the best any of us can do, Coats," Sue's voice was still husky.</p> + +<p>Because of the note of pain, Coats drew his chair close to hers, touched +her arm. "You've always done your best, Sue. I left you to bear most of +the burden, but I've come back to it. I'm going to stay, Sue—it's going +to be lifted from your shoulders to mine.... And I'm glad to be back. I +belong here—I'm no money-maker. I'm fitted for just this—to draw a +living out of the soil and enjoy doing it.... I can't expect help from +Ann—she's bound to go out into the world and live—but you'll stand by +me, Sue?"</p> + +<p>The assurance Sue longed for had been given her. "Yes, I'll stand by +you!" she said deeply. "I'll stand by you always, Coats—I'm fitted for +just this, too."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<h3>COMPLEXITIES</h3> + + +<p>The first of May, and spring had come on the Ridge. A young green lay +upon pasture and woodland, upon every spot where nature was allowed her +way—except the bald patches on the Mine Banks. They still glared a +sullen red, defiantly barren, when even the plowed earth glistened and +was warm, impatient under man's restraining hand, eager to quicken the +seed being entrusted to it, a civilized mother as intent on bearing +fruit as was her uncultured sister.</p> + +<p>Those three weeks had brought the stir of life, both restlessness and +joy, to Sue, to Ann, to Judith Westmore; and, as spring quickens man as +well as woman, to Edward Westmore, Garvin and Baird the consciousness of +things desired and not attained which is the urge to all accomplishment.</p> + +<p>Even Coats Penniman, busied about the farm from early morning until +night, was stirred by a vague unrest which was not unhappiness nor its +opposite. He worked the harder for it; he had cast his net here; he +meant to gather in the harvest, a modest harvest, but one that would be +sufficient for his family's needs. New horses filled the stalls that +had stood empty so long, new farm implements were stored in the +wagon-shed, the barn acquired a coat of paint. And the crying shame of +water carried by women up three hundred yards to a kitchen without a +convenience was abolished. That was Coats' first improvement: pipes were +laid to the bubbling spring and a pump installed; the spring-house, +unsanitary relic of a past century, would no longer harbor crocks of +milk and butter ill-protected from things that crawl and germs that +fatten; it housed the pump. And only the weeping willows mourned the +change; they no longer stood in a swamp, for a drain carried the seeping +water to the creek; they were a pleasant shelter now for any man and +maid who chose to sit beneath them.</p> + +<p>Coats Penniman had his work and Sue had hers. The old house was being +transformed. Many years before, Ann, playing with a forbidden pen-knife, +had cut through the half-dozen layers of paper that generations of +tasteless Pennimans had laid upon the living-room walls and had come to +oak paneling as beautiful as any at Westmore. Sue had not forgotten the +discovery. The living-room was stripped of paper and became again what +it had been in colonial days, a spacious dining-room paneled from +ceiling to floor. The modern front room, the parlor, lost its dingy +figured paper, was hung and curtained in white, as were the rooms above. +Sue, with Ann to help her, and a sturdy negress to do the heaviest work, +labored joyfully. Paint and whitewash had their way with the old house, +and it emerged an elderly lady still, but with white hair smoothed and +wearing a spotless cap.</p> + +<p>Only the lonely farm-woman who toils unaided, her interests bound by +four unsightly walls, a veritable prison with a treadmill for diversion, +can justly appreciate what those days of transformation were to Sue. She +had longed for the two strong black hands that under her direction +washed and churned and swept and cooked. But she had longed still more +for a little beauty, a touch of fashion, a hint of luxury. Her day's +work had always lapped over into the morrow. Now she could appear at +supper with hair arranged and wearing a fresh gown. She could go from +supper to sit with Coats on the porch and talk to him of her work as he +talked to her of his. The delight of it!</p> + +<p>And it was not only the house that wore new garments. Sue chose +carefully and economically, but she would not have chosen tastefully had +Ann not been at her right hand. Ann had an instinct for color, and an +observant eye for style. She had insisted on shades of blue for Sue. +"You ought to get everything blue, it goes with your eyes, an' it makes +you look young and pretty," she had urged. "Have an all-blue suit, Aunt +Sue, an' a blue silk drivin' coat, an' a little blue hat with white +wings. An' for your house-dresses just have lawn with blue flowers in +it." Sue had thought the coat an unpardonable extravagance, until she +remembered that she often drove with Coats. Then she did not hesitate.</p> + +<p>Ann was too proud to ask for anything for herself, but Sue insisted that +whatever she had must be duplicated for Ann, so Ann chose for herself a +summer suit of deep cream and a large cream-colored straw hat. Sue had +objected to Ann's choice of a red coat. "Your suit's so dark a cream +it's 'most yellow, an' your coat's a regular nigger red, Ann."</p> + +<p>"I'm black an' white—they're my colors, Aunt Sue. I'll always have to +wear rich colors to look best," Ann returned, and she was right. She did +not put red roses on her hat, however. She decorated it with +water-lilies; their yellow centers blended with hat and gown.</p> + +<p>Even Sue did not suspect what pleasure Ann took in her attire, but she +did notice that the girl was startlingly beautiful, even in her simple +white lawn dresses sprayed with either red or yellow. It was not a +glaring effect the girl had produced; she had simply intensified her +usual impression of warmth, her hint of the exotic. Coats noticed it; he +looked at her in an expressionless way, but Sue knew what he thought, +and her father also, when he looked at Ann and then looked away. Ann's +new clothes set her more apart from them than ever.</p> + +<p>And in spite of her good sense, Sue envied Ann's compelling quality. She +would never have it, but Ann thought that since her father's return Sue +had grown almost beautiful. Sue's face had grown fuller and now her +cheeks almost always had color. She arranged her brown hair carefully +and changed her dresses frequently. And she laughed much oftener, softly +and with eyes alight. Sue was glad, of course, that Coats had brought +better times to them all, but even supreme relief would not account for +Sue's air of subdued happiness.</p> + +<p>Ann had puzzled over the change in Sue, until one day she saw her +watching Coats Penniman while he slept. He had come in tired out and had +stretched himself on the couch in the living-room. Sue and Ann were +sewing when he came in and Sue had sprung up, brought him a glass of +water and begged him to lie down. Then Sue had taken up her sewing +again. A little later, when Ann glanced up, wondering how she could slip +away without being noticed, she saw that her father was asleep and that +Sue sat with hands idle. She was bent forward a little, looking at Coats +in utter absorption, her lips parted, her eyes misty and yearning, her +heart laid bare for Ann to read. Sue had forgotten her, forgotten +everything; there were only they two in the world, she and Coats.</p> + +<p>Ann looked long and steadily, and, in those moments of hot surprise and +then of clear understanding, she laid down every claim upon her father, +became definitely nobody's child. Ann's own experience in love had +rapidly taught her; she knew how it was with her father and Sue; Sue +loved her father, and he liked Sue better than he liked any one else.</p> + +<p>That was what Garvin said to her in the evenings when they met under the +willows by the spring: that he loved her madly, and that she only liked +him. She let him kiss her when he talked like that. It made her hot and +restless to be plead with and urged and caressed. She did love him—the +thought of losing his love was terrible—yet she was not happy, partly +because she felt that Edward would be shocked if he knew. She had +discovered that the brothers did not love each other any more than she +and her father loved each other. She never mentioned Edward to Garvin, +or Garvin to Edward.</p> + +<p>The night before, Garvin had said startling things: that he was going +into the city to live; that Nickolas Baird was arranging a city agency +for a large automobile firm, and that he would probably have charge of +it. Ann had been swept by a feeling of desolation until Garvin had +added, "It won't be right away, but when the time comes will you go with +me?"</p> + +<p>Ann knew that she had been silent so long that he had grown desperate. +He had put his arms about her and held her as if he were afraid that she +would run from him. She had said, finally, "I couldn't bear it, to have +you go away."</p> + +<p>"But I shall have to go," he had told her positively. "I can't stay at +Westmore—Edward is master of Westmore now.... And you want to go +away—will you go with me, Ann?"</p> + +<p>Then she had told him the thing that had troubled her from the +beginning. "A Westmore marry a Penniman? We can't do it, Garvin—ever."</p> + +<p>And Garvin had been silent then, thinking; she had felt his hands grow +burning hot. Then he said steadily: "The city is not the Ridge, Ann. If +you'll only love me completely, as I love you, what seems impossible +here may be possible there. I want you, just mine to love and care for +always."</p> + +<p>Then she had told him with complete honesty. "I don't know whether I +love you enough to marry you, but I can't bear to have you go away from +me."</p> + +<p>He had made his usual appeal, his own unhappiness, and Ann had almost +yielded him her promise. But when she thought it all over she was not +happy; she was so doubtful of her own feelings.</p> + +<p>And she had another anxiety. Edward Westmore had given her a number of +books, and she had seen him several times. Every day there had been a +book for her in the chinkapin bushes. With the instinct for making +herself doubly desired, she did not always stay to thank him. But +sometimes she had waited in the hollow, and Edward came and sat at her +feet. Then they talked. They had been less exciting but more satisfying +hours than she had with Garvin. Edward told her wonderful things, +interesting things. She felt like an ignorant child when she was with +him, and yet she knew that he liked whatever she said, and that he loved +to look at her, and that he touched her with a certain tender +reverence. She thought of him as a very dear friend. It was some time +before she told him how things were at the farm. Before she realized, +she had told him about it, and he had said:</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Ann, be patient. There is the future—you will leave the +farm, one of these days."</p> + +<p>He had spoken quietly enough, but Ann had seen the color come slowly +into his face. Though he had turned to look at the water, she had seen +and wondered. Was he beginning to care for her—as Garvin did? Such a +possibility had never before occurred to her! He had seemed so much +older than Garvin—old enough to be her father. It made her very +uncomfortable, the first touch of self-consciousness she had had while +with him. For several days after that, she had taken her book and +hurried away.</p> + +<p>Then Ben Brokaw had added to her anxiety. They talked together as +always, she and Ben. Though he had said nothing, Ann knew that he +understood about her father and herself. On the evening of that Sunday +when she had met her father, she had found on her window-sill a box +lined with pine-needles and on them several sprays of arbutus. She knew +instantly that Ben had put them there, climbed to the roof to do it. His +was the language of the woods: Ann knew from the pine-needles that Ben +had been somewhere about when she had lain sobbing beneath the pine +trees. And she had known just how to thank him; she had pinned a bit of +the arbutus to her dress the next morning, and had smiled at him. "It's +sweet," was all she had said. And all Ben said was "Um!"</p> + +<p>Ben rarely mentioned Coats Penniman, but occasionally he had been +satirical over the changes Coats was making. When the house became +redolent of paint, he took his hammock and slept in the woods. "Paint is +supposed to be a' awful good thing," he told Ann. "Even the ladies +thinks it'll hide old age, but it don't deceive nobody. I never took no +stock in paint—wood is one of the prettiest things on earth; why cover +it up?"</p> + +<p>On the evening when he talked with Ann in a way that made her anxious, +he began by saying, "This place an' Westmo' is becomin' too fashionable. +All we needs now is a' automobile. Westmo's got one—I seen Garvin +scarin' chickens an' niggers all down the Post-Road this mornin', an' +that young cool-head who's stayin' at the club an' makin' love to Miss +Judith showin' Garvin how to do it. If the president was to travel down +the Post-Road in a wheelbarrer, it wouldn't stir up half the sensation +Garvin did.... I reckon Edward wanted to give Garvin something to occupy +his mind. Well, he's done it—an' a fashionable way to break his neck, +too."</p> + +<p>Ann knew that Garvin was to have the automobile. He had told her that it +was coming, and that, as soon as he could run it, he would take her with +him to the city and back in an evening. That now he could show her the +city of which she knew so little.</p> + +<p>But she did not comment on Garvin's new possession. "You always speak of +Garvin in that way, Ben, and differently of Edward Westmore—why do +you?" she asked gravely.</p> + +<p>"Edward's a gentleman an' Garvin's jes' a Westmo', second generation to +his pa," Ben returned.</p> + +<p>"I thought every Westmore was a gentleman," Ann said, quite as Judith +might have spoken; there was hauteur in the reproof. Her head had +lifted.</p> + +<p>It was not too dark for Ben to see her face, and he glanced at her, a +swift, intensely interested look, a deeply anxious look as well. But his +answer was drawled as usual. "Accordin' to the dictionary, they are, +Ann. I read up on 'gentleman' once, an' I decided that there dictionary +wasted a lot of words. Why didn't it jest say, 'Gentleman: the man who +does to others like he'd have them do to him.' Of co'se, if it was +necessary to say more, it could jest add that there is those who grows +to be gentlemen. A man can train hisself to be one. Edward has growed to +be a gentleman—I found that out when he come back.... Now, if there was +anything troublin' me, I'd go straight to Edward Westmo'. There ain't +anythin' I'd be afraid to tell him. An' that's the advice I'd give to +any one who was doubtful in their mind about anything, or who'd got into +trouble—jest to talk to Edward about it.... I'm down about the woods a +good bit, an' I often see Edward comin' an' goin'. We speaks. There +ain't much goes on down there I don't know about; even when I'm not +there, my eye's on them woods. If Edward Westmo' sat down a bit on +Penniman land, I wouldn't say nothing about it—not I. I'd as soon cut +my hand off as set a Penniman on a Westmo'. Coats Penniman has growed, +like I tell you some men do, Ann, but he ain't growed enough not to hate +a Westmo'. That's one reason I keep my eye on them woods—I wouldn't +answer for what would happen if a Westmo' angered Coats Penniman."</p> + +<p>Ann had nothing to say to this long speech; she escaped as soon as +possible to think it over. Ben had the queer cautious ways of an +animal—he had told her several things, in his usual fashion. He had +meant to tell her that Garvin was not as fine a man as Edward. Ann was +forced to confess that she felt he was not. But Garvin was younger, and +impatient and unhappy, just as she was. She loved and pitied Garvin, and +nothing Ben could say would make her stop loving him.</p> + +<p>And Ben had also meant to tell her that he knew and approved of her +talking to Edward; that he stood guard over them. He wanted her to tell +Edward about Garvin. She felt certain that Ben knew she cared for +Garvin. Possibly he knew that they met, but she was not so certain of +that.</p> + +<p>Ann's anxiety was principally on Garvin's account. If her father +discovered them it would be terrible. They ought not to meet in that +way. But Garvin could not take her away now.... And even if he could, +did she love him enough to go with him and face all the trouble that +would follow? And yet, she would be sick with loneliness if Garvin went +away and left her. But if she did not love Garvin—in the way in which +he wanted her to love him—she ought to tell him so and not meet him any +more. And she could not tell Edward about his brother—not after the way +in which Edward had looked at her the last time she saw him—she simply +couldn't.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<h3>"YOU'RE ALL I HAVE"</h3> + + +<p>Ann spent a troubled night after her talk with Ben, and she had reached +no decision the next day when she went down to the woods to get her +book. She did not know whether or not she would wait to see Edward. She +ought not to see him. It had not occurred to her that as things were +between Garvin and herself, she ought not to see Edward in this way—not +until after she had suspected that Edward cared a great deal for her.</p> + +<p>Ann did not know how much she wanted to see Edward until she discovered +that there was no book left for her. She searched the bushes thoroughly; +there was nothing there. Then she paused to think.... She had avoided +Edward and he had decided that she did not want to see him; she had lost +her friend.</p> + +<p>Ann went slowly back to the road and stood hesitating. She did not want +to go back to the house; she felt more like going up to the pines, to +sit with her trouble where no one would see her.</p> + +<p>She had flushed while she searched and found nothing, then grown pale +when she felt that she had been forsaken. She brightened into beauty +when she heard a horse on the Back Road. He was late in coming, that +was all. She waited, her eyes fixed on the turning in the road.</p> + +<p>It was Baird who appeared, and, riding with him, Judith Westmore. They +were riding so close to each other that their horses almost touched, +Judith with head bent and playing with her whip, Baird looking down at +her.</p> + +<p>Ann would have escaped if she could, but they were upon her before she +had recovered from surprise, and Baird had seen her. He straightened +instantly, and Ann also stiffened, moving only to give them room to +pass. Baird looked at her steadily, for a questioning instant, then +suddenly smiled and lifted his cap. He bowed profoundly enough when Ann +smiled, though she had merely glanced at him; she was looking at Judith.</p> + +<p>Ann's smile and bow should have been claimed by Judith, it was meant for +her; but she looked at Ann, at her and through her, a blankly brilliant +stare, then touched her horse. Both horses leaped at her flick of the +whip, and left Ann standing beside the road.</p> + +<p>Ann did not go to the pines and weep; it might have been better for her +if she had. She went back to the house, and with head high. Hers had +always been an inflammable temper, but never before had she felt the +profound anger that held her now. It turned her cold, not hot. With all +the family enmity forgotten, she had smiled as she would have smiled at +Edward, and had been cut in a manner possible only to as finished a +product as Judith. Ann's nerves were always high strung, and for the +last weeks she had been under the strain of persistent denial, anxious +over the danger to Garvin of their secret meetings, and too +inexperienced to realize the still greater danger to herself from the +sort of appeal Garvin was making to her; certain only that neither he +nor she was happy. Edward's defection had been followed too closely by +Judith's act. Ann shivered like one with ague.</p> + +<p>She was very quiet at supper. The meal was a hurried one, for Sue and +Coats were going to the village, and no one noticed Ann's white face. +She was going to meet Garvin that night. She went as soon as it was +dark, and waited for him, sitting tensely upright under the willows; +usually it was Garvin who waited. She sat so still that a rabbit came in +under the willows, almost to her feet, before it leaped and fled.</p> + +<p>Garvin came presently, well hidden by the dense growth of elderberry +bushes that, matted by foxgrape vines, extended to the creek. He had +chosen this spot because he could come all the way from the woods under +cover. "Ann!" he said. "You here first!" On the instant his arms were +about her.</p> + +<p>Ann did not hold him off as usual. She sat quite still and let him kiss +her. It was a few moments before he noticed how passive she was. "What +is it? What has happened?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Just that I have made up my mind."</p> + +<p>"To what?" he asked, not knowing what to expect, for he was accustomed +to reluctance and withdrawal.</p> + +<p>"That I'll go with you, Garvin—as soon as you can take me away. Then +I'll marry you. I'm a Penniman, but I'm fully as good as your sister—or +any Westmore lady ever was. I'm not afraid to marry you."</p> + +<p>The blood flared in Garvin's face, but he thanked her as tenderly as any +Westmore ever uttered the words. "My darling!... You do love me, then! +You do love me! Thank you, dear."</p> + +<p>Ann's hand drew his face to hers. "You're all I have," she said.</p> + +<p>Garvin held her closely while he drew off his seal ring, engraved with +the Westmore crest, and put it on her finger. "You can't wear it openly, +dear; but every time you look at it it will remind you that you are +promised to me."</p> + +<p>He kissed her hands and her lips, while he gave her every assurance +desire for possession ever invented. And Ann, borne into more perfect +trust, gave her future more fully into his keeping.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<h3>A BARGAIN</h3> + + +<p>On the way back to Westmore that night, Garvin met Baird. Baird had been +riding with Judith in the afternoon and had dined at Westmore and spent +the evening there. When Garvin, saying that he must go to the village, +had excused himself and had hurried to Ann, he had left Baird with +Edward and Judith. Very soon Edward also had gone out, and Baird and +Judith had spent the evening together, as was frequent of late.</p> + +<p>Both Garvin and Baird were riding slowly, for both were engrossed by the +subject to which, next to his struggle for existence, man gives his +intensest interest; Baird had just parted from Judith, Garvin from Ann.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Garvin—just back?" Baird asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Baird, I think Will Prescott wants a machine. You know he's a +sort of third cousin of ours by marriage."</p> + +<p>Baird wondered if there was any one of their class in the southeastern +states who was not, by marriage or otherwise, cousin to a Westmore. It +was an effective argument he had used in persuading Edwin Carter and +the others who were combining to form the automobile manufacturing +company in which Baird meant to have a large interest, that Garvin would +serve them well if given the city agency.</p> + +<p>"Good!" he said. "Nail him—or any one else who comes your way. The +commission'll be yours."</p> + +<p>"How soon do you think I can get back into town and get to work?" Garvin +asked. "Is the agency a sure thing?" It was the question to which he had +been leading.</p> + +<p>Baird had no intention of being hurried in the matter. He meant that +Edward should give a guarantee for Garvin that would make his own +position in the firm "a sure thing."</p> + +<p>"I'll know that in a few days, Garvin. I have to see Edwin Carter +again—I can tell you more then. I see no reason why the thing shouldn't +go through. I'm going to make every effort to get it for you."</p> + +<p>Garvin was forced to curb his impatience. "You're a brick, Baird."</p> + +<p>"No—I think you're the man for the place."</p> + +<p>They parted, each taking up thoughts that had little to do with +business.</p> + +<p>Garvin looked up at the long dim line of Westmore. Let Edward have the +place if he wanted it; it was rightfully Edward's; it was Edward's money +that had bought up the mortgages. He would take Ann and go. Go soon, +even if he had to attach himself to Baird's firm merely as a traveling +agent.</p> + +<p>He unsaddled, stalled his horse, and let himself into the house. The +lights were out; Edward and Judith must have gone to bed.</p> + +<p>But he saw, as he came up the stairs, that Edward was still up. He was +standing in his open door, evidently waiting for him. In his harassed +condition, Edward was the last person he wanted to see.</p> + +<p>"You up, Ed?" he said casually.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Come in here—I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>Garvin knew instantly that something serious had happened; Edward's +manner was so deadly quiet, his voice so ominously even. The +apprehension that harried them all was the first thing that settled upon +Garvin. "Well, what now?" he said. "Sarah again, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Edward closed the door, then faced him. "No.... I wish that every other +irresponsible in our family was as safely guarded as poor Sarah is in +the place to which I took her.... Garvin Westmore, what's this thing +you've been doing? Leading astray a girl who is no more than a +child—meeting her at night! How far has it gone? By heaven! if you have +harmed her—I'll—" Edward broke off, grasping at the self-control that +was leaving him.</p> + +<p>Garvin's brain had leaped from thought to thought. Who had spied upon +him? How much did Edward know? He could not have been near them that +evening. It was not possible for any one to come near the willows and +he not detect it. Garvin was capable of perfect coolness, and at +unexpected moments. "What girl are you talking about?" he demanded. +"I've played with more than one girl on the Ridge—so did you, I reckon, +in your time."</p> + +<p>Edward drew an uneven breath. "I mean Ann Penniman."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've talked to Ann—what of it?"</p> + +<p>"Answer my question! <i>How far has this thing gone?</i>" Edward repeated +with such intense passion that Garvin recoiled, surprised rather than +angered. Had he not been surprised, he would instantly have flared. +"I've done Ann no harm!... But what great difference should it make to +you? What's Ann Penniman to you? Why the devil should you come at me in +this fashion—even if I had gone the lengths! One would suppose I'd been +poaching on your preserves! I'm my own master—neither you nor any other +man shall question me about how or with whom I choose to amuse myself!" +Garvin had flared finally.</p> + +<p>Edward knew well what that sudden high note in Garvin's voice portended. +He spoke quickly: "I apologize.... I ought to have got at the thing +differently.... Sit down a moment—I want to talk of something else, +first ... this matter of your getting the agency.... I've been +consulting with Baird—about it.... Sit down—"</p> + +<p>Edward had talked with a certain haste, and yet with pauses, quieting +his brother while he sought for his own self-control. It was almost +beyond him; he had paused, laid hold on the thing, gone on, paused +again. He ended with outward calm.</p> + +<p>And Garvin had quieted in the sudden way usual with him. Edward had +motioned him to a chair, and he took it. Edward sat down opposite to him +at the desk; he looked down while he talked. "It seems it depends on me +whether Baird's firm will take you on or not. If I take stock in their +company, they will give you the agency. I've—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to sacrifice money on my account," Garvin interrupted. +"I mean to go somewhere—away from here—and just as soon as I can. I'll +look about for something else, that's all."</p> + +<p>Edward continued steadily. "I shall not be doing that. I've looked into +the matter—I've had my lawyer do it—for I'm no business man. He says +it's a good investment, and I'm willing to go into it. I'd do almost +anything to forward either your interests or Judith's. All I can do for +Sarah is to see that she has every comfort it's possible to give her at +a sanatorium. I made a mistake in taking her out and bringing her here, +after she had been shut away from Westmore for twelve years. No wonder +her poor brain went wild again and drove her to the Mine Banks. I +learned my lesson. I'll never forget that night when you and the rest +went after her and we waited here, all of us certain that she had done +away with herself. We've Ben Brokaw to thank for having saved us that +tragedy." He looked up at his brother. "You see, Garvin, the thing I'm +living for now is the Westmore family. I don't want the family to go +under. You have splendid blood in you—in spite of the unfortunate +inheritance our father gave you. But if you don't give yourself all the +help you can, you are done for. I'd give a good deal if you would take +hold on life, use your will to create something of a future for +yourself. I know how hard it is to do it in this environment, so I'd be +glad to have you get out of it, and glad to help you do it."</p> + +<p>"Would you advise me to marry and give Westmore an heir?" Garvin asked +with bitter sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Edward was silent.</p> + +<p>"We can cut that possibility out of my future, then. All I want is a +more normal sort of life than I've had, and I think I may get it away +from here. I mean to get it—it'll save me if anything will. You +happened to have been born before father started down hill—you and +Judith are the fortunate ones—it's for you to give Westmore an heir." +He ended more gravely than bitterly.</p> + +<p>"All that lies in the future," Edward returned quietly. He straightened. +"Garvin, I'm willing to give you your chance away from here—I'll +arrange with Baird to have you go at the earliest possible moment—will +you promise in return that you will give up this thing which you have +assured me was nothing but play on your part, with Ann?"</p> + +<p>Garvin was silent for a moment; then he said, "I want to go as soon as +I can. But even if I have to wait around for a while, I promise I'll not +go near Ann—that bit of play is ended."</p> + +<p>Edward studied him; their eyes met fairly. "Very well," he said. "I will +see Baird to-morrow," and he rose.</p> + +<p>Garvin got up also, but at the door he stopped. "You've questioned me, +Ed—before I go I'd like to ask a question or two."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>"Who told you I met Ann?"</p> + +<p>"I can't answer that question."</p> + +<p>"Did Ann tell you?"</p> + +<p>"No—certainly not."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me this: What's your especial interest in Ann Penniman?"</p> + +<p>Edward's face became expressionless, but he answered clearly, "Your own +judgment ought to tell you why I'm horrified at this performance of +yours. If Coats Penniman knew, he would draw the same conclusion I did, +and he would shoot you on sight. You know how I feel toward the +Pennimans, that they have been wronged by our family. Ann deserves the +love of an honest man, and it's perfectly evident to me that your +intentions do not come under that head. I'll tell you quite frankly that +I mean to guard Ann from you—for both your sakes. So, if, in an +irrational moment, you should forget your promise to me, I warn you that +you will pay dearly for it."</p> + +<p>"Save your threats," Garvin returned coolly. "I have no intention of +seeing Ann. You seem to feel strongly on the subject, more so than the +matter warrants. The best thing will be for me to get away from the +Ridge as soon as possible and relieve you of worry," and he went out.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Edward paced the floor; there were vivid enough passions +beneath the quiet exterior Edward Westmore presented to the world. In +his agitation he spoke aloud. "I can't be candid with him, as one would +be with a <i>man</i>!" he said passionately. "But if I find he has lied to +me! If he has harmed her—!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h2> + +<h3>MARRY? YES</h3> + + +<p>When Baird parted from Garvin, he had returned to the thoughts that +Garvin's business talk had interrupted; he had been thinking of marriage +and of Judith.</p> + +<p>Except on the rare occasions when he was touched by depression, Nickolas +Baird had always thought of his immunity from family bonds with +satisfaction. But to-night he had realized, somewhat suddenly, that he +was about to give up his hitherto much-prized freedom, and that Judith +Westmore would not object to his doing so.</p> + +<p>It had come about so naturally, that intimacy of theirs. He was fully +accepted now, on the Ridge; more than that, he was welcomed by Ridge +society with the hospitality characteristic of southern people when +assured. The night spent at Westmore, when he had borne himself well, +had won for Baird the support of every Westmore, and they were a +numerous clan. Colonel Dickenson had put Baird forward at the Fair Field +Club and in the city. "A gentleman, suh, an' a born financier," was his +introduction, "a great friend of my cousins, the Westmores." Baird had +the faculty of interesting men much older than himself: business men by +his pronounced level-headedness, convivials like the colonel by his +apparently inexhaustible supply of anecdotes, related simply and with a +humorous zest that was captivating because in no way assumed.</p> + +<p>And Baird had not neglected his opportunities. The establishment of an +automobile factory important enough to compete with the largest in the +United States was now an assured thing. Joseph Dempster, an Indiana +near-millionaire, was the nucleus about which Baird had woven his web. +Dempster already had an interest in a motor company, and it was Baird +who had suggested to him the easy possibility of enlarging the Dempster +factory so that it would be one of the biggest concerns in the States. +It was he who had pointed out that Edwin Carter's steel interests made +him the most eligible man to approach. Dempster had little of Baird's +persuasive ability, and knew it, and he also had a high opinion of +Baird's gift; the young fellow carried a middle-aged man's head on his +shoulders—in matters of business. Baird had been sent east to interest +Carter and had captured him.</p> + +<p>Baird's reward was to be a high-salaried position and an interest in the +company; Dempster had guaranteed him that. Baird regarded his interest +in the company as the important thing. He had very little money of his +own, the disastrous two years in South America had cleaned him out, so, +while he spent the mornings in Carter's office going over Dempster's +plans and specifications for the new factory and took charge of the +correspondence connected with it, he had been considering ways and means +of pushing his own interests.</p> + +<p>He wanted a larger interest in the company. Dempster and Carter meant to +keep the controlling interest in their own hands, but they would welcome +sums of which they might have the handling, additions to the company of +men like Edward Westmore who would be content simply to draw dividends +and interfere in no way with the management of the concern. If he could +capture for them several such men as Edward Westmore, his own reward +would be an increased interest in the company. Just let him once get on +his feet, have some negotiable paper at his command, and he would +outdistance both Dempster and Carter; he had a better business brain +than either of them. Baird was not in the least modest about his own +capability, and he had learned the wisdom of going slowly.</p> + +<p>The two hunt clubs had seemed to him a good field for operations; +certainly the best he could command. He would meet there just the sort +of men who would be useful to him. Though unacquainted with Baird's +reasons, Edwin Carter had willingly put him up at the Ridge Club, and +his recommendation of the young man was genuine enough. Baird's good +sense had both surprised and pleased him. The young fellow had the +qualities of a winner; most young men with the attractions of a city +open to them would not care to sleep where the whip-poor-wills held +sway.</p> + +<p>Things were working out well for Baird. At the Fair Field Club he had +secured one man for his company, and when Edward Westmore came forward +with his guarantee for Garvin he would present them both to Carter with +the certainty of accrued interest in the company.</p> + +<p>But Baird was not thinking of business when he rode away from Westmore +that night. For the first time he was thinking really seriously of a +woman. Until he met Judith Westmore, women had been merely incidents to +him, and to-night he had been brought face to face with marriage, the +thing he had not intended to consider for years to come.</p> + +<p>He and Judith had seen each other frequently during the last weeks. They +had ridden together, spent long evenings together, been bidden together +to all the Ridge gatherings. And yet, throughout, Judith had maintained +a certain distance, attracting him, and yet restraining him. He had +struggled against her dominance, as he would always struggle to conquer +anything that eluded him. Judith had hovered just beyond his reach, and +he had been forced into an impassioned deference, been held to it so +determinedly that his capturing instinct had been fully aroused. The +eight years' difference in their ages had vanished from his +consideration. Was she playing with him, or was she not? What he wanted +was a more satisfying response to his love.</p> + +<p>For Baird had decided that for the first time in his life he was in +love. For the first time a woman had interested him completely, stirred +all that was decentest in him, held him to deference while she showed +herself supremely attractive. When he had come upon Ann that afternoon, +he had been wondering what Judith would say or do if he should suddenly +lift her from her horse and kiss her; tell her that he loved her? How +much would he learn of the real Judith?</p> + +<p>He had been on the very verge of some such avowal when he had looked up +and seen Ann. Their little episode had long since been relegated to the +background which was studded by such careless incidents; he felt no +particular self-consciousness at the sight of Ann, but it did strike him +as unnecessarily cruel of Judith to cut the girl. Ann was so appealingly +pretty as she stood there, wide-eyed and startled, then so lovely when +radiated by her eager smile. "Damn their stupid family quarrel!" had +been Baird's inward comment.</p> + +<p>The thing had chilled him, and they had ridden in silence until Judith +asked brightly, "Who is that pretty girl we just passed? She gave you a +brilliant smile, Mr. Baird."</p> + +<p>Baird had been surprised into saying, "Ann Penniman—but it was you she +was speaking to—she gave me only the tail of her eye," and his +annoyance at Judith made him add, "I think she is the prettiest girl +I've met on the Ridge."</p> + +<p>"Ann Penniman? Why, I don't know her—I never spoke to a Penniman in my +life," Judith had returned with a faintly questioning, half-amused, +half-regretful note. "If she is the little girl who belongs to the farm +beyond the woods there, she has grown up quickly. I'm sorry if I was +really included in that smile and didn't realize it."</p> + +<p>Judith had done her feminine best to nullify her act and at the same +time convey to Baird the status of Ann Penniman. Baird had not fathomed +her, or guessed the swift jealousy that had instantly struck at Ann. +Ann's smile was certainly meant for Judith, but if Judith had not +realized it, it was all right enough. Garvin had told him that no +Penniman ever bowed to a Westmore. The odd thing was that Ann should +have risked being cut. But why should he think twice about the thing—he +had no interest either in their quarrels or their attempts at +reconciliation.</p> + +<p>Baird promptly forgot the incident, for, throughout the afternoon, +Judith was so utterly charming to him. They had had the club to +themselves; it was a little as if he were entertaining her at his own +house, a new sensation to Baird—every step of his intimacy with Judith +had been a new experience.</p> + +<p>They had ridden slowly back to Westmore then, through the tender green +of the woods, both the languor and the stir of spring having their way +with him, his eyes saying to Judith the things his lips did not. Then +Westmore had deepened, as it always did, the impression of +unattainability that Judith gave. Their walk on the terrace after dinner +had softened the impression. Judith had talked about herself, and one +admission she made had impressed Baird more than anything she had ever +said; she was speaking of Westmore and of Edward:</p> + +<p>"I have been mistress of Westmore for a long time, but I realize that +Edward will probably marry—he is only thirty-nine.... In a way, it will +be a relief to me, and yet I shall feel a little desolate."</p> + +<p>"But you will marry," Baird had said.</p> + +<p>"If I love a man enough, I will."</p> + +<p>Baird did not know why he had not spoken, then and there. Why the thing +had come suddenly and in the way in which it had—when his horse had +been brought to the front door and Judith stood beside him as he was +about to mount. He had tested the saddle, Judith was afraid that it +might be loose, they stood together, their hands touching, and suddenly +her nearness had pervaded him. He had caught her to him, held her for +the instant of yielding, and then their lips had met.</p> + +<p>It was a woman's kiss he had received; a woman's clinging embrace, as +passionate as the pressure of his own arms—for the long moment before +withdrawal. He had tried to keep her. "Judith, we love each other—" he +said, but the arms that held him off were like steel.</p> + +<p>"It's—Edward—" she whispered breathlessly. "You must let me go—" When +he loosed her, she gained the portico. She had heard when he had not +Edward's approach around the side of the house.</p> + +<p>When Edward came up, Baird stood back to his horse, his grasp already on +a degree of composure. He had been conscious that Edward had spoken +absently, that he stood absently beside Judith while Baird told Judith +that he would see her the next day. He had lifted his cap and ridden +away, with only the one very clear impression, that before he saw Judith +again he would settle something that was a chaotic uncertainty in his +mind.</p> + +<p>He was trying to settle it when Garvin met him, and took it up again +when they parted: was he ready to marry—even for love? There were minor +considerations that occurred to Baird: he had gone far, and Judith was +not a woman to be played with; she would be a superb wife; she loved him +and he loved her, but did he love her enough to give up his beloved +freedom? to settle down to home-building?... He thought he did.</p> + +<p>Baird shouldered the thing finally, with an all-pervading sense of +responsibility; went soberly to bed with it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h2> + +<h3>A LOT OF PLANNING</h3> + + +<p>Baird rose early the next morning in the same soberly responsible frame +of mind, fully conscious that he was about to enter upon an entirely new +phase. He had no joking word for Sam—and no shining half-dollar—he +would have to be more careful of his half-dollars after this, a family +man had to think of such things.</p> + +<p>Though it was Saturday, he had to go into the city that morning, for +Edward had promised that if, after considering Baird's proposition over +night, he decided that he wanted to close with it, he would come to +Carter's office, talk the matter over with him as well, and sign the +necessary papers. Halstead, the Fair Field investor whose promise Baird +had secured, was also coming. It would be a triumph for Baird, for the +two were so exactly the sort of men his firm would welcome.</p> + +<p>For the three morning hours Baird was too alertly busy to think of his +matrimonial plans. Both Edward and Halstead appeared promptly, settled +their business without hesitation, and, when Edward took leave of Baird +at noon, Garvin's position was secure. There was already a city agency +for the Dempster machines, and as soon as the present agent could be +transferred to an agency elsewhere Garvin was to take his place. Carter +thought that Garvin could take charge in about a month, and in the +meantime he would receive commissions on any Dempsters he might be able +to sell.</p> + +<p>Baird had the satisfaction of knowing that Carter was well pleased; the +extra interest in the company which he craved was certain to be his. +Carter lunched him royally at his club when the morning's business was +ended, and invited him for the afternoon and for Sunday to his palatial +new home in Spring Valley, but Baird had other plans; he meant to go to +Westmore that evening.</p> + +<p>"An attraction on the Ridge, I suppose," Carter said, with a twinkle in +his eye.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Baird confessed, but with the air of the man who meant to say no +more.</p> + +<p>Carter turned to business. "Dempster says the first thing for us to do +is to get out a new model that's something ahead of anything on the +market yet."</p> + +<p>"We have to compete with the French machines," Baird said. "If we can +evolve a model that offers the qualities of the best French traveler, +we'll have accomplished something. And there's a big future for the +truck, too.... I went into the Gaylord factories after I came back from +South America, worked eight months there, on purpose to get ideas for a +model car and truck I've had in mind ever since I first saw a motor +chugging along in Chicago. It was the trial trip of the orneriest excuse +for a car man ever invented. I bought my way on her second trip just to +study her. Then I took up mechanical engineering, or, rather, I went on +with it. Except for the two years I spent on a ranch in Wyoming, I was +always knocking around machine shops; my father couldn't keep me out of +them."</p> + +<p>Carter was thinking. "You've had a course in engineering, then?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Four years in Chicago University. That's what took me out to South +America. I saw a chance to make money there and I made it, fifty +thousand in one year—the next year I dropped it, partly because I +hadn't experience enough, and partly because I had the Brazilian +government against me.... But I've told you that story before."</p> + +<p>Carter had followed his line of thought to a conclusion. "How would you +like to go to France for a few months, go this autumn, and go the rounds +of the factories there, while Dempster is enlarging the plant, and bring +us back your ideas?"</p> + +<p>It was the thing Baird desired most. He had puzzled over some means of +getting to Europe and still keeping in close touch with the company. +Here was his opportunity, nevertheless his instant thought was, "If I do +you'll pay me well for it—and you won't get my best ideas, either, not +unless I get a lion's share of the profits." To Carter he said, "It +wouldn't be a bad scheme—it would pay the company in the end, I +think."</p> + +<p>"I'll suggest it to Dempster when he comes in." Carter relaxed into +chuckles then. "I've got a word to say to him about the present Dempster +car, too. Spring Valley is duly impressed by the shining thing, which +was my object in having it sent on, and I've gladly spent a hundred +dollars or so on coats and bonnets and veils for Mrs. Carter and +Christine, but, lord, Baird, every damned thing that could go wrong with +an engine and four wheels has happened to that thing! I meant to run it +myself and take a little quiet joy in doctoring its ills, but no, thank +you! I'm done! I've advertised for a first-class chauffeur who'll take +charge of it and swear to all the neighbors that the beast is an angel. +It probably will sell Dempster cars, but I'll own to you that I'm sorry +for the man who buys one."</p> + +<p>"They're no good," Baird agreed, "but no make on the market is +satisfactory, for that matter. We've simply got to get out a better +machine." Then he laughed. "Garvin Westmore is having his trials, too, +and keeping quiet about it. Every man will keep as quiet as possible +about his engine troubles, keep a debit and credit sheet—debit, temper +and money—credit, the envy of his neighbors and the possession of a +high-priced convenience. And the credit sheet will win out every time. +The craze is on and will go the lengths—until we begin to travel the +air."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you'll be advocating a flying-machine annex to the factory +next," Carter said.</p> + +<p>Baird did not say that he had given a great deal of thought to aerial +navigation. He bid Carter a laughing good-by and took the first train to +the Ridge.</p> + +<p>He settled quickly into the gravity that had held him ever since he had +parted from Judith.... Judith would enjoy Europe. She had never been to +Europe; neither had he.... And when they returned they would have to go +west to live; he would have to be near the factory. He thought, with +something of a glow, that Judith would be a queen anywhere, beautiful +and capable—and a passionately loving woman—her kiss had told him +that.</p> + +<p>He pondered Judith a little. She was no longer a mystery to him; just a +splendid sort of woman who had plenty of will, will enough to have +devoted herself to Westmore through the hard years, but, throughout, a +woman desirous of love. He had wanted to discover her, and it had led to +this. He couldn't ask for a better helpmate than Judith; she was a deal +too fine for him, in fact; he would have to live up to Westmore +ideals.... There was a lot of planning to do for the future.... It was +almost four o'clock—he would fill in the time till evening, then go to +Judith.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h2> + +<h3>IMPRESSIONS</h3> + + +<p>So Baird had decided when he alighted from the train and went down into +the village for his horse which he always left at one of the village +stables while he was in the city. He stopped at the little +store-post-office for his mail, then rode up the Post-Road, across the +railroad track and past the station. A short distance away he noticed a +shining new buggy drawn close to the edge of the road, and his next +glance told him that the girl in the buggy was Ann Penniman. He had not +recognized her at first, in her red coat and big white hat; he had not +immediately connected her with the new buggy and capable horse, either.</p> + +<p>Baird was in a mood to be regretful for past misdemeanors; never in his +life had he felt so solemnly retrospective for so many consecutive +hours. He rode directly up to Ann, undeterred by the way in which she +looked through him, much as Judith had looked through her on the day +before.</p> + +<p>Baird brought his horse to a stop beside her. "How do you do?" he said +gravely.</p> + +<p>Ann's beautiful brows lifted. "I am well, thank you." Baird could not +have imagined a more icy greeting.</p> + +<p>"Will you endure my presence long enough for me to say something?" he +asked with unabated gravity.</p> + +<p>"Why—certainly—" Ann's brows were still raised.</p> + +<p>"I want to apologize humbly, for the way in which I repaid your kindness +the other day. I behaved abominably."</p> + +<p>Ann paused an instant for a choice of words. "I reckon I was +too—pleasant to a stranger—an' you behaved the way that's natural to +you. I haven't thought much about it, so it doesn't matter at all."</p> + +<p>"I guess you're right about my being an ill-mannered brute—it's about +time I reformed," Baird returned with perfect sincerity. "I'm very sorry +I did what I did.... You see, Miss Ann, you're very sweet and pretty, +the prettiest girl I've ever seen, I think, and I clean forgot +myself—was just abominably natural, as you say."</p> + +<p>Baird would not have been Baird had he not added this codicil to his +apology and signed it by the look he gave Ann, an appreciative study of +the water-lily hat and the flower-like face it framed. Her red coat +became her wonderfully, made her clear skin still more white, +intensified the gray in her hazel eyes, deepened the black in her hair. +She was a study in contrasts, and really very beautiful. And it struck +Baird that she looked much more mature. There were shadows beneath her +eyes, and her mouth looked firmer, like that of a girl grown rather +suddenly into womanhood.</p> + +<p>Ann increased the impression by the way in which she disposed of his +speech. She shrugged slightly, shelving both his apology and his +admiration with utter indifference. "I am waiting for my father—I +reckon he must have missed the last train. Do you know what time it is?"</p> + +<p>Baird looked at his watch. "The next train will be along in ten +minutes."</p> + +<p>"As soon as that? I'm glad.... I don't like to go any nearer the +station, for we don't know yet whether this horse is train-broke."</p> + +<p>Baird repeated his stock phrase. "You ought to have an automobile—it +wouldn't take fright."</p> + +<p>Ann smiled involuntarily at the thought of a Penniman's investing in an +automobile, and also at Baird's business alertness; she had heard much +of Baird from Garvin. "You ought to talk to father," she said. When she +smiled she looked more like the mischievous child Baird had seen playing +in the barn; her eyelids drooped and the corners of her mouth lifted.</p> + +<p>"I will," Baird returned promptly. "I'll wait here and meet him, if you +don't mind."</p> + +<p>Ann decided to offer no objection. She had brought it on herself, but +she felt quite capable of enduring his presence with equanimity. And if +her father treated him with scant courtesy, so much the better. She +settled back in the buggy, and Baird also chose a more negligent +attitude. He sat sidewise and surveyed Ann.</p> + +<p>She was certainly worth looking at as she sat there, relaxed and with +eyes down, an air of self-absorption that was tantalizing. Apparently, +she was quite indifferent whether there was any conversation or not.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen Garvin Westmore driving his new machine?" he asked at +random.</p> + +<p>"No," Ann answered, without raising her eyes. She was thinking of Garvin +and the night before; she had thought of little else all day.</p> + +<p>Baird noted her manner, and launched into an account of Garvin's trial +trip down the Post-Road. He exaggerated the dangers they encountered, +and Ann woke to new interest, even to terror, when he assured her that +it was all a man's life was worth to drive a car over some of the Ridge +roads.</p> + +<p>"An' Garvin's so reckless—about drivin'," she said, wide-eyed, and +added severely, "You ought to tell him to be careful—you sold him the +horrid thing."</p> + +<p>"He'd pay more attention if you told him, don't you think?" Baird +suggested tentatively.</p> + +<p>Ann flushed deeply enough, but not so deeply as she did a moment later, +when she saw Edward Westmore within a few yards of them. He was riding +up from the village, and neither of them had noticed until he was almost +upon them, for the soft dirt road had dulled sound. He had seen them as +soon as he had crossed the railroad track; looked at them closely and +observantly as he came on.</p> + +<p>The change in Ann was instantaneous. She grew crimson and sat up +abruptly, her whole aspect, for the brief moment until Edward smiled, +uncertain and appealing. Then, as if she had won pardon for some fault, +the smile that vivified her was sweeter than the May sunshine. Baird +thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, with her lips a +little apart, her eyes shining. No wonder Edward looked at her as if he +were absorbing her. Baird felt a sudden envy of Edward; no girl had ever +looked at him like that!... But there were not many girls who could look +like Ann.</p> + +<p>Baird also had straightened, for the look Edward had given him was +somewhat coolly level; Baird felt that Edward's smile was entirely for +Ann. But it was to him Edward spoke: "Just out from town, Baird?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm waiting now to talk Dempsters to Mr. Penniman—Miss Ann thinks +I can sell him one." Baird did not know why he explained his presence so +promptly; perhaps because Edward's manner made him uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"I thought I would like to see you try," Ann said with an indifference +that had nothing to do with the way in which she was looking at Edward. +"I'm waiting for father to come on the next train," she explained, and +told Edward about the horse. "Ben Brokaw says he's afraid Billy's a +runaway horse."</p> + +<p>"You ought not to be driving him, then," Edward said with concern.</p> + +<p>It struck Baird that Edward's entire manner was anxious and concerned. +That he had looked keenly and anxiously at Ann as he had approached. He +had been brief enough over their business transaction that morning, as +if he had far more important matters on his mind.</p> + +<p>"I reckon I shouldn't," Ann agreed. "I'll see how he behaves when the +train comes."</p> + +<p>"That's reckless. I wish you wouldn't do such things."</p> + +<p>Baird was surprised at the intimacy the remark implied. Were both +brothers in love with her? If one judged from appearances, Ann favored +Edward.... Or was she simply a born coquette? She was certainly enough +to turn any man's head, and an infatuation on Garvin's part was natural, +he was that sort; but Edward Westmore?</p> + +<p>"I won't any more," Ann promised with pretty submission.</p> + +<p>Though he looked at Ann, Edward's next speech was directed to Baird. "I +was at the club about an hour ago—I went by the Back Road and left some +papers for you, Baird. You can look them over and bring them to Westmore +this evening—that is if you thought of coming over."</p> + +<p>It was a reminder of Judith, though Baird knew Edward did not intend it +as such; that would be too unlike him. "Yes, I am coming after dinner," +Baird said gravely.</p> + +<p>Ann knew just what Edward intended; she saw it in his eyes—that he had +left a book for her—and she answered his look.</p> + +<p>"There is the train," Edward said warningly. "Be careful, Ann." He +brought his horse closer to her. "Keep your eye on the horse, Baird."</p> + +<p>Ann sat taut, reins well held, and her eyes watchful. The train had +whistled at the junction, and the next moment it roared along below +them, making the usual racket as it slowed up, and it was quite plain +that Ann's horse was not trustworthy. He quivered, backed and plunged +and showed all the signs of fright.</p> + +<p>"Don't touch him!" Ann said resolutely. "I can manage him." And to the +horse, "You idiot, you! Sho, now, Billy—quiet, suh—quiet—"</p> + +<p>She handled him well, and without a particle of nervousness, though for +a few moments it seemed likely that the buggy would be overturned; the +animal backed perilously near the edge of the road. Edward kept near +enough to draw Ann from danger if that should happen, and Baird watched +for the runaway that was certain to follow if the buggy overturned. They +were tense moments—until the train snorted its onward way around the +curve and the horse gradually quieted.</p> + +<p>"All right, now," Baird said, "but the brute's not safe, Miss Ann—he's +particularly stupid."</p> + +<p>Ann looked at Edward, her eyes blazing. "He needed the whip! I'd have +given it to him—<i>hard</i>—but I was afraid I'd frighten you." Baird +thought she looked rather like Garvin with that flame in her eyes; both +her cool handling of the horse and her lift into excitement surprised +him; it altered his opinion of Ann Penniman somewhat.</p> + +<p>Edward was a little gray about the lips. "Ann, promise me you will never +drive that horse again."</p> + +<p>"I'm not afraid of him!"</p> + +<p>"Promise me," Edward repeated.</p> + +<p>Ann drew a long breath, then smiled. "Yes, I promise. I promised +before."</p> + +<p>Edward gave her a long look, and her eyes dropped under it. He looked +then at Baird, who had been silently observant. "Perhaps you'll watch +over this reckless young person until Mr. Penniman comes," he said more +lightly. "Having scolded, I'll depart.... Good-by, Ann." But there was +nothing chiding in the parting look he gave her, Baird noticed.</p> + +<p>There was good reason for his somewhat hasty departure, for the man who +had just separated from the group on the station platform was Coats +Penniman. When he started toward them, Edward had ridden on. As he +approached, Coats eyed Baird quite as gravely and observantly as Edward +had done. He had a stern face, heavy black brows that lowered easily +over blue-gray eyes.</p> + +<p>Baird gave him look for look, coolly, returning his nod in like fashion, +and Coats transferred his attention to Ann. "Well, Ann?"</p> + +<p>"I stopped up here on account of the horse," Ann explained. "He was ugly +when the train came—if I'd been nearer, I reckon he'd have run +away.... This is Mr. Baird, father—he wanted to meet you—he wants to +sell you an automobile." Ann was very certain that her father would +promptly dispose of Baird. He knew who Baird was, the whole Ridge knew +Baird now—an enterprising young fellow who had been put forward by the +Westmores.</p> + +<p>Both to her surprise and Baird's, Coats offered his hand. "I'm glad to +meet you. I've heard about you—you're a western man, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Chicago.... Some one was telling me you'd lived out there—long enough +to be interested in automobiles, I hope." Baird had rather a taking +smile, particularly when it was whimsical.</p> + +<p>To Ann's greater surprise, Coats said, "I have been thinking of getting +one—if for no other reason than to get some decent roads about here. +From what I know of your Dempsters they can be guaranteed to furnish an +accident or two that would stir up our county supervisors. The roads +they give us are an outrage."</p> + +<p>Coats' face softened pleasantly under amusement, and Baird laughed. +"Tell me who they are, and I'll go for them—sell each one of them a +machine. That's a revenge that ought to satisfy you."</p> + +<p>"All right—if you want to ride on with us, I'll tell you. I'm partial +to automobiles anyway—even a Dempster's more satisfactory than a brute +like this.... Ann, you knew he wasn't safe—why didn't you bring +Jinny?"</p> + +<p>"Jinny went lame this morning, an' the other horses were working."</p> + +<p>Coats frowned. "There's always something wrong with them. The horse is +certainly an obsolete way of getting about—I'll be glad when he becomes +merely a pet."</p> + +<p>Baird agreed with him. He liked to win a man, particularly an +intelligent, unassuming man like Coats Penniman. He set himself to do +so, and found that Coats, for some unexplainable reason, was willing to +be friendly. They found plenty to talk about, even for the length of +four miles up the Post-Road, and, when Coats chose the longer way round, +by the front road, Baird kept on with them, as far as the club house. He +had decided that he liked Coats Penniman, and that it was pleasant +riding in this slow way through the leafy scents of May, particularly +with anything as lovely to look at as Ann.</p> + +<p>Ann had been sufficiently surprised to pay attention to the conversation +for a time, to notice that Baird was not at all handsome, not like +Garvin or Edward, but broad-shouldered and strong-featured. His eyes +were too cold a gray, his nose too aquiline, his cheek-bones too high, +and his upper lip too long. And he had entirely too much jaw. Yet, for +some reason, he was attractive, at any rate while he talked; his voice +was deep but not at all harsh.</p> + +<p>So Ann decided, then looked off over the country and thought of the one +overwhelming thing, the night before—and of Edward. The Post-Road was +shut in by trees in some places, but there were long stretches where the +country sloped away on either side, pastures vivid with spring green, +alternating with reddish brown plowed fields and orchards that already +showed patches of color, cherry and peach bloom. The green of the woods +seemed to darken even while she watched, they were growing so rapidly +into full leaf. In a few days the woods would be sprayed with white, a +riot of dogwood. And the wood-honeysuckle was coming into pink bloom +everywhere; and millions of violets and wild pansies. The grass in the +groves was thick with forget-me-nots, and the creek hollows white and +yellow and pinky-green with blood-root, adder's-tongue and +Jack-in-the-pulpit.</p> + +<p>Every other spring she had roamed the country; this spring she had +forgotten the flowers. She knew where the wild pansies grew the largest +and most of them had the velvety upper petals that proclaimed them +pansies and not violets; and where the rare white violets were to be +found. As they crossed the bridge where, some twenty feet below, the +creek that skirted the Mine Banks tumbled over big rocks, Ann remembered +in a vague way, as one thinks of something years past, that she used to +find white violets in the soft spaces between the rocks. She thought +much more vividly of how dangerous the bridge was, without any side +rails, simply a planking and that none too wide; a careless turn on a +dark night, and an automobile could easily be dashed to pieces below. +It would be dreadful if anything happened to Garvin.</p> + +<p>Every thought she had circled about him, and her momentous promise the +night before, a thing sealed and unalterable now.... She was going away +from all this, the green and the flowers, the fields and the woods. +Everything would be quite different—and she was different already—not +the same Ann at all.... She had been fearfully angry with Judith, and +terribly hurt because of Edward, quite beside herself, and all Garvin +had said to her had been so sweet, like balm laid on aching wounds—and +she had given her promise, forgotten everything and everybody but Garvin +and herself. She had even forgotten to tell Garvin that she was sure Ben +knew that they met, and how dangerous it was for them to go on +meeting.... And now it was plain that Edward had not meant to hurt her +at all ... and she would have to see him, and with a secret which she +must keep from everybody.... Suppose she told Edward that she was +engaged to his brother, and how it had come about?...</p> + +<p>Her father's invitation to Baird aroused her. They had come to the club +entrance and had stopped. "Come over some evening and see us," Coats +said, "and don't hesitate to ride through whenever you want—the key to +the gate is in a notch near the top of the right-hand post."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Baird returned heartily. "I'll be glad to come, and glad +to take the short cut sometimes, too." He swept off his cap to them, a +gleam of mischief in his eyes when he looked at Ann. Ann was flushed by +her thoughts, and she colored still more deeply because of his +meaningful glance.</p> + +<p>Coats had noted Baird's look and Ann's blush. He had been thinking +steadily of something quite unconnected with his conversation with +Baird. He waited a little before he asked, "That's an attractive young +fellow—had you met him before, Ann?"</p> + +<p>Ann was succinct. "I let him through the gate once, just before you came +home. I haven't talked with him since—till to-day."</p> + +<p>"Who was the other man who was with you when I got off the train?"</p> + +<p>"Edward Westmore—they both helped me with the horse," Ann answered with +a calmness she did not feel. If her father questioned further, she did +not know what she would do; every nerve in her was jumping, as they had +been all night and all day.</p> + +<p>But he did not. For a time they rode in an oppressive silence. Then +Coats said, "I rather like Mr. Baird. He's the sort who's apt to judge +men and women more by what they are than by what their great +grandparents were. He comes from a part of the country that's not so +hidebound by caste as this country. And he's sure to go back to it. He +can come to my house whenever he likes—I approve <i>his</i> kind."</p> + +<p>Ann said nothing.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>XXIII</h2> + +<h3>CHAOTIC UNCERTAINTY</h3> + + +<p>When Baird started for Westmore that evening the full moon had already +turned the world white.</p> + +<p>He had dined with laughter and talk about him, for usually the club was +gay on Saturday night. The hunting season was over, but some of the +summer residents of the Ridge had come out to their homes and others +were out from the city for the afternoon, for dinner parties at the club +and a ride back through the moonlight.</p> + +<p>Baird had left Garvin Westmore at the club and with the signs of an +afternoon of indulgence upon him. Baird had discovered that liquor made +Garvin cool and silent, a surface restraint that was deceptive. It was +his eyes that betrayed him when he was farther gone than usual, +sometimes burning and restless, again profoundly melancholy. Baird had +not thought of that explanation for the man's peculiarities.</p> + +<p>Though he had not shown it to Garvin, Baird was thoroughly annoyed. The +man must often have been under the influence of liquor when he had not +suspected it; he was evidently the sort that drank secretly. Baird +doubted whether any one knew that Garvin drank so much; his family were +probably in the dark, worried over his moodiness and anxious about him, +but unsuspicious of the real cause. Baird wished that he had known this +before his firm had placed the man in a responsible position. Had he +known, not even his devotion to Judith and his very lively desire to +forward his own interests would have led him to recommend Garvin.</p> + +<p>Garvin had thanked him with all the Westmore grace for the position +Baird had secured for him, then added restlessly, "A month! I wish I +could get out of this to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>Baird reflected, as he rode through the moonlight, that the thing was +done now and couldn't be helped. It was simply up to Garvin: if he did +not make good, he would be ousted, that was all. But it was too bad. The +man must be mad to celebrate his good luck by a debauch, for that was +evidently what it was. Baird was no teetotaler, the consumption of a +certain amount of liquor seemed to be necessary for the transaction of +business, but he held, with the rest of his kind, that the man who +sought to drown his troubles in drink, or celebrate his joys by getting +full was a fool, and that the secret debauchee was something decidedly +worse.</p> + +<p>He was going to Westmore by the Back Road and the Mine Banks, and, as he +looked up at Crest Cave, he remembered what Garvin had said: "Lord! +I've slept off many a drunk up there." Baird had never solved the +mysteries of that queer night he had spent at Westmore—that they were +some set of circumstances connected with Garvin was the only explanation +he had been able to make to himself. He felt certain of it now; a man +with Garvin's weakness was capable of any sort of madness. He was glad +Judith was the sane wholesome woman she was.</p> + +<p>Baird also remembered what a man at the club had told him of Garvin's +father: "The old colonel was a fine sort, hot-tempered and proud as the +deuce, but a gallant sort, just the same—until the war broke him. Then +came the hard times, beastly hard times for everybody, and the colonel +went under—began to soak and went on soaking to the end." Edward and +Judith had come before that time, but Garvin had not.</p> + +<p>"I suppose the poor devil can't help it," Baird thought, and shrugged +away his annoyance. Besides, he was going to become one of the clan; it +was his duty to do all he could for Garvin.</p> + +<p>In that soberly responsible frame of mind Baird rode up to Westmore, and +the long imposing structure that for nearly two centuries had housed +Judith's ancestors impressed him somberly. Perhaps it was as well, on +the whole, not to have any known ancestors; it must be rather eery to +recognize your great-grandfather cropping up in yourself—damned +uncomfortable sometimes ... Well, Judith had certified ancestors enough +to supply their family with credentials and with ghosts. Their +children...</p> + +<p>Baird's thoughts had progressed to this point and beyond when he reached +Westmore. In the last twenty-four hours he had considered every possible +responsibility connected with matrimony and had thought very little +about the thing that turns the world golden, that transcends even the +transports of passion, hallows heaven and earth. But he had not realized +that. Marriage was a serious thing; it had always impressed him as an +almost terrifyingly serious thing.</p> + +<p>The door was opened to him by Hetty, the big negress. "Can I see Miss +Judith?" Baird asked, preparing to step in.</p> + +<p>"Miss Judith ain't here, Mr. Baird—she's done gone fo' a visit."</p> + +<p>"Not here?" Baird said blankly.</p> + +<p>"No, suh—she went this evenin' fo' over Sunday—to Fair Field. They's a +party holdin' at the club—she's gone fo' hit."</p> + +<p>Baird managed to say, casually, "Very well—just tell her, when she +comes back, that I called."</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh."</p> + +<p>Baird rode down the Westmore Road even more slowly than he had come up. +His first feeling was a hot sense of rebuff—until he began to ask +himself why Judith had run away from him?... But she had not run away +from him; she had not gone until that evening?... There had been the +afternoon during which she might reasonably expect him to come—and the +morning that might have brought her a letter from him.</p> + +<p>It came over Baird then, with a warm flush, a shock of surprise at +himself, that he had been a pretty sort of lover! He had ridden away +after that kiss of love she had given him, when even a stupid man would +have found an excuse for staying; he had written no impassioned note +that Sam must deliver at daybreak; he had dallied through the afternoon, +and had ridden composedly up to Westmore with the whole future mapped +out in his mind ... Good lord!... And he was a passionate man, +too—ordinarily!</p> + +<p>Baird was so intensely surprised at himself that, for a time, he could +consider nothing but his own conduct. He had never been more in earnest +in his life, never more decided upon a course of action. Why, he had +settled everything, even to the details of a trip abroad with Judith and +the sort of house he would have money enough to run when they came back, +and yet he had left undone the first and most natural things a man would +do!</p> + +<p>Baird was emotionally headlong, he knew that well, easily aroused and +always hot in pursuit. What in heaven's name had been the matter with +him these last twenty-four hours? His own case bewildered him more than +anything he had ever come across. He set his brain to work upon himself, +and finally evolved an explanation, which, as is usual when a man seeks +to elucidate his own emotional shortcomings, threw the onus upon the +woman: Judith's premature offering of herself had made him too sure of +her. She had deliberately attracted him, and that was all right, that +was what men and women were placed in the world for, to be mutually +attracted and to come together. And his pursuit of her was all right, +too, particularly right because it had never entered his head to trifle +with her—he had respected and admired her too much for that. It was a +tribute to the sort of hold she had laid upon him during those weeks of +pursuit, that the instant he knew she loved him he had considered +marriage and had decided upon it as completely as he had ever decided +upon any important thing. The thoughts he had of Judith had been, +throughout, the decentest and the honestest thoughts he had ever had.</p> + +<p>Then he went on to own to himself that a certain eagerness had departed +from him after that kiss of hers. In that one respect it had been a +little like some other experiences, when he had pursued determinedly, +captured rather easily, then had lost zest.... But he had wanted to +marry Judith—that was the unexplainable thing.... Was it simply that, +on the whole, she had been such a new experience that he had quite +naturally considered marriage, which, Lord knows, was a new and strange +enough thing for him to consider?</p> + +<p>At this point, Baird asked himself point-blank, "Do you love Judith, or +don't you?" And he answered himself honestly, for he felt somewhat +desperately in need of honesty. "Yes, I love her, or I wouldn't be +thinking of marrying her—I've never wanted to marry any other woman +I've known."</p> + +<p>Baird considered for a longer space, and then summed up thus: "From the +very first Judith appealed to the best in me—she's appealed more to the +mental than the physical side of me. That's why, instead of plunging +along in a fever these last twenty-four hours, I've been planning for a +contented future. And if respect and admiration and the certainty that a +woman will make you a splendid, wife, plus a reasonable degree of +passion, aren't good reasons for thinking of marriage, then I've learned +nothing from watching men who have been infatuated with their wives in +much the same fashion that a man is infatuated with his mistress; the +result is usually ructions. I love Judith in sensible marrying fashion, +but I confess I ought to feel more joyous over it."</p> + +<p>Unless a man is permeated by the golden thing of which, as yet, Baird +had little conception, he is apt to settle his own case first and the +woman's last. He turned finally to a consideration of Judith. Baird was +not any more conceited than the average man, but the certainty that +Judith loved him about as completely as a woman could love a man was his +unalterable conviction. He might live to be eighty, live to doubt most +things, but of that he was certain. And it had not been a sudden thing +with her; it was a culmination, a steady growing up to an involuntary +offering. She desired him and wished to marry him, and not after the +deliberate fashion in which he had been considering their union. Judith +loved him intensely, and had sought to attract him as many honest women +before her had sought to capture the men they wished to marry. She had +waited through the day, then had gone because she must do something to +save her pride. She knew that, if the spark was in him at all, he would +follow.</p> + +<p>He knew now just how it was with him, and he knew how it was with her. +He wasn't in the least elated, yet he was pretty thoroughly committed.</p> + +<p>What did he intend to do?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>XXIV</h2> + +<h3>A DEFINITION OF LOVE</h3> + + +<p>Baird was still pondering his situation when, half an hour later, he let +himself through the Penniman gate. The collie must have been abroad in +the moonlight seeking adventure, for Baird was not disturbed by any +hostile demonstrations; the Penniman barn and house might have been +abandoned property, they were so silent under the moon; there was no +lighted window, no stir of any kind—until he neared the front +porch—then some woman dressed in white rose from a chair, evidently +startled.</p> + +<p>Even in the bright moonlight, Baird could not tell whether it was Ann +Penniman or not, he was not near enough, but he was quick to reassure +whoever it was: "It's Nickolas Baird; Mr. Penniman gave me permission to +come through."</p> + +<p>It was Ann's relieved voice that answered. "Oh—is it?... I thought it +was some one else," and she sat down again. Ann had the porch to herself +that evening, for Sue and Coats had gone to a neighbor's, and, perhaps +because she had been thinking absorbedly of Garvin, she had been +startled into wondering if the rider could be he.</p> + +<p>Baird had let his horse bring him by the shortest way, for he had had +about enough of his thoughts, and was tired of the saddle. When seated +in his room, in business fashion, he would decide just what course to +take. It occurred to him now that he would think the better for a +respite. Looking at Ann would be a relief, like laying down a treatise +and taking up a novel.</p> + +<p>He had come nearer. "Sitting all alone, Miss Ann?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Father and Aunt Sue have gone to make a visit."</p> + +<p>Baird dismounted and came to her. "Just sitting and thinking? I've been +riding and thinking, and I'm tired of it. May I stop for a while?"</p> + +<p>"If you like," Ann said indifferently. "I reckon father'll come along +before long—they only went to a neighbor's." Then, because her father +had decreed that Baird should be treated hospitably, she added, "Won't +you wait for him?"</p> + +<p>"A few minutes." Baird seated himself on the top step, at Ann's feet. +"What a night!"</p> + +<p>"The chair'd be more comfortable," Ann suggested politely.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather sit here, thank you.... May I have the cushion, though?"</p> + +<p>He took it from the chair, and sat back against the pillar of the porch, +his legs stretched comfortably. He could see Ann's face quite distinctly +now, all except her eyes,—they were shadowed pools in a white setting; +she was black and white, more marked contrasts than in daylight, though +not so clearly outlined.</p> + +<p>"I've just been to Westmore," Baird said, "and when we struck the County +Road that horse of mine turned this way, instead of going on by the Mine +Banks. I was thinking too hard to notice until he'd gone some distance, +so I let him have his way. They're cute beasts—when they're headed for +their stables they're as good as a man at calculating distance."</p> + +<p>"Did you get him here?" Ann asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I bought him off Garvin Westmore."</p> + +<p>"Almost every horse about here would choose this way through to the +Post-Road because they're used to it. One reason the Mine Banks Road is +so dreadful is because everybody used to come this shorter way. I used +to count the horses that came through in a day—when I was little."</p> + +<p>"You've always lived here, then, Miss Ann?"</p> + +<p>"Always.... I reckon I'd be lonely for it—if I went away," she added +soberly.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't be going far away, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—"</p> + +<p>There was something in her manner that recalled fleeting conjectures +Baird had had since seeing her with Edward that afternoon. Judith had +said, "I realize that Edward will probably marry—" It would be odd if +Edward was really thinking seriously of Ann—a Penniman and all the rest +of it. There'd be a stir on the Ridge, and a perfect storm in the clan. +Silly, caste-bound idiots! Ann was exquisite enough for any sphere. She +had been superb while she handled that horse—plenty of spirit and go. +And if Edward loved her, he'd marry her, in spite of them all; Edward +was a pretty fine sort.... But how about Garvin?... Some one had talked +love to Ann, it showed in her face and in her voice—that was what made +her seem so changed. Was it Edward or Garvin?... She certainly had +drawing power, the thing that's entirely aside from physical beauty; +ugly women often had it.</p> + +<p>Baird turned from his thoughts. "This is a different sort of place from +where I grew up—just about as different as you can imagine," and he +slipped into reminiscences of Chicago and of his father, and, when Ann +showed her interest, he endeavored to elucidate the intricacies of ward +politics.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Ann that he had grown up with plenty of wickedness about +him, drinking and stealing and such things; among men who cared nothing +about any one or anything, only to make money. It was a wonder that he +was as nice as he was, and he must be nice, in spite of the way he had +once behaved to her, or Edward and Garvin would not be so devoted to +him. Ann was certain that Judith Westmore could be cruel, very beautiful +and charming, but cruelly proud. Baird was evidently courting her, and +she was probably not very nice to him. He certainly did not seem as +light-hearted as he once did. And neither was she—she was feeling +heavy-hearted enough.</p> + +<p>Ann was always quick with sympathy. She had been poignantly reminiscent +all day, and she, in her turn, told Baird a little about her own +childhood, speaking so softly that her slurred syllables were music. She +told him nothing intimate, yet it was a revelation of loneliness; the +fields and the woods and Ben had been her companions. Baird was +impressed, as Edward had been, by a child life lived apart from its +family.</p> + +<p>"You hadn't a mother, then, Ann?" Baird had responded to the change in +her manner; he forgot to say, "Miss Ann."</p> + +<p>"My mother died when I was born," Ann said with a quiver of feeling. "I +reckon if I'd had her, everything would have been all different."</p> + +<p>Ann had grown up with the longing for a father, but since the night +before she had wanted her mother, wanted her intensely. That afternoon, +on their return from the village, she had gone down to the woods. There +had been a letter for her in the chestnut tree, an impassioned letter. +Garvin wrote of the night before, of her promise to go with him. "<i>You +are mine now, every bit of you</i>—there can be no going back for either +of us." And he had also said, "Some one has been spying on us, Ann. I +found that out last night. We can't meet as we have. I'll write to you +every day, but we mustn't even be seen speaking to each other, for the +present. But don't let that worry you, dear—if we are careful, there is +no danger of any one's knowing how much we are to each other. And it +will only be for a short time—I have the agency at last—we will go in +June." Then he had painted a picture of their life together that to one +more experienced than Ann might have suggested some notable omissions. +Ann simply knew that the letter did not make her happy.... Then there +was also a book for her in the bushes, and on the fly leaf a line: +"Please wait for me to-morrow?" That had not made her happy, either.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it would have made a difference," Baird was saying +thoughtfully. "It would have made a difference to me, too—it makes a +difference to any child. I wasn't much better off than you—my mother +died when I was four years old."</p> + +<p>"You can't remember then even how she looked," Ann said with profound +fellow-feeling, "any more than I can remember my mother."</p> + +<p>She had slipped from her chair, seated herself on the step beside him, +and Baird could see her eyes now, wells of sympathy. So long as she +lived, Ann would do such things, offer sympathy by the suggestion of a +caress, just as she would always respond to the masculine call by an +illusive half-promise. Baird saw her sympathy and felt her nearness. She +was an utterly sweet thing; he would have liked to touch her; not in the +rough way in which he once had, just draw her close and kiss her +softly. He kept his rebellious hands clasped behind his head.</p> + +<p>"I can just remember her face—in the misty way I saw yours when you +were in the chair," he said steadily. "I can't remember where or when, +but I know it was my mother. She was black and white—like you." Baird +did not tell her that his mother had been a Jewess; that was a thing he +told no one, though he often shrugged in private over his parentage, a +Jewish mother and an Irish father! A truly modern American inheritance! +"And not such a bad one, either," he was in the habit of adding to +himself. "It produces good brains." Just now his brain was +retrospective, his feelings busied with Ann.</p> + +<p>"I suppose a mother is just as helpful to a boy as she is to a girl," he +continued, in the same reflective way. "I suppose, if I'd had my mother +to talk to, I'd know women better—all the nice side of them—the mother +side.... I suppose I'd know myself better.... Lord knows, I'd like some +one to tell me what the lasting thing is composed of—the thing one +wants to go through life with."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Ann was also reflecting vaguely on the same +subject, her hands clasped about her knees, her head thrown back, +looking up at the stars that appeared to move restlessly, as if palely +rebellious under the supremacy of the moon. A cricket beneath the steps +ventured upon the stillness, and, as if emboldened by its temerity, a +bird flitted by them to the clump of lilacs on the terrace and cut the +silence with injunctions to "Whip-poor-will!" Far off, somewhere in the +open, his mate agreed with him and reiterated his insistence. Then, just +below them, in the pasture, a bobwhite called repeatedly, seeking an +answer, which came presently, from the far distance, faint almost as a +whispered echo.</p> + +<p>"The night birds are making love," Baird said softly. "All nature's +stirring with it. Ann, what is love, anyway? The thing we humans ought +to have—the lasting thing, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking, too," Ann answered musingly. "Why—I suppose +it's ... I don't know just how to say it—"</p> + +<p>"Try, Ann—you're a woman, you ought to know."</p> + +<p>Ann pondered, eyes still lifted to the stars. "Why—I guess it's wanting +somebody for all your own—so badly you feel sure you can't live without +them ... an' at the same time bein' such good friends with them that you +care more about makin' them happy than being happy yourself."</p> + +<p>Baird sat up abruptly. "Say that again, will you!"</p> + +<p>Ann was startled into confusion. She looked wonderingly at his +earnestness. "I don't believe I know—just what I said."</p> + +<p>Baird repeated her definition alertly. "That was it, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>He sat a moment in thought. "That's about right," he said finally and +decidedly, "and here I've been asking myself all sorts of fool questions +for twenty-four solid hours."</p> + +<p>He got up, stood a moment looking down at her, laughing softly, +amusedly, and with an air of relief. "And you're not sure just what you +did say! It was a bit of wisdom that slipped out of your +subconsciousness.... Ann, you're a divinely dear thing! I'm grateful to +you for existing, and I'll come another evening and tell you so."</p> + +<p>Ann had recovered somewhat from surprise. This was a little more like +the impetuous young man who had displeased her because she had liked his +kiss. She shook hands with him distantly. "Father'll be here then, I +hope."</p> + +<p>Baird did not stop to parley. He rode off through the cedar avenue, +turned his horse over to Sam, and went directly to his room. He threw +aside his cap and, sitting down at his table, wrote to Judith.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>XXV</h2> + +<h3>BECAUSE SHE LOVED TOO MUCH</h3> + + +<p>It was Hetty who gave Baird's letter to Judith on Monday morning, as +soon as Judith returned from Fair Field. "Mr. Baird come in Saturday +evenin' an' he look mighty surprised when I tol' him you was gone," +Hetty said, "an' yestiddy mo'nin' Sam Jackson, he come from de club +fetchin' this letter.... Honey, you ain't lookin' right smart—weren't +de party no 'count?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the party was all right," Judith answered briefly. "I'm tired, +that's all."</p> + +<p>Hetty knew better, but what the trouble was she could not guess.</p> + +<p>Hetty had lived with the Westmores for fifty years. She was born in a +Westmore cabin and was a slave child when the war broke. On the morning +when the Westmore slaves had celebrated their emancipation by departing +from Westmore, Hetty had been left behind. She had clung to the family +throughout the hard years, the only house-servant Westmore possessed +until Edward's wife's money helped to resurrect the place. She had been +mammy to all the Westmore children, had "toted" both Edward and Judith +and had been sole mother to Sarah and Garvin, for Mrs. Westmore had +soon faded into God's half-acre, leaving Judith to become mistress of +Westmore; master of Westmore, in reality, for the colonel was no longer +master of anything, least of all of himself.</p> + +<p>Hetty had a dog's attachment to Westmore and the family, and for Judith, +not merely attachment, but worship. Judith wielded the whip sometimes, +her stinging, cutting tongue, and Hetty cowered under it, as on the +night when she had let Sarah escape to the Mine Banks. Hetty had known +that Sarah's change from gentleness to restlessness portended an +out-break and was confident in the strength of her own arms, they had +often restrained Sarah in the old days, but she had not had intelligence +enough to circumvent cunning. Just as now, when she sensed tension in +Edward, in Garvin, and in Judith, she was unable to determine the cause. +As soon as Judith returned, pale and bright-eyed and with lips hard set, +Hetty knew that she was in trouble of some sort. She could only wait +upon her dumbly, watch her in canine fashion.</p> + +<p>Judith did not read Baird's letter at once. She attended to her +household first. When she knew she could shut herself away without fear +of interruption, she opened it.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Dear Wonder-Woman," Baird wrote.</p> + +<p>"Though I feel that I have forfeited the joy of ever again +calling you so, that you will be quite right if you decree +never to see or speak to me again, I can't help thinking of +you just as I always have, as the most wonderful woman I have +ever known.</p> + +<p>"You are big-natured and kind enough to forgive me for the +other night? You are, aren't you? You know, don't you, that I +meant no disrespect when I forgot for a moment that you are too +fine, too far beyond me for me ever to touch? I've not been a +very good sort, Judith—I dropped for a moment into old ways. +If by my fault I have lost your friendship, I feel that I shall +lose the best thing that has ever come into my life. You have +kept me to decent ways—you have taught me reverence for much +that I used to consider loosely. That's why you are, and always +will be the Wonder-woman.</p> + +<p>"Will you forgive me and let me try in the future to be better +worthy of your friendship and your kindness? I want them both, +more than I have ever wanted anything.</p> + +<p>"Yours in sincere regret,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Nickolas Baird</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Judith had known that it would be a withdrawal of some sort.... She sat +for a long time with the letter in her lap, looking straight before her, +feeling rather than thinking. Then she got up abruptly, let the pages +fall, and went to the window, looking down on Westmore, at the terraces, +off over the country with its promise of plentiful harvest, then up at +the Westmore half-acre.... God's half-acre?... He had dealt hardly with +some who lay there, and He had dealt hardly with her.</p> + +<p>With the ache of irreparable loss torturing her, Judith went back in +bitter retrospect over the years. What chance had she had? She had given +her youth to Westmore; every nerve, every energy, every atom of her +brain and body strained, year in and year out, to the one purpose, the +conservation of the family. Her mother had slipped away and left the +burden to her. Her father had weighted the burden until it was +mountain-high, then had left her to carry it. Edward had flung aside +family allegiance and had gone; Sarah had worse than failed her, added +dread and a stigma to the burden; Garvin had remained, but more of an +anxiety than a help.... Edward had come back to allegiance, tried +through the last ten years to lighten her burden as much as possible, +and now had lifted it to his own shoulders, but that could not bring +back her youth or soften the callouses on her shoulders. They were +attached to the bone, by long galling become an irremovable part of her. +She was thirty-four; she had crossed the apex; she had started on the +downward way.... And that letter told her so.</p> + +<p>Cheeks white and eyes flaming, Judith stared at God's half-acre. What +chance had she had? What had <i>He</i> sent her in those twenty years of +struggle? She had worked faithfully, but what had <i>He</i> done to satisfy +the <i>woman</i> in her—the ache for <i>life</i>! A cousin had made love to her +and a nobody, a boy whose father had been overseer of slaves, had +ventured to tell her that he loved her, and both romances had had their +inception and their close back in the years when she was young enough +to be all appeal and no brain—the sort upon which Baird would expend +himself—some brainless pretty girl who would have no conception of the +possibilities that lay in the man who would be mad over her.</p> + +<p>Judith turned from the window, goaded into restless pacing by the +thought. Some girl who could smile like Ann Penniman! Just allure, +nothing more, but the thing that captures, nevertheless.... Baird had +come to her too late; not too late if she had been like some women, +experienced in the art of capture. Though cumbered by thirty-four years, +she was as inexperienced as any girl, and far more ineffective because +made awkward by pride and a consciousness of the overwhelming thing +which had grown and grown in her until it had led her to that moment in +his arms.</p> + +<p>Judith's tightly-gripped hands twisted when she thought of that sudden +offering. What woman who was not made a fool of by passion would have +made that mistake!... Or what woman possessed of an iota of strategic +ability would, after making one mistake, have made another, allowed her +pride to carry her away when her one hope lay in the elimination of +pride? Had she remained at Westmore, Baird would be hers now, and quite +unconscious that he had been a dilatory lover; and she had beauty and +charm enough to have kept him in ignorance. He would have married her in +ignorance and been happy, as thousands of other men had married and been +content, for she had a beautiful body and a clear understanding of both +his possibilities and his defects. And she loved him completely.</p> + +<p>But she had blundered stupidly, irremediably—loosened the hold she had +on him by one uncontrollable act, and, by another misstep, had given his +usually cool brain time to adjust itself and pen her that cruelly clever +letter.... It was damnably clever; it eliminated himself, and pointed +out to her the only role it would be possible for her to play.... She +had lost him, and through her own fault—because she loved him too much. +She wanted to scream; she had to hold herself with strong hands. If she +had Sarah's taint in her, she would go mad.</p> + +<p>It was the ache of desolation that finally brought Judith to her knees, +laid her quivering across her bed, crying like a child under the lash. +And it was pride and the tenacity that had held her to Westmore, a faint +hope of the future, that, later on, nerved her to write her answer:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Nickolas</span>:</p> + +<p>"Of course you are forgiven, for I have succeeded in forgiving +myself. At the risk of your thinking me immodest, I'll speak +plainly—the moon and the spring-time were a little too much +for us the other evening, and we behaved rather foolishly. I'm +some eight years older than you are, and I certainly should +have known better, so I take the blame—if there is any—upon +myself. Let us think of it as an incident, a bit of nature, or +a bit of sweetness, or quite a reprehensible proceeding, or in +any way that's proper to think of it, but certainly not as a +thing that can for a moment affect our sincere liking for each +other. I have enjoyed our friendship fully as much as you have, +and I certainly want it to continue. If, as you say, I have +helped you by stimulating that very good brain of yours, I am +happy.</p> + +<p>"Please be sure that you are always welcome at Westmore. We are +all of us fond of you, and I'm as eager as can be to have you +succeed. Edwin Carter was at Fair Field yesterday, and he spoke +enthusiastically of you. He talked quite a long time to me +about you and told me as a state secret that he was going to +urge Mr. Dempster to send you to Europe in the autumn—he said +they couldn't spare you till then. It will be splendid if they +do that—I hope they will.</p> + +<p>"Your affectionate friend,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Judith Westmore</span>."</p> + +<p>"Don't forget Priscilla Copeley's lawn party on Wednesday. +Elizabeth Dickenson and Christine Carter are coming out on the +three-thirty, they told me."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The letter reached Baird that evening and he read it eagerly, then sat +in thought over it for a time. It did not alter his conviction in the +least, though it did call forth his sincere admiration. "She's fine—a +thoroughbred! She knew just what note to strike!" Then his shrewdness +added, "But I'm not forgiven—not a bit more than she forgives herself, +and I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>Baird got up and walked about then, half reflective, half restless. He +had the evening on his hands; he couldn't go to Westmore until the next +night—he must go then—what was he going to do for the next three +moonlit hours—until he could go to bed?</p> + +<p>He got his horse, finally, and rode through the cedar avenue; if Ann was +about he would stop and talk with her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE ETERNAL ATTRACTION</h3> + + +<p>In the days, or rather, the evenings, that followed, Baird came and went +by the cedar avenue. Though as frequent a caller at Westmore as ever, he +appeared to have a penchant for the short cut, and curiously enough he +seemed also to prefer the longest way back to the club from the station, +around by the County Road and through the Penniman place.</p> + +<p>With the purpose of bringing Baird often to Westmore, and at the same +time bridging the awkward interval of adjustment, Judith had asked +Elizabeth Dickenson and Christine Carter for a fortnight's visit at +Westmore. Judith had given much thought to what must be her attitude to +Baird, a perfect friendliness and the best presentation of herself +always; while Baird, who possessed in full the masculine capacity to +forget an affair in which he had lost interest, had given the matter no +thought at all. It was a thing finished, comfortably adjusted, disposed +of. He liked Judith very much, occasionally he wondered how in the world +he had ever mistaken liking for anything else, for in comparing her with +Ann she appeared so unalluringly mature; he had simply been off his +head for a time, that was all.</p> + +<p>Baird was gallant to Judith without effort, and attentive to her guests, +and glad, on the whole, that he rarely saw Judith alone. He went about +to the Ridge gatherings with Judith and her guests, gave a dinner party +at the club for them, taking care always that he should not be detained +so late that he could not stop for a few minutes, at least, at the +Penniman house.</p> + +<p>He took a great deal of pains to secure that few moments with Ann, or an +hour or more, if he could manage it. It would seem that Coats and Sue +tacitly favored him, for simultaneously with his regular comings and +goings they forsook the front porch. They had many calls to return, +frequent evening drives to the village, and, when not actually off the +place, they were not in evidence. Ben was always there, but he never +obtruded.</p> + +<p>Though Ann appeared to be too self-absorbed to pay any particular +attention to him, Baird noticed that she looked annoyed when, not +finding any one on the porch, he had the assurance to knock at the +living-room entrance, forcing her to come down from her room. She always +told him with frozen politeness that her father and Aunt Sue were out, +and that he must keep quiet and not wake her grandfather. Baird knew +that, in the evenings, Ann was always somewhere about the place, for Sue +waited upon the old man during the day, and it had become Ann's duty to +watch over him in the evenings. He always went to bed early now, and +slept heavily; he had grown very deaf and feeble in the last few weeks.</p> + +<p>With his usual assurance, Baird would beg Ann to come out to the porch, +and often he stayed until late, using every art he knew to interest Ann. +He talked on many subjects, and Ann listened; sometimes Baird was +certain that she was not even listening.</p> + +<p>He did not know what to make of her. She was utterly unlike the girl +whom he had once roughly kissed; often so absent-minded that Baird vowed +to himself in rage that it would be the last time he would try to talk +to her. But there were the times when she aroused and was gravely +thoughtful, and best of all were her occasional lapses into sweetness. +Baird thought her irresistibly charming then, "divinely dear," as on the +night when she had unconsciously solved his doubts for him. And she was +so young; so utterly young that she made him feel vastly experienced.</p> + +<p>Half a dozen times during the fortnight Baird decided that he would stop +riding through the Penniman place, put temptation behind him, and as +many times lapsed into an unsatisfactory investigation of Ann. Nobody +knew what he was about; he'd like to make up his mind about Ann before +the Ridge began to gossip about his devotion. He wondered, +uncomfortably, what Judith would say if she knew how often he was at the +Pennimans'. What would Edward think?</p> + +<p>Judith already knew. The fortnight she had planned so carefully was not +yet over when, one day, Hetty remarked: "Sam Jackson, he was tellin' me +Mr. Baird is settin' up mos' every night with Ann Penniman. Sam says he +don't go nor come no other way but through de Penniman place. I reckon +Mr. Baird, he ain't been long enough on de Ridge to know jes' who is de +right famb'lys 'roun' here."</p> + +<p>Judith received the information in perfect silence, carried it about +with her for a hotly jealous day, before she imparted it to Edward. +Edward was the one person who could say an effective word to Baird.</p> + +<p>Judith chose an opportunity when they were alone. "Hetty tells me that +they are talking at the club about Mr. Baird's going so much to the +Pennimans'—he seems to be taken with Ann." Judith was purposely abrupt; +if Edward was startled, so much the better.</p> + +<p>He was startled, more moved than she thought he could be; he rarely +flushed, but the color grew in his face until he was crimson. "He might +spend his time to worse advantage," he returned icily.</p> + +<p>Judith's nerves were not under the best of control, for it had been a +wretched two weeks, every day of which had assured her of Baird's +complete withdrawal. A slight sneer crept into her even answer: "Ann is +hardly the girl for Nickolas Baird to marry—for any one who considered +social position to marry—is she?... Isn't it your duty to advise him a +little?"</p> + +<p>Edward changed from red to white. He rose from his chair and stood over +his sister, looked at her as Judith had not seen him look since the day +when he had defied her father and had left Westmore. "Ann would grace +any position—I intend to help her to do so," he said, and left the +room.</p> + +<p>Judith sat in petrified silence.... So Edward loved the girl.... She had +not suspected that.... A long vista opened before Judith Westmore: she +was reminded that Edward owned Westmore; that he could make Ann mistress +of Westmore if he chose; that his fortune was his to dispose of as he +liked. She and Garvin were dependents upon him, nothing more. The shock +of the thing stilled her. She was utterly helpless—she could do +nothing.</p> + +<p>By degrees, Baird also had come to the conclusion that Edward loved Ann +Penniman, and that she loved him to the extent of being completely +indifferent to every one else. From the way in which Baird sometimes +paced his room after an evening at the Pennimans', his conclusions +certainly disturbed him. Baird's powers of observation had been on the +alert; he guessed that Edward saw Ann frequently. Edward came to the +club almost every afternoon, dallied over a mint-julep, then went off +down the Back Road, and Baird had discovered that often it was a full +hour before he rode out of the woods again.</p> + +<p>If Garvin had been up to that sort of thing, Baird would not have +granted Ann much chance of happiness; but Edward was as straight a man +as he had ever known. If he was making love to Ann, it was intended +seriously. He couldn't come to her house; to meet her secretly was the +only thing he could do; it was what he himself would do under the same +circumstances.... And Edward had the right of way; he was in the field +first and, more than that, Edward was his friend. He, Baird, had no +right to be hanging about trying to interest Ann. What the devil was the +matter with him, anyway, that he was determined to get into such messes! +Here, he had just failed Judith, and now he was urged to get in Edward's +way.... It would be wild folly for him to fall in love with Ann.</p> + +<p>For four restless nights Baird kept away from Ann. He was too upset to +go anywhere. Judith's guests had gone and he could not bring himself to +go to Westmore; he did not want to see either Judith or Edward. The last +night of the four Baird spent in the city, and came back the next day +swearing to himself that he'd not do <i>that</i> again—he'd rather sit in +his room and do nothing. Then, quite suddenly, he reached a +characteristic decision; it did not take him long to get into the saddle +and to the Penniman house.</p> + +<p>Coats and Sue were not there, but neither was Ann, though Baird knocked +an unreasonable time at the living-room door. He walked around the house +then, and was rewarded by meeting Ann, who was hurrying up the +spring-house path, breathless, as from a run.</p> + +<p>To accomplish the momentous thing that had been weighing upon her, Ann +had risked leaving her grandfather alone for a short time. During the +last two weeks it had made little difference to Ann whether she sat on +the porch listening to Baird, or lay on her bed thinking of the thing +that loomed large before her. It had grown out of her two weeks of +companionship with Edward. No matter what the hurt to Garvin, she must +tell him the truth.</p> + +<p>She had written her confession that day, spent hours and much paper over +the short letter, and as soon as her father and Sue were safely away she +had taken it to the woods. She was back now; the thing was done; she was +panting as much from nervousness as from haste.</p> + +<p>The sight of a man looming dimly in the path startled her and she +stopped. She felt ill enough to be frightened by everything; a moment +before a bird had fluttered in the grapevines and her heart had stood +still.</p> + +<p>"It's only I—don't be frightened," Baird's voice said.</p> + +<p>Ann came on without answer.</p> + +<p>"You've been running—where have you been?" Baird questioned. He felt +jealously certain that Ann had been to the woods—to see Edward, of +course.</p> + +<p>Ann did not answer his question. "Were you at the house? Was grandpa all +right?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I think so—everything was quiet.... Why don't you wait a minute and +get your breath?... I want to ask you something, anyway, Ann?"</p> + +<p>Ann did pause. "Well?" she asked indifferently.</p> + +<p>Baird looked at her in silence for a moment. Even in the dim light he +could see that she was white and tired. If she was in love with Edward, +it did not seem to make her joyful. She had never looked really happy +since the day he had seen her playing in the barn. He asked his question +abruptly, "Ann, are you engaged to anybody?"</p> + +<p>Ann simply stared at him.</p> + +<p>Baird's face had grown hot. "Are you in love with any one, Ann?... I'd +rather you told me frankly.... If you are, I'll stop coming around and +bothering you. If you're not, I'm going to make you like me."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Then Ann said, "I'd rather you stayed away."</p> + +<p>"You're sure of that, Ann?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Baird stood in uncertainty for a moment; it was hard for him to hold to +his decision. He was carrying his riding-whip, and he slashed viciously +at the Bouncing-Betsies that edged the path, his teeth set.</p> + +<p>Then he straightened. "Well—I guess there's nothing I can do—so I'll +be off."</p> + +<p>They went up to the house in silence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>XXVII</h2> + +<h3>THE THING</h3> + + +<p>Garvin Westmore sat at the mouth of Crest Cave, his eyes fixed on the +Back Road and on the stretch of woods below the Penniman house. He had +sat for the greater part of the day almost motionless and steadily +watching—watching every one who came and went by the Back Road, who +entered or left the woods.</p> + +<p>Beside him, emptied to the last drop, was the bottle, his comforter +during the last two weeks of brooding suspense, and near it lay Ann's +letter, the confession she had carried to the woods the night before. +Garvin had feared the Thing in himself that stirred so frequently now, +and that dropped back into quietude only when he drugged it. Therefore +he had drunk persistently and deeply during the last two weeks, spent +whole days when he was supposed to be in the city, lying on the carpet +of pine-needles, feeling that, though he had to drug the Thing heavily, +he was still himself, <i>unpossessed</i>, thinking quite clearly and coolly, +as he was thinking now.</p> + +<p>Once, when he was a boy, the Thing had suddenly come to life in him, +swept him aside for mad hours that neither his family nor he had ever +forgotten. Then for long years he had been as free of it as if it had +never revealed itself. When he had changed from a boy to a man, it had +stirred in him, and they called it "melancholia." It was the same Thing +that had shut Sarah away from life.</p> + +<p>Then had come the years when he was a man grown, and the Thing stirred +only occasionally, "fits of depression" that lifted easily into +excitement and dropped suddenly into perfect self-possession. He had +learned then that drink lifted him out of depression, not into +ungovernable excitement or into elation, but into coolness and +capability. <i>He</i> knew that the Thing lay in him ready to spring into +activity at any moment, but he had learned how to deceive those about +him; he even half-deceived his family.</p> + +<p>All night he had been in the grip of depression. He had not slept +because of it, and that morning when ostensibly he was on his way to the +city, he had come to the Mine Banks and had hidden his horse, bent upon +gaining the usual relief. At noon he had gone to the woods, by way of +the creek, and had secured Ann's letter. Fortified as he was, he had +read it without mad excitement. It confirmed the apprehension that, +during the last two weeks, had kept him in persistent depression.</p> + +<p>He went back to Crest Cave with the queer surface restraint upon him +that drink always produced, and had drained the last drop from the +bottle, his mind focused upon the suspicion over which he had brooded +ever since the night Edward had made him promise not to go near Ann.</p> + +<p>Ann had written:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Garvin</span>:</p> + +<p>"If I could endure it any longer without telling you, I'd not +write this; but I can't. You have asked me all along in your +letters why I have written so anxiously, and I have told you +that I wasn't happy because I was worried about everything, but +I didn't tell you the real reason.</p> + +<p>"Garvin, I can't do it. I don't love you enough to go with you. +Almost from the time I promised I've been sorry I promised. I'm +wretched because I have to tell you. I feel sick when I think +of how it will hurt you, and I hate myself for not having known +my heart any better. I meant everything I ever said to you. I +thought I loved you, and I did want you to be happy. I still +want you to be happy—I want you to have everything good that a +man can have. But you want something that I've found out is not +in me to give to you. That's the thing I have found out about +myself, and it isn't right not to tell you.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any more I can say, except that begging won't +change my feeling to you. Please forget me. You'll be gone from +here to where you'll find people you like.</p> + +<p>"I'll always think lovingly of you—you were kind to me when I +was dreadfully unhappy. You and Edward have both been kind to +me. Lovingly, <span class="smcap">Ann</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Garvin had tossed the letter aside. It lay through the afternoon, its +open page stirred occasionally by the light breeze. The slight rustle +and the whispering of the pines were almost the only sounds, except when +the birds sang. Garvin moved only when some one passed along the Back +Road; then he bent forward, his eyes burning and intent beneath lifted +brows. He watched Coats Penniman drive up to the woods and disappear; +later on, saw Baird ride up the Back Road, evidently returning from the +city. He watched him intently, made sure it was Baird, and settled back +again into alert waiting.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon when another horseman, riding toward the +club, came slowly up through the pastures and melted into the woods. +Garvin sat, head craned and eyes narrowed, watching every step of the +man's progress. When the woods had swallowed the rider, Garvin got up, +circled the Crest, and went down to the Mine Banks Road. He crossed it, +then crossed swiftly the open space between the road and the creek, and +went down into the bed of the creek for better cover, and, with the +caution of the practised hunter, made his slow way along to where it +left the woods.</p> + +<p>It had taken some time to creep along without noise. When he reached the +woods, where the field undergrowth gave way to trees and the banks of +the creek were studded with rocks, he waited for a time, crouched behind +a rock. He had come with the utmost caution, still, a broken twig, some +slight sound, might have betrayed him. He heard nothing but the wood +sounds, no voices or stir of any kind. Then he straightened, though +still well sheltered by the rock, and looked about him.</p> + +<p>There was no one there. So far as his keen eyes could discover, there +was no one on the steep upward slope of the woods beyond the creek, no +one on this side either; no one on the road leading to the club, or on +the road that branched off to the Penniman house. A short distance away +was the flat rock with the bank rising above it and the saucer-like +depression in which it lay semicircled by a dense screen of chinkapin +bushes. He could wait there, it was a very perfect hiding-place, but +from that point he could not see the two roads. He was better placed +where he was, for a growth of wood-honeysuckle surrounded his +hiding-place; by parting it a little he could see very well and not be +seen. Garvin waited some time before his brother returned from the club. +Where the road forked, Edward stopped, looked up the Penniman Road, then +dismounted and came toward the creek. He led his horse behind the +chinkapin bushes, left it, and came to the top of the bank, looking down +at the flat rock. Then he climbed down, seated himself, and looked down +at the swirling water. He looked at it steadily, except when he turned +to look up at the screen of bushes. He was waiting for some one.</p> + +<p>Garvin also waited. A hot cord had begun to tighten about his head, +forcing the blood into his eyes, yet he stood quite still; he was +thinking quite clearly; he had known it would be like this.... Even +when Ann came around the screen of bushes, he did not stir.</p> + +<p>Edward sprang up and helped her down. Garvin could see their every +motion, even their expression, the smile each had for the other; but +they spoke very low, so low that the murmur of their voices mingled +confusingly with the ceaseless gurgle of the water.... He could not +creep any nearer to them and not be discovered.... But he needed no +clearer confirmation than actions: when Ann stood beside him, Edward put +his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes while she talked +rapidly and distressedly. When they sat down, Edward sat at her feet. +When he began to talk to her, long and low and steadily, he took her +hands, both her hands, and Ann's face was bent so that Garvin could not +see it. Apparently she said nothing, simply sat motionless, enthralled +by what Edward was saying.</p> + +<p>Garvin went on thinking—quite clearly. He had known he would find just +this. He had seen it all enacted while he sat up there in the Mine +Banks—this and more—and he had planned just what he would do. He had a +good cool brain; he was clever to have decided that this was the state +of things, to have foreseen it all and to have planned to the last +detail. Let Edward have his hour, the—<i>thief</i>! He, Garvin, would have +his hour, too!</p> + +<p>He felt a tense elation, like one who ruled destinies. When Ann's voice +lifted in a smothered cry of emotion, the sudden answer to the pause in +Edward's steady speech, Garvin only parted the bushes a little more +widely, watched more intently. She had slipped into Edward's arms and he +was holding her, her arms about his neck, his arms clasping her. He +kissed her many times, murmured over her, and then she began to weep, +breathlessly, a note of joy in her tears, words and tears and caresses +commingled.</p> + +<p>"Edward is sedate!" the gibing Thing that was Garvin Westmore said. With +Ann's arms about his neck and her head on his breast, he was talking her +into calmness, talking, talking, interminably, the deep murmur of his +voice never once raised, soothing her as one would a child. And when, at +last, they stood up, his hands were on her shoulders again. But his face +betrayed him; he wore a look of exaltation, and Ann's was tremulously +happy. They thought themselves pledged to each other for all time, those +two!</p> + +<p>They went up out of the hollow hand in hand, and parted after a long +kiss. Ann crossed the creek and ran up the opposite slope, turning often +to look at Edward, who stood watching her absorbedly, a lightly-moving, +radiant thing. She paused for a long moment, poised on the crest of the +slope, a slender graceful form, young as the young green that framed +her—then disappeared over the crest. She had gone to the cluster of +pines at the edge of the woods, to sit there for a time with her +happiness.</p> + +<p>Edward watched until even her graceful head had vanished. Then he +mounted and rode out by the Back Road—taking his way by the Mine Banks +to Westmore.</p> + +<p>Garvin crept down along the creek, went as he had come. He would reach +the Mine Banks before his brother did.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE HELL-HOLE OF THE WESTMORES</h3> + + +<p>Sue Penniman had been searching frantically for Ann, through the house, +on the terraces; she had even gone down the cedar avenue and then to the +spring-house. She had not gone to the barn, for Coats was at the barn +and Ann was certain not to be there; besides, Sue did not want to see +Coats, not until she had found Ann and forced her to tell the truth.</p> + +<p>But she could not find Ann. She came back finally to the kitchen steps +and called up to the negress who was busy above, "Rachel, do you know +where Ann is?"</p> + +<p>"I seen her go down by the woods, Miss Sue."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"About a' hour ago."</p> + +<p>Sue paused; then she asked, "Was she dressed up, Rachel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm—she got on her white dress."</p> + +<p>"All right," Sue said, trying to keep the thickness out of her voice.</p> + +<p>Sue put the corner of the house between her and the woman, and stood for +a moment in confused thought. She was too terrified to think clearly; +she could make no plan; she felt bewildered and helpless.... She would +have to tell Coats—she dared not keep the thing to herself. He would +have to be told in the end, anyway.... It was trouble again for Coats, +desperate trouble. It was of Coats Sue was thinking, more than of Ann. +She would rather have died than bring this thing on him, this long +perspective of trouble for them all.</p> + +<p>Sue went draggingly to the barn. Coats was in the wagon-shed, shifting +the buggies and wagons so as to make room for a new hayrack.</p> + +<p>He saw Sue come in, simply that she was there, in the doorway. "Time for +supper?" he asked. "I didn't know it was so late." He was looking at the +bare space he had made.</p> + +<p>"Coats—"</p> + +<p>At the husky note he turned quickly and saw her face. He reached her at +a stride. "Sue!"</p> + +<p>Sue could not find words; she looked at him haggardly.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he demanded. "What's happened?"</p> + +<p>"It's Ann, Coats."</p> + +<p>His brows lowered and the color came in his face. "Ann?... Well?"</p> + +<p>"I just found it out this afternoon.... She's been meeting Garvin +Westmore—for a long time. They've planned to go away together." Sue +could not bring herself to tell him her worst fear, not at once.</p> + +<p>But Coats leaped to it; he grew white. "She, she's not—?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—Coats," she said with difficulty. "I can't find her +anywhere—I wanted to ask her before I told you. Rachel says she went +down to the woods about an hour ago.... I ran out of writin' paper an' +went to Ann's room, to her box for some, an' I found a sheet in it with +'Dear Garvin' an' some other words of a letter that was begun. I was so +frightened I broke open her trunk then, an' I found a lot of his +letters. He, writes like they were engaged, but ... Coats, I'm +afraid—I'm afraid she's in trouble—" She would have to say it sooner +or later; it was best they should face it together.</p> + +<p>Coats had grown quite gray, the down-drawn muscles of his face making +him look old. He looked away from Sue's quivering face, beyond her to +the open, staring down the vista of the past. "It had to be a Westmore, +of course," he said slowly and with extraordinary evenness. "It's about +time that family became extinct."</p> + +<p>To one who did not know Coats Penniman, the words would sound cold, but +Sue knew the meaning of the gray tint that had overspread his face, and +the extent of the concentrated rage that edged each word with bitter +sarcasm. In her terror she began to cry. "I don't know it's true, +Coats—I don't know it's true, dear.... I haven't talked to Ann. We +can't tell till we've asked Ann.... Coats, if harm comes to you because +of this, it'll just kill me—"</p> + +<p>Coats looked at her; took her arm. "Don't, Sue—don't cry so.... I can't +do anything till I'm sure. I can't tell till I see his letters. Where +are they, Sue?"</p> + +<p>"At the house.... It'll drive you mad to read them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, it won't," Coats said, through tight lips. "It may drive Edward +mad, though. I shall settle my account with both of them ... when I'm +ready.... Where did you say Ann had gone?"</p> + +<p>"Rachel said she had gone down to the woods. She said Ann was dressed +up—I thought maybe she had gone away with Garvin—it's what he's been +askin' her to do."</p> + +<p>"Not in broad daylight," Coats said, in the same cutting way. "His kind +do their work at night.... She'll come back—and with nothing but misery +before her.... If Marian had only lived, the child might have been +saved—" At thought of his wife, he dropped into huskiness and restless +motion. "Come to the house," he said thickly. "We can't stand here doing +nothing."</p> + +<p>Sue followed him as he strode along. "Go by the front way," she begged. +"Rachel mustn't see.... And father; Coats, you mustn't tell +father—it'll kill him—it'll bring on a stroke, Coats."</p> + +<p>Coats stopped. He had regained his composure. "Keep calm," he said. "I +mean to keep calm. We've faced trouble together before, Sue—we're +neither of us going to go mad."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather have died than have this happen."</p> + +<p>"I know you would. You're all Penniman, Sue—there're some of us +mongrel, but not you."</p> + +<p>They went in by the front porch. "Bring me the letters," Coats said, in +the same quiet way.</p> + +<p>Sue went to Ann's room and gathered them up from the bed where they lay +scattered, as she had left them when she had hurried to find Ann. She +brought, also, the sheet of paper that had led her to discovery, placed +them all in Coats' hands.</p> + +<p>Coats read them, Ann's few blotted sentences first. It was Ann's +struggle over her letter to Garvin, a beginning put aside because it was +so ill-written and blotted:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Garvin</span>:</p> + +<p>"If I could endure any longer without telling you, I'd not +write this, but I can't. You have asked me all along in your +letters why I have written so anxiously, and I have told you +that I wasn't happy because I was worried about everything, but +I didn't tell you the real reason."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Coats read it, then passed from letter to letter, his brows lowering +more and more ominously, his eyes graying to steel as he noted such +sentences as these: "Why do you let your mind dwell on the possibility +of trouble—we are going away so soon, Ann—in less than a month we'll +be together. I'm going to live to make you happy, then." And in another +letter there was the underlined sentence, "<i>You are mine, now, every bit +of you</i>—there can be no going back for either of us;" and in the same +letter "... if we are careful, there is no danger of any one's knowing +how much we are to each other. And it will only be for a short time—I +have the agency at last—we will go in June." Coats understood as +neither Ann nor Sue had understood the omissions in the picture of their +life together with which Garvin had closed his letter. He understood +perfectly what was in Garvin's mind. He knew what Garvin was, as Sue +could not know. The men on the Ridge knew Garvin Westmore; he was an +open secret.</p> + +<p>When Coats put down the last letter and sat looking at the collected +evidences of sensual infatuation and very evident suffering, a sort of +madness that could not be given the name of love, he was without even +the faint doubt that had given Sue a ray of hope. There might be girls +who had either the coolness or the hardihood to pass through a siege +such as this unscathed. Or the occasional girl who, though capable of +arousing mad passions, remains aloof, wrapped in a self-sufficient +self-respect that makes her invincible. But it was not his reading of +the child who had grown up without anybody's particular care. He had +said to Sue, "She's bound to have her bit of life, have it and pay for +it." It had come sooner and more terribly than he had feared. Coats +thought of Ann when she was a little thing, just able to walk across +the floor, her steps, as always, leading her to him, and his face +twisted in pain.</p> + +<p>Sue had watched him. "Coats, you think it's so?" she asked despairingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"What are you goin' to do?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>Coats got up and gathered the letters together. "I'm going to find her +first.... You go, Sue, and see if she's in sight anywhere. Then come and +tell me."</p> + +<p>He wanted those few minutes alone. He went up to his room and, from a +shelf in the cupboard, took his pistol, loaded it and put it in his +pocket. When Sue came back, he was again where she had left him, his hat +on and binding the letters together. He put them in his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I don't see her, Coats.... You have your hat—what are you goin' to +do?" Sue could not rid herself of the terror his grim look inspired.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to look for her—better I should talk to her where your +father won't hear.... Then I'm going to Westmore."</p> + +<p>Sue grew deadly pale. "Coats, don't you fight them! Don't, for my sake!"</p> + +<p>Coats' lip curled. "Don't worry. I've got a word to say to Edward, and +I'll guarantee he'll listen."</p> + +<p>"If anything happens to you, I don't want to live," Sue said in despair.</p> + +<p>Coats' face softened. He put his arm about her. "You're forgetting that +we Pennimans are not cowards, Sue."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with her heart in her eyes. "I'm just a woman when it +comes to you, Coats—just a lovin' woman." In her agony of fear over +him, Sue had thrown away the concealment of years; the truth stood +clear, looked the man she loved straight in the eye.</p> + +<p>It struck queerly across Coats' tense nerves, the revelation of a thing +quite unexpected, but having nothing to do with the burning present. He +answered to it only vaguely. "Do your part, then, Sue. Do what I tell +you to do. Don't give way.... And not a word of all this to your +father." He bent and kissed her, then, putting her aside, went out.</p> + +<p>He went down to the woods, his eyes keen and searching beneath his +lowered brows. He saw no sign of Ann, either in the open or at the edge +of the woods, and went straight on, looking about him, but not pausing, +until he came out on the Back Road. He had not expected to find Ann in +the woods. In one of his first notes to Ann, Garvin had appointed Crest +Cave as an afternoon meeting-place; Coats had made a mental note of it.</p> + +<p>He followed the Back Road until he stood clear of the woods, then looked +about him. There was no sign of any one. As far as he could see, in +every direction, fields and woods and brilliant evening sunshine; cattle +in the pastures below, but not a human being in sight.</p> + +<p>Coats looked at the warm teeming country, then up at the looming Mine +Banks, over which hung a faint blue haze, the mist from innumerable +ore-pits which the spring rains had filled to overflowing. "The +hell-hole of the Westmores," he always called it in his own mind.</p> + +<p>Then he struck off for it, directly across country, his vigorous stride +carrying him along rapidly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>XXIX</h2> + +<h3>"WHAT'S NOT KNOWN"</h3> + + +<p>Later, when the hollows lay in shadow and only the crowns of the hills +glistened in the departing sunshine, Coats Penniman came back through +the woods.</p> + +<p>Sue had gone about the house oppressed by the terror she tried to keep +out of her face. She was gripped by the certainty that there was even +worse trouble in store for them than merely the shame Ann had brought +upon them. The thought of it made her weak-kneed and sick, yet she tried +to do the usual things in the usual way. She persuaded her father to +have an early supper and go to bed, and she sent Rachel to her cabin, +gave her an unexpected evening off. They would have their wretchedness +to themselves for one night at least. If only it did not end in tragedy! +Coats' grimly purposeful look obsessed her. And in all her coming and +going, from the kitchen landing, when she was down-stairs, from an upper +window, while she waited for her father to go to sleep, she watched the +woods.</p> + +<p>Sue had watched Coats in terror when he went down to the woods; she +watched in terror when she saw him coming back. He had gone quickly, +but was coming back slowly, bent forward and walking as if each step was +an effort. His coat was off, laid over one shoulder, and his free hand +held it in place, so that it covered his other arm.</p> + +<p>Sue ran down the spring-house path, and they met as he was dragging +himself up to the willows. She did not need to ask if anything had +happened, for Coats was ghastly pale, and, even before she reached him, +she saw that he was walking so slowly because he could not walk any +faster, though, from the strained look in his eyes and the effort he was +making, it was plain that he wanted to hurry. They had fought and he was +terribly hurt; they had tried to kill him, and suddenly rage sprang up +in Sue, commingled with her fear that he was mortally wounded.</p> + +<p>Even before she reached him, she cried, "Coats, they've hurt you—"</p> + +<p>"I've been shot," Coats said, in a voice that was not his it was so +lifeless.</p> + +<p>He spoke with great difficulty, as if he were about to faint, yet at her +horrified exclamation he frowned and looked about him. "Hush!" he said +thickly. "It's just my arm—but I've bled so I'm almost done.... Get me +a drink of water."</p> + +<p>Sue obeyed him instantly and in silence. He looked grim and +determined—in spite of his exhaustion; somberly excited and at the same +time fearful of something, of being overcome by weakness, for one +thing. Sue visioned the worst as she hurriedly filled the tin cup she +took from one of the jutting logs of the spring-house. He was not +fatally hurt; her greatest terror had been quieted, and the fighting +blood of the Pennimans lifted in her, giving her courage. If he had +killed a Westmore it was that Westmore's due. Hatred of their hereditary +enemy nerved her. No matter what Coats had done in his righteous anger, +she would stand by him; she would stand and fall with Coats—no matter +what came. Even the sight of his blood-soaked coat did not turn her +faint.</p> + +<p>Coats was leaning against the spring-house, and she put her arm about +him, holding the cup to his lips, for he kept his uninjured hand pressed +to his shoulder. "Don't you worry, Coats," she said resolutely. "I'm not +frightened now. Just you drink this, an' then let me help you up to the +house. I've got father to bed an' I've sent Rachel home an' Ben's not +about. Just you tell me—I'll stand by you no matter what it is, Coats."</p> + +<p>Evidently he did not mean to tell her, or else his haste was too great +to waste precious moments. The water had revived him somewhat. "I'm not +going to the house," he said more clearly than he had spoken before. "Go +up and get something soft to wrap my arm in. Bring it to the barn—I'll +manage to get up there and wait for you—in the wagon-shed. Don't let +anybody know what you're about—just come to the barn to me.... Has Ann +come back?"</p> + +<p>"No. Ain't you seen her, Coats?"</p> + +<p>"No." He paused to think, intently, though his face was twitching from +pain. Then he went on hurriedly, "It's just as well—it's better she +shouldn't know.... She'll come back. Put a note where she's sure to find +it—just say that we've gone driving and won't be back till late, and +that she's to look after her grandfather; that she's not to leave the +house; that Ben will be there, so she needn't feel nervous. Say that and +nothing more. Then get your hat and things and something to put around +my arm and another coat for me—I want you to drive me into the city as +fast as you can. I'd not take you with me, but I can't manage by +myself."</p> + +<p>"Coats! You can't go all that way with your arm like that! You've got to +have a doctor!" Every word he had uttered made her the more certain that +there had been a tragedy, something so terrible that he was afraid of +arrest. He was afraid to tell her, and she was afraid to ask him. "You +can't go like that," she reiterated helplessly. "You'll bleed to death." +The thought of it made her sick.</p> + +<p>Coats broke into sudden impatience. "I'm going to a doctor! We can't +have a doctor from the Ridge! I want to get to the city as fast as I +can. It's the only way. I know what I'm about—I'm trying to do what's +best for us all—I've had time to think. Ann and your father mustn't +know—what's not known can't be told. I'll explain while we're on our +way. Go and do what I told you, then come and hitch up Billy—he's the +best traveler.... Hurry, Sue—God knows what I'd do if I hadn't you to +help me." His voice failed at the end; he was panting from exhaustion.</p> + +<p>Sue obeyed without a word.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>XXX</h2> + +<h3>CONTENT</h3> + + +<p>Twenty minutes later, when Ann came out from beneath the pines at the +edge of the woods and started down through the fields to the house, she +saw Sue and Coats driving away from the barn. She could not see +distinctly, they were too far away, but she noticed that they were going +fast. Evidently they had had supper and were going somewhere together, +as they so often did.</p> + +<p>Ann had not realized how late it was until the sun touched the horizon. +She was reminded then that it was past the supper hour and that they +would wonder what had become of her. She must have sat for two hours +there, under the pines, simply thinking of her happiness. She had wanted +to be alone with it, just as long as she could be. Once she had carried +her grief and her desolation to that place; it seemed the right place to +come with her joy.</p> + +<p>Ann was glad she was going to have the evening to herself, just to sit +on the porch and think. The farm and everything connected with it had +faded into distance since that hour with Edward. They belonged to each +other. The joy of it! During those two weeks of anxious thought over +Garvin, she had realized that Edward was more to her than any one else +in the world. And she knew now that he loved her as she loved him. She +was solemnly, gratefully happy. He was wise and loving and wonderful; he +filled the place of friend, father and lover. The ache of loneliness she +had carried about with her since she was a little thing was stilled.</p> + +<p>Ann had thought of Garvin many times that afternoon. Edward had talked +about him while they sat together in the hollow. The first time she and +Edward had met after she had given Garvin her promise, she had gathered +up her courage and had told Edward of her engagement to his brother. Ann +had felt that she must tell him. She had given Edward every detail of +her acquaintance with his brother.</p> + +<p>Edward had listened to her, never taking his eyes from her face, and +when she had finished he was a little gray about the lips, as he had +been while she handled the runaway horse, but all he had said was, "You +don't love Garvin, Ann."</p> + +<p>"I'm fond of him," Ann had said in deep distress.</p> + +<p>"You don't love him—you have been spared that," Edward had repeated +quietly.</p> + +<p>"I don't love him as he loves me—I promised to marry him when I was +angry and wretched," Ann had confessed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand that," Edward had said in the same steady way. "You +neither love him nor will you marry him. Before long you will collect +courage to write Garvin exactly how you feel. I'd rather have it that +way. Then he will accommodate himself to it without going mad over it, +which will be the best solution for him. And in the meantime he shall +not come near you." Then he had smiled at her as he often did. "You love +to be loved too well to love easily, my little Ann. But it won't always +be so."</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry for him," Ann had said.</p> + +<p>"We are all sorry for him," Edward had answered. "By and by you will +understand why."</p> + +<p>It had been Edward's last word on the subject. In their following +meetings, he had held his peace, listening intently to Ann's troubled +thoughts—until that afternoon, when she had told him that she had +written to Garvin, and what she had written. Then, in that steady way of +his, Edward had told her what she was to him, and heaven had opened to +Ann. He had filled her heart completely.</p> + +<p>Edward had gone back over the years and had told her about his life; +about his leaving Westmore; about his marriage; about their future +together. And then he had told her about Garvin, and Ann had understood +why she had been drawn to Garvin and had pitied him, and yet had felt +repelled. He was one of the unfortunates of the world.</p> + +<p>Edward had not even hinted at what he knew had been Garvin's endeavor +and that she had been walking on the edge of a precipice over which many +would have fallen; that her elusiveness and her innocence, and, more +than anything else, the quality of her affection for Garvin had probably +saved her. He allowed her to think affectionately and pityingly of his +brother; when he took Ann unto himself, Garvin would necessarily be part +of her inheritance.</p> + +<p>Ann was still absorbed when she came slowly down from the woods and into +the house. Sue's note was lying on Ann's plate, and she read it somewhat +vaguely: she was to take care of her grandfather while they were away; +they would not be back until very late, but Ben would be there so she +need not feel anxious.... Ann turned away from the table; she did not +want anything to eat. She went up, dutifully, to see whether her +grandfather needed anything, and, finding him asleep, went to her room. +Then she saw her gaping trunk, Edward's books flung out on the floor ... +and that Garvin's letters were not there.</p> + +<p>At first she was terrified, for the spell of secrecy was still upon her, +and the fear of harm to Edward and to Garvin. But then it came to her as +a tremendous relief that Edward would know how to guard himself and how +to shield Garvin. He was very wise and careful. He had said to her, "I +mean to tell Garvin everything just as soon as I feel it is wise to do +so. I shall write to Coats Penniman at once, but I am afraid the +Penniman enmity is insurmountable. If it is, we must wait until you are +of age, and that will be in October." Edward would know what to do and +what to say to them; she need not be frightened.</p> + +<p>As she sat on the porch, listening to the night sounds, Ann kept +repeating to herself that she need not be frightened, and her faith in +Edward's wisdom was so complete that she slipped into visions of the +future. It was a dark night illumined only by the orange-red glow in the +west, and it was fading rapidly. It was going to be a black night, misty +with the prescience of rain.</p> + +<p>It grew so dark that even the outlines of the nearest objects faded into +the enveloping blackness, but Ann did not move; she was still dreaming +with eyes wide, quite alone yet content.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>XXXI</h2> + +<h3>THE FAMILY NAME</h3> + + +<p>It was after sundown when Judith lifted from her work over the +flower-bed on the terrace and looked at the glow in the western sky. It +was twilight; time for Garvin to come from the city, and Edward from his +daily ride to the club; another long evening before her without the +relief of active work.</p> + +<p>Would Baird come that evening? Since her visitors had gone, there had +been significant intervals between his calls, and she was quite helpless +in the matter. She was filled with a passionate revolt against what she +felt was woman's helplessness. If she had a man's opportunities, how +long would she remain quiescent at Westmore, a slave to a routine that +had begun to gall her intolerably! And any day she might be set aside.</p> + +<p>Judith had endlessly pondered Edward's tense championship of Ann, and +Baird's interest in the girl. What was going to grow out of it all? +Something certainly that would make Westmore unendurable to her. After +fifteen years of mental and physical toil, she was a dependent, +unskilled in any direction—except as a housekeeper—the spinster +adjunct to a family that would not need her. It was the fate of most +women who conserved and conserved. It was her rearing that had made her +what she was. If she had defied the family conventions and had gone out +into the world, she could easily have made a life for herself. It was +men who held the winning cards.... Judith's gardening had been a relief. +She could look her thoughts while she worked; the warm earth her strong +hands had prodded and pressed was a safe confidant.</p> + +<p>She stood with hand shading her face, looking at the sunset glow, her +lips shut in a straight line, her eyes smoldering. When the thud of +steps on the porch above warned her that some one was coming, she turned +with her usual swift decision, but first she had wiped expression from +her face, a resolute downward movement of her hand from which her eyes +emerged, level and questioning.</p> + +<p>It was Ben Brokaw who was hurrying down to her, his long arms hanging +and his body bent, his usual position when running and which was oddly +suggestive of primordial locomotion. The smile that grew in Judith's +eyes as she watched the grotesque creature changed quickly into a frown +when she saw his face. He had evidently run some distance, for there was +about him the steaming heat of a hard-driven animal. But his ridged and +mottled face was curiously drawn and tense. He had brought up within a +few feet of her, had paused and straightened.</p> + +<p>With the instant alarm of one inured to apprehension, Judith asked, +"What has happened?"</p> + +<p>Ben could express himself only in the way natural to him. "Miss Judith, +there ain't no time fo' me to come around slow to what I've got to tell, +an' you ain't one to go under, you're Westmo' through an' through.... +Miss Judith, the Mine Banks is claimed another Westmo'."</p> + +<p>"Garvin?" Judith asked through suddenly blanched lips.</p> + +<p>"Not him, tho' there's no tellin' about him. It's Edward, Miss Judith."</p> + +<p>"Edward ... not Edward—" Judith's voice was entirely without +modulation.</p> + +<p>Ben hurried over his explanation. "I were watchin' over Ann, like Edward +had told me to do—it's Edward I've been workin' for this spring, not +Coats Penniman. I had found out that Garvin was meeting Ann, an' Edward +had told me not to let Garvin come near Ann again. Edward knowed that +Ann were safe if I watched over her. This afternoon Edward had been +talkin' with Ann, down by the Back Road, an' when he went and Ann went +up in the woods, I was clost to her. When she went down to the house I +went to the Banks. I'd heard shootin' there, but that's always goin' on +about here, I didn't think nothin' of that, but I was scart by things I +seen when I got to the Banks, an' I looked about. I found him, Miss +Judith, he's lyin' like one gone peaceful to sleep—the little thing +what killed him done its work quick."</p> + +<p>"You mean—he's been shot—to death—?" Judith whispered with pauses.</p> + +<p>"Yes." Ben looked down at the flower-bed.</p> + +<p>"By whom?" She had straightened, flung back her head.</p> + +<p>Ben was silent.</p> + +<p>Judith went to him, laid her steel grip on his shoulder. "You tell +me!... There's only one man in the world would do that.... You know who +did it—tell me this instant what you know!"</p> + +<p>Ben looked at her, a glance that dropped away from the fire in her eyes. +"It weren't the man you think. Coats Penniman's knowed nothin' of what's +been goin' on. An' I don't know nothin' either—that's my answer to any +who may ask, an' always will be," he said doggedly, "but there's things +I'll tell you an' no one else.... Edward loved Ann, Miss Judith. He +loved her very dear, an' he's seen her pretty constant. An' Garvin, he +were mad over her, like it's in him to be. Edward made him keep away +from Ann—there were hard feelin' between them because of it. But Edward +didn't tell Garvin about Ann and hisself. 'Tain't a thing Edward would +confide to Garvin—there ain't many things you or Edward ever has +trusted to Garvin. I think Garvin suspicioned Edward to-day—that Edward +were seein' Ann—and—" He stopped, then went on. "An' Edward come back +by the Banks—" he stopped again.</p> + +<p>Judith had drawn back as if the sight of him burned her. "You're wrong!" +she said passionately. "Garvin was in the city to-day!"</p> + +<p>Ben looked at her, pity and affection and respect struggling together in +his eyes and in his voice. "He were at the Banks, Miss Judith. The +traces of him was there. He had hid Black Betty, but I run acrost her, +an' up to Crest Cave I foun' the letter Ann had wrote him, sayin' she +wouldn't have him. An' he'd been drinkin'—I foun' the bottle. An' then, +when I stood up by Crest Cave, I seen Garvin go acrost from the Mine +Banks Road to the creek. It scart me the way he went—like he was hidin' +hisself. I was so scart I went down to the road an' first I saw Edward's +horse, an' then I foun' where he lay."</p> + +<p>Judith's hand had covered her lips, as if to smother a shriek; over it +her eyes stared at him.</p> + +<p>"There weren't no one else at the Banks but Garvin when I was there—I'd +have knowed it jest so quick as a dog, if there had been. I'd already +took the letter—I run to you then.... Miss Judith, I don't need to tell +you what all this'll come to. Garvin's jest gone mad, but if he comes to +hisself like he does, who'll believe it? The law'll get him, Miss +Judith. An' that ain't all—every bit of all your family history will be +gone into. And Ann's name will be ruined. It will be the end of Westmo'. +I never come up against nothin' like this befo'—I'm jest helpless!" The +big creature looked both helpless and desperate.</p> + +<p>Judith turned abruptly, faced God's half-acre, and Ben stood still with +eyes on her rigid shoulders and carven profile. He knew Judith Westmore +well; there was no room for grief, no limit to her capability when the +family name was at stake.</p> + +<p>It was not for long; she faced him again. "Where was he shot?" she asked +stiffly.</p> + +<p>Ben lifted a finger to his forehead.</p> + +<p>Her mask-like face twitched, then was controlled. "Where is he—lying?" +she asked, with the same difficulty over her words. "In the road?... +Where some one may pass?"</p> + +<p>"No—off the road—in the hollow—near the first ore-pit."</p> + +<p>"In the bushes and grass?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Did you search around—him?"</p> + +<p>"No. I saw he were gone—then I come quick."</p> + +<p>Judith nodded. "Go to the barn and put the horses in the light wagon. +There's no one there—the men have gone. Saddle another horse for +yourself. I'll get some things from the house and come out to you. Go +quick—I'll be quick."</p> + +<p>"Are you goin' to the Banks?" Ben asked.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you when I come back. Go put the horses in," and she turned +and walked rapidly to the house.</p> + +<p>She returned to Ben's side before he had finished harnessing the horses. +She was laden with blankets and a pillow, and, after she had put them +into the wagon, her skilful hands helped him. She worked swiftly and +accurately, her hard, short-drawn breathing alone indicative of tense +emotion and desperate haste. She spoke low and decidedly.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to face it the best way we can.... I want you to ride to the +Copeleys'. Tell Cousin Copeley just that you found Edward—shot at the +Banks, and that you came straight off to me—just that and nothing +more.... Tell any one who asks—just that. Tell Cousin Copeley to come +quick to the Banks to meet me. Then have him send one of the boys for +the doctor and have him bring him to Westmore.... I'm going down through +the woods to the Smiths'. I'll get Allen Smith and his son to go with me +to the Banks—they're the nearest men I can reach, and they're not +relations—I'd rather have them with me."</p> + +<p>Judith said no more until they were ready. Then she put her hands on his +huge shoulders. Even in the dim light he could see that her eyes were +brimming. "Ben, you are our friend?" she asked very low. "You will stand +by me?"</p> + +<p>"I'd die befo' I hurt a Westmo'—or a Penniman," he said as huskily as +she.</p> + +<p>"I believe it, Ben.... Do this for me then: find Garvin and bring him to +Westmore. It's the place where he'll be safest. Tell him I said so. +He'll listen to you when he wouldn't to any one else. And there's no one +who can find him in the night as you can. And, Ben, have him come back +on Black Betty, if you can, and if you can't—" She paused and thought +a moment. "If you can't, get Betty into the club stables during the +night.... You're not afraid to do that for me, Ben?"</p> + +<p>Ben's growl was sufficient answer.</p> + +<p>Her hands dropped. "We'll go then," she said more clearly.</p> + +<p>Ben held her back a moment. "Miss Judith, you'll not put this on a +Penniman, an' you'll keep Ann's name out of it if you can?"</p> + +<p>"No—I'll not accuse a Penniman. The dead can't speak—or suffer—let +them bear the blame."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>XXXII</h2> + +<h3>THE DEATH-TRAP</h3> + + +<p>Baird was riding slowly back from Westmore to the club. Even if he had +been in the mood for rapid riding, he would not have attempted it; it +was too dark a night. As it was, he was too much absorbed by his +thoughts to hurry his horse. He was thinking of the group of proud +people he had left standing guard over their dead. And he was thinking +of Ann. Did she know?</p> + +<p>The thing was terrible. The news had reached the club before the sunset +glow had faded from the sky, brought to Sam by a Westmore negro and +transmitted by him to the men who were dining at the club: Edward +Westmore had taken his own life—at the Mine Banks. The men had +scattered to their homes with the news, and Baird had ridden at once to +Westmore.</p> + +<p>There was nothing he could do; the family had already collected. Even +Colonel Dickenson had been sent for and would reach Westmore before +midnight. At Westmore Baird had learned a few details: Ben Brokaw had +found the body and had run to Westmore with the news, and Judith and the +two neighbors she took with her had discovered Edward's pistol, with +one chamber emptied, lying in the grass not far from his hand. It was +the ivory-handled, silver-chased weapon that all of them knew so well, +which Edward always kept loaded and often carried.</p> + +<p>Mr. Copeley had said to Baird: "We can't account for such an act on +Edward's part. The only reason we can give to ourselves is that during +the past year he has suffered from occasional attacks of heart trouble. +That's the reason he wouldn't hunt and always rode so slowly. It may +have preyed on his mind.... It is most kind of you to come, Mr. Baird, +and we all thank you; but there is nothing you can do." Baird had +remained only a few moments.</p> + +<p>Brave people! Courteous and dignified even when in the deepest distress. +During the moment Judith had given him, Baird had bent to her hand in +profound admiration. She was deadly pale, but erect and clear-voiced. +She was a woman in a million, was Judith Westmore!... And he had liked +Edward almost better than any man he had ever known.... And Ann? Did she +know yet?</p> + +<p>Baird was thinking intently of Ann. As soon as the shock of the thing +had worn off, he had thought of Ann. Since the night before, when Ann +had said, "I'd rather you stayed away," he had been as unhappy as he had +thought it possible for him to be, wretched because he felt unable to +get out and fight for the thing he had begun to want badly.</p> + +<p>Baird's horse had brought him down into the hollow, to where the creek +crossed the Post-Road. Beyond was the long upgrade at the summit of +which he would turn off into the club road, the extension of the +Pennimans' cedar avenue.... Who would tell Ann? And how much would it +mean to her?</p> + +<p>Baird's horse had come to the bridge, his hoofs had struck the planks, +when he stopped abruptly, with fore-feet planted. When Baird spoke to +him, he snorted and backed.</p> + +<p>Baird knew the signs of fright, but when he peered over the animal's +head he could see nothing. It was impossible to <i>see</i> anything in that +density of gloom; one could only <i>feel</i>. He spoke to his horse again, +but the creature refused to move. There was certainly some good reason +for such reluctance; the bridge was dangerously ramshackle, and should +have been condemned long ago.</p> + +<p>Baird dismounted, led his horse to the roadside, and groped until he +found a tree to which he could tie him. He went back to the bridge and, +kneeling, felt his way along. He came upon it very soon; his hand left +the plank and reached into space, a yawning hole wider certainly than +the length of his arm, for there appeared to be nothing beyond.</p> + +<p>He crept along then to the side of the bridge, and, presently, he made +it out: beyond the broken and splintered end of timber which supported +the planks on which he was, there was no bridge. It had been torn away, +had collapsed. Full fifteen feet below, in the blackness, the creek tore +along, fretted by the rocks. Whatever had jammed through that rotten +structure had gone to certain destruction.... An automobile!</p> + +<p>A certainty, something more than a premonition of a disaster to which he +had played agent, turned Baird hot. He hung over the black gulf, trying +to see, alive with dread of what he might see.... He could not see, but +he could smell. It was an exhalation from below, the odor of gasoline; +he was right, then.</p> + +<p>Baird straightened, energetic, as always when action was demanded.... If +only he had a lantern!... He remembered that he had matches, and struck +one. The breeze, faint though it was, snuffed it out. He tried another +with the same result. His next effort was a torch, a letter twisted so +as to burn as long as possible.</p> + +<p>It served his purpose, a flickering revelation of a mass of wreckage +thrust against the shelving bank of the creek—until the flame crept to +his fingers and he was forced to drop the charred paper. He sprang up +and went back to the road, not to get help, that did not occur to him, +but to get down to the thing below as soon as possible. There might be +life lingering beneath that mass of wreckage.</p> + +<p>Baird encountered a snake fence and an almost impassable mat of briers, +but even in the darkness he felt sure of his direction, certain of it +when he slid down into mud and water. He stood still, trying to +determine just where the wrecked machine lay; to his left? His olfactory +nerves helped him, and his hand soon touched a bit of the wreckage, an +upflung wheel, then the rear of the car. Baird was trying to discover +all he could first by feeling. He had a note-book in his pocket with +which to make a brief bonfire, but he was saving that. If only he had a +lantern!</p> + +<p>It was the smell of a reeking wick that suggested a possibility. In +1905, an automobile was not equipped with electricity; its tail light +was a lantern. Baird's hand had encountered it, its glass shattered, but +the metal lamp intact and still warm. He lighted the wick; though +inadequately equipped, he could find his way about now.</p> + +<p>The machine lay against a rock, half-overturned, and with nose buried in +the soft earth of the bank. Baird made his way forward on its other +side. Engine, wheel and seat were jammed against the rock and +half-buried in the earth, but by climbing over the rock he reached the +top of the pile, and could throw the light on the confused mass.</p> + +<p>For a moment he knelt motionless above the thing he saw, weakened by a +wave of physical inability; it was not the Mine Banks alone that had +claimed a Westmore.... Then he made certain that the body below was +without pulse or heartbeat, and that his utmost strength could not move +the mass that rested on it. The end must have come as instantaneously +to one brother as it had to the other.</p> + +<p>It was of Judith, Baird was thinking as he prepared to go back. He must +take the word to Westmore.... And by some means, he must prevent +travelers on the Post-Road from plunging into this death-trap. He felt a +little dizzy and sick.</p> + +<p>Baird held the light up, trying to see the bank above. He kept it +upheld, staring at what it revealed—a woman's crumpled body flung +against the soft loamy earth, a white blot against a black background. +Even before he reached her, Baird knew who she was, and the thought was +quicker than his forward plunge: "It was Garvin she loved, and Edward +knew it. It was that had 'preyed' on his mind."</p> + +<p>Baird's first terror, when his hands discovered warmth in her body, was +that it was deceptive—life might be gone ... or it might be passing +fast, was his fear when he found that her heart was beating; it beat so +faintly against his hand. He brushed the hair from her face and brought +the light close, but Ann's eyes remained closed, her lips colorless, her +skin bluey-white; life was merely flickering.</p> + +<p>Something infinitely painful rose up in Baird and choked him, a hurt +greater than anything he had ever known, a profounder sense of +desolation than he had had when his father lay dying. He wanted to hold +her against his breast.</p> + +<p>When he lifted her, she sighed, and the unexpected assurance of life +galvanized him. He laid her down and stumbled to the creek. He brought +back a little water in his cupped hands and dropped it on her face, then +he rubbed her forehead with his wet hands.</p> + +<p>It did not bring her back to consciousness, but hope had him now, +coupled with a definite purpose: to get her away as soon as possible, +back to her home. It would not be possible to carry her through that +network of briers, but if he made his way up the creek to where there +was less undergrowth he could reach the pasture. Then he could get his +horse.</p> + +<p>It was no easy matter to carry her limp body and still keep a hand free +for the lantern. He made his slow way around rocks, half the time wading +in water, more than once almost falling. He was nearly exhausted by +combined anxiety and exertion when circumstance favored him; he came to +a wide path tracked by the cattle, an easy ascent. When he reached the +pasture, he laid his burden down, put the lantern where it would serve +as a guide for his return.</p> + +<p>He skirted the undergrowth along the creek without much difficulty, +avoided the brier-patch, and came to the rail fence, shortly above where +his horse was tied. He took down a tier of rails that he might lead him +through, and his return was even more rapid than his going.</p> + +<p>To mount his horse with Ann laid across his shoulder taxed every muscle +in his body, and to hold her inert weight half-seated before him and +dragging over one arm while he kept one hand free to guide his horse +took both strength and skill.</p> + +<p>Baird found the Back Road by keeping, as nearly as he could judge, +parallel with the Post-Road. With his horse's head turned homeward, his +task was not so difficult, for the animal strode along the familiar way, +needing no guidance. In his relief, Baird kissed Ann's upturned face. +"It won't be long now," he whispered. In his stress he had forgotten the +hole in the bridge; forgotten Edward; forgotten Garvin; forgotten every +one but Ann; forgotten even himself.</p> + +<p>Their entrance into the woods was like passing from a darkness in which +objects could be sensed into the thicker blackness of a tunnel. Baird +could tell where the road led off to the club only by the turn his horse +made. He forced him to back and then urged him straight ahead. Once on +the Penniman Road, the animal could be trusted to keep on. That he did +keep on and with the lessened speed of the horse walking away from his +stable was the only guarantee Baird had that they were going in the +right direction.</p> + +<p>In time they emerged from the tunnel, into what seemed, by contrast, a +normality. Baird had loathed the palpable blackness that had shrouded +Ann's vague outline; he had seemed to be embracing an unreality. When +they neared the barn and a horse in the enclosure whinnied, it was like +hearing a friendly voice. Baird forced his horse to circle the barn, +started him on the road leading to the front of the house, which the +animal took gladly because again headed for the club, and checked him +before the vague black mass which was the house. There was no lighted +window, no sign of anxiety or of welcome.</p> + +<p>Baird dismounted and laid Ann gently on the grass. If there was any one +in that apparently heartless house to whom he could entrust her, he +would ride for a doctor. He left her on the grass—better that two +should move her with the care two could give—and went to the +living-room door. He knocked, then pounded, then called, and was +answered by total silence.</p> + +<p>A chill touched him; was the whole world dead? Where were they all at +this hour of the night? He lighted a match and, for the first time that +night, looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes after ten. Baird's +disbelief was so complete that he put the watch to his ear, and even +when he found it ticking steadily he could not credit what it had told +him. It seemed to Baird that he had spent hours under the bridge and +that he had agonized half the night over Ann. But there was one comfort, +if his watch was right, Ann had not been unconscious half the night. And +her family were probably simply out for the evening and would be back.</p> + +<p>He tried the door, found it unlocked, and, going in, lighted the lamp. +Then he brought Ann to the couch. He could see her distinctly now, and +his heart contracted as he looked at her; the limpness of her body and +the waxen immobility of her face were terrifying, an inertia as complete +as death. She was slipping away, and he did not know how to call her +back.</p> + +<p>As long as Baird had been fighting his way along through the night, he +had been hopeful. But that vacant house!... If he went for help, Ann +would die while he was gone; there was no doctor within four miles. If +his ignorance struggled with that persistent unconsciousness, he might +blunder fatally. He felt desperate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a>XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>FROM DESPAIR TO HOPE</h3> + + +<p>Baird had sat for an hour with his fingers on Ann's wrist; from twelve +o'clock until the living-room clock struck one. He had made his +decision. As he had expressed it to himself, "I'll stand by my job."</p> + +<p>Once, in South America, he and a companion had worked over a man who was +dying from exhaustion. They had administered stimulants and had wrapped +the man in hot blankets. Baird had ransacked the living-room and the +kitchen, had come upon the family supply of simple remedies, among them +a bottle of spirits of camphor, and, in the cedar chest beneath the +stairs, had found a feather-bed laid away for the summer. He had built a +fire in the kitchen stove and had heated water.</p> + +<p>Baird had set to work then upon Ann's cold limp body, had taken off her +shoes and stockings and had chafed her icy feet with hot water and +camphor. He had opened her dress and had rubbed her chest and her arms +and her hands with it. Then he had wrapped her closely in the +feather-bed, and, lastly, he had tried to make her swallow a little of +the mixture.</p> + +<p>Though he had worked quickly, it had taken time, a lifetime of effort +and of waiting, it had seemed to Baird, before even a slight warmth had +crept into her body. When his fingers discovered a throb in her wrists, +Baird was uplifted; he sprang from despair to hope. When her chest began +gently to lift and fall, he climbed to the height of gratitude.</p> + +<p>For an hour he had sat almost motionless, feeling life grow beneath his +fingers, watching the ghastly white in Ann's face change to a more +life-like hue. It seemed to him that the life in her was trying to +answer to the life in him, that each throb of his heart transmitted a +little and still a little more of its bounding vitality to her, and, +gradually, a curious certainty had taken possession of Baird: that +through his finger-tips he was pouring his superabundant strength into +Ann's limp body, while with all his force he was willing her to live.</p> + +<p>The conviction possessed him so completely that it blotted out the +disjointed thoughts that had obtruded while he had longed for other +assistance than his own: his anxiety over the absence of Ann's people; +the suggestion that they had traveled by the Post-Road and had fallen +into the death-trap he had left unguarded; his pangs of retrospective +jealousy; his hopes for the future.</p> + +<p>He was so concentrated upon his idea that all extraneous thoughts and +impressions had faded from his brain. The collie had thrust himself in +through the partly-open door and had nosed Baird's absorption and Ann's +muffled form, and Baird had scarcely noticed him; the murky, +indeterminate night had resolved itself into a steady rain, and Baird +had not been aware of it; the clock had struck a single definite note, +and Baird had not heard it, for Ann had stirred at last, had moved her +head and sighed.</p> + +<p>With the same curious certainty that his strength had led her back to +life, and that if he called to her now she would answer, Baird bent to +her ear: "Ann—?" he said softly. He called to her several times, +softly, insistently, waited, then called again. When, finally, her +eyelids lifted, he was so imbued with the certainty that speech would +follow that the sweep of relief did not unsteady him. She was looking at +him widely, fully, but without blankness. She knew him.</p> + +<p>He waited, giving her time. It seemed to Baird that her half-awakened +thoughts crossed her eyes like slowly-moving shadows. Then her gaze +turned slowly from him to the room, to the half-open door and the +blackness beyond. And suddenly recollection appeared to leap up in her, +twitching the muscles in her face until it set in a mask of pain. She +turned strained eyes on him, and speech broke from her, a voice husky +but demanding:</p> + +<p>"Is it true, what he told me—that Edward was dying?"</p> + +<p>Baird had not thought it would be this way. He had not considered what +Ann would say when she spoke; all he had thought was that, if only she +could speak, he would know whether or not she was injured, whether she +was in pain. Baird's native quickness and coolness almost forsook him; +he retained only presence of mind enough to grasp the fact that it was +Edward she loved, and that he dared not thrust the truth upon her +suddenly and abnormally active brain.</p> + +<p>He parleyed until he could think. "Who told you that, dear?"</p> + +<p>Her speech came quickly and thickly: "Garvin. He came for me. He said +Edward's horse threw him an' he was dyin' an' wanted me."</p> + +<p>Baird had done his thinking, and had hazarded a guess as well. "He +didn't tell you the truth," he said clearly and decidedly. "He simply +wanted you to come with him."</p> + +<p>She said nothing, but she relaxed; the rigid muscles in her face +softened into relief and her eyes grew cloudy and slowly closed. The +spurt of abnormal animation passed.</p> + +<p>With a new fear tugging at him, Baird watched the moisture gather on her +forehead and about her lips and noted the utter laxness of her hands and +the weighted heaviness of her eyelids. Was she slipping into +unconsciousness again? He bent over her.</p> + +<p>"Ann, does your back hurt?" he begged.</p> + +<p>She breathed rather than spoke the word, "No—"</p> + +<p>"Do you feel any pain?"</p> + +<p>She moved her head in denial.</p> + +<p>"You're sleepy—that's all?"</p> + +<p>She did not answer.</p> + +<p>If she had fainted, it was a warm breathing unconsciousness like the +sleep of exhaustion. And she had said she was not in pain.... As he +listened to her regular breathing Baird gradually lost his fear; nature +was helping her now. He loosened the hot thing in which she was wrapped, +and sat with her hand in his; if she grew feverish he would know it. +There was nothing over which he could exert himself; he must simply +wait; sit there till morning, if no one came.</p> + +<p>For the first time since the struggle had begun Baird thought of +himself. He was fearfully tired, sore and aching and wet; he was wet and +caked with mud almost to his waist. He was experiencing the reaction. +Depression settled upon him.... So it was Edward she loved. That sort of +love would hold for a long time; there was no hope for him.... That she +had not been crushed or broken was one of the wonders, but she was not +out of danger—her spine might be injured.... A wave of anger swept +Baird, arousing him a little from depression: where were her people +throughout all this tragedy? Why had they left her alone in the house +for Garvin to mislead? For that must have been the way of it—he had +told her a half-truth in order to get her away.... Then he sank back +into depression.</p> + +<p>When the clock struck two, Baird looked up at the slowly-traveling +hands; the next would be the deadest hour of the night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a>XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>BEN BROKAW EXPLAINS</h3> + + +<p>"Does she know about Edward?" Baird asked of Ben. He had followed Ben to +the barn, and that was his first anxious question.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I tol' her. She had to be told—I couldn't keep it from her. I +tol' her before Sue come."</p> + +<p>"God! How did she take it?"</p> + +<p>Ben's eyes lighted. "Like a Penniman—or a Westmo' would take it!"</p> + +<p>"You had courage," Baird breathed in relief. "I didn't dare tell her."</p> + +<p>"I knowed who I talked to," Ben returned deeply. "Ann growed up under my +han'—I know the blood that's in Ann. She's got courage, Ann has—I +weren't afraid."</p> + +<p>It was Ben Brokaw, not the Penniman family, who had come in out of the +darkness and the rain and had watched over Ann while Baird had gone for +the doctor. Between three and four o'clock, the sleeping collie had +roused and gone out, and a few minutes later Baird had heard the +approach of some one. When he sprang up, it was Ben who had confronted +him, dripping wet, splashed with mud, small eyes peering and amazed. He +had looked at Ann, prostrate, an instant of partial comprehension, then +he had looked, as redly as any enraged animal, at Baird.</p> + +<p>Baird's explanation had been succinct, and, after a moment of +grief-stricken understanding, Ben had shown even a shrewder grasp of the +situation than Baird himself. Their consultation had been a hurried one, +but when Baird galloped off through the rain he had been supported by +the certainty that he had left both love and wisdom watching over Ann. +There was a capable brain and a father's tender heart in Bear Brokaw's +grotesque body—and a dog's faithfulness.</p> + +<p>It was after sunrise when Baird had brought the doctor to the Pennimans' +door, and it was Sue Penniman, haggard but collected, not Ben, who had +opened to them.</p> + +<p>"How is she?" had been Baird's instant question.</p> + +<p>"We think she's better. She's awake an' able to talk."</p> + +<p>Baird had held Sue's eye. "I've told the doctor Ben sent me for him. I +couldn't tell him anything about the accident, only that she must have +lain unconscious for a long time."</p> + +<p>Sue met his look steadily. "We'll tell him about it," she said.</p> + +<p>"Where is Ben?" Baird had asked.</p> + +<p>"He just went out to the barn."</p> + +<p>Baird had followed and had found Ben seated on a box in the wagon-shed, +whittling and swaying as he worked. Any one who knew Ben well could have +told Baird that Ben always whittled and swayed when thinking deeply or +when perturbed; that he always carried bits of pine in his pockets, and +that under his handling they usually became figure-fours. Ben had heard +Baird's hasty approach, but he had not looked up until Baird was upon +him with his anxious question.</p> + +<p>Ben thought, as he watched Baird's partial relief, that the young fellow +looked pretty thoroughly "done." The rain had washed most of the mud +from his trousers, but he was still well smudged with it and soaking +wet, his face gray-white and his eyes red-rimmed.</p> + +<p>"You better set down while you wait fo' what the doctor has to say," he +advised in a kindly growl. "Emergencies had oughter be met standin' and +suspense sittin'. You've stood up pretty good against the first, reckon +you can do the right thing by the second.... There's a box strong enough +to hol' you, over there."</p> + +<p>Baird brought it and sat down opposite Ben.</p> + +<p>"You're about as wet and all in as I am," he remarked, in answer to the +kindly note in Ben's voice. The big creature was just as Baird had seen +him last, wet and muddy and queerly mottled about his cheeks and nose, +red patches upon the nearest approach to pallor his tanned face could +attain.</p> + +<p>"A wettin' ain't nothin' to me," Ben said, "but I done somethin' the +same things you done last night." Then, either to ease Baird's suspense +or for some other reason, he continued: "I was tellin' you last night it +was me foun' the hole in the bridge an' what was below, an' we agreed I +must have come on it a little after you'd took Ann away.... You see, +when I run to Westmo' to tell Judith about Edward, she says, 'Ben, +Garvin ain't here. You take the word to the Copeleys first, go quick, +then try to meet up with Garvin.' I done what she says. I had a hard +time findin' Garvin, though. I got the first word of him at the club. +Everybody were gone from there to tell everybody else what a Westmo' had +done to hisself, an' the cook were the only one left. He said a while +befo' he'd heard some one gettin' out Garvin's automobile from the +shed—seems he'd been keepin' it there, at the club. The cook reckoned +it was Garvin that some one must have tol' Garvin what had happened, an' +he'd took the automobile so's to get to Westmo' in a hurry. I started +down the Post-Road then, an' I come upon what had happened. My lord!" +Ben paused, then went on. "Well, I dragged some rails acrost the road +an' went fo' help, an' we got the las' man bearin' the name of Westmo' +back to his house."</p> + +<p>In spite of his efforts, Ben's voice had grown unsteady, and he whittled +violently and in silence for a few moments, until speech escaped him: +"It begun to rain on us befo' we got to Westmo', like the sky were +weepin' over the sins of them that brung us into the world. That po' +thing we was carryin'—'tweren't none of his fault. An' we builds jails +an' madhouses fo' the like of him, an' jest goes right on fillin' +them.... Garvin weren't never jest right, Mr. Baird. Them two youngest +Westmo's—Sarah an' Garvin—'twere their pa should answer fo' them ... +an' yet, what right hev I talkin' like that! There didn't no one teach +sense to men like the ole colonel an' ole Mr. Penniman. I've jest got +one big pity fo' every one of them—particular fo' them that's left."</p> + +<p>"He nearly did for Ann—I'm not thinking of his forebears," Baird said +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Ben collected himself. "He was jest out of his mind—you can't judge him +like you would a sane man.... You know, of co's', that Edward cared a +lot for Ann and she fo' him, an' that Garvin were mad over her, like he +would be, an' that she wouldn't have him. If you don't know, I'm telling +you, an' fo' Ann's sake, it's a thing we ain't goin' to speak about to +others. I'll tell you, too, what Ann tol' me when her an' me were +talkin', befo' Sue come back. Ann tol' me she was sittin' in the dark on +the porch an' Garvin come up sudden an' tol' her Edward were hurt an' +dyin' an' askin' fo' her to come. He'd brought his automobile to the +cedar road, an' that's what he must have been doin' when the cook heard +him. I know his horse was at the club barn when I was there, because I +seen it there. Ann says she went off quick with him, she weren't +thinkin' of nobody but Edward, an' they started fo' the Post-Road. She +didn't suspicion at first that Garvin weren't in his right mind, but +when they began to tear down the Post-Road he spoke queer, an' jest +befo' they struck the bridge she was sure he was clean mad. She was so +scart she stood up, an' the next thing they was throwed. It was her +standin' up saved her, I reckon. Jest what drove Garvin mad we'll never +know. How much he knowed of what's happened, or jest what he intended to +do, it's beyond us to tell, but that he was clean beside hisself, that's +certain."</p> + +<p>Baird had listened to Ben's explanation. It fitted in with much that he +knew and with much that he had suspected, and he guessed that Ben could +have told him a great deal more had he chosen to do so. Ben loved Ann, +as a father loves his daughter, so much Baird had discovered during the +night, and, also, that Ben was faithful to both the Pennimans and the +Westmores. In his weariness and anxiety, Baird refused to think of it. +What did it matter—if only Ann pulled through unshattered?</p> + +<p>Baird was sick with fatigue, racked still by anxiety, and angered by +Coats Penniman's neglect of his daughter. "Where were Ann's people all +night—why did they leave Ann to fall into a trap like that?" he +demanded.</p> + +<p>Ben worked away at his stick. "That were a mystery to me, till Sue come. +It was natural enough, though, how that happened. Coats, he had to go to +the city, an' Sue, she drove in with him, early in the evenin'. They'd +left word with Ann they'd be gone late. They knowed I'm always here in +the evenin'—I ain't moved off this place a single evenin', not in +weeks. They weren't worryin' about Ann's not bein' safe. But last +evenin' I weren't here, an' you know why. Sue tells me they were drivin' +Billy, an' you know what he is. Come time to get home, they had trouble +with him. He's a devil, that horse, a good traveler, but that's all. He +give Coats' shoulder a bad wrench. There weren't no trains they could +get till near mornin', an' Sue she took the first train out an' walked +up from the station, leavin' Coats to dispose of Billy and come out +later. Sue were worried to death over her father an' Ann, she looked +like a ghost when she come in, an' ready to drop, but she come to when +she seen what trouble she'd come back to.... That's Penniman fo' you, +jest like Miss Judith's stiff upper lip is Westmo'. These southern +ladies, Mr. Baird, whose mothers done stood fas' while their men was +bein' shot to pieces in the war—their mothers' blood's in them, all +right! They'll stand up to anything, they will, an' gamble on a chance +cooler nor any man!" Ben spoke with a profound admiration that dignified +even his language.</p> + +<p>Baird thought of Judith and how he had bent to her hand. But he had +learned a surprising thing. "You don't tell me that old Mr. Penniman was +in the house all the time I was there?" he exclaimed. "Why, I pounded +the door and shouted."</p> + +<p>"Sure he was there—up to his room in the front. He's fearful deaf an' +he were asleep. He never heared you. I forgot to tell you, when we were +plannin' quick of how to keep from everybody's knowin' that Ann was with +Garvin. All my mind was on gettin' the doctor to her an' keepin' Ann's +name from bein' mixed up in what's happened, an' so was yours."</p> + +<p>"Will Miss Penniman be able to carry it through?" Baird asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"She <i>will</i>! I've done talked to her."</p> + +<p>"And Ann?"</p> + +<p>"Ann's too sick to talk—that's her answer," Ben returned with decision. +"I tol' you I'd find the right thing to say." He pointed: "You see that +there hole, where fodder is throwed down to the cows? Ann fell through +there—it's a consid'able fall—more'n fifteen feet an' it won't be the +first case of the kind the doctor has had to do with. <i>I</i> say that <i>I</i> +foun' Ann down there, onconscious, an' any that doubts my word can come +to me! I ain't never judged a lie a lie if it were tol' to help a +woman—it's about the only chanst a man has to make up to his ma fo' +men's havin' fastened the story of Eve to her."</p> + +<p>In spite of his anxiety, Baird smiled. He liked Ben, and for much the +same reasons as he had liked Edward Westmore; Ben Brokaw was every whit +as true a gentleman. Baird thought of Edward's gentleness and +consideration to women. "Ben?" he asked abruptly. "Why did Edward kill +himself? Ann loved him, and you say he loved her—why did he hurt her +like that? There appears to be no doubt about it, for the doctor told +me that the pistol was smoked and that the wound showed that it had been +fired at close range. The reason Mr. Copeley gave me—that Edward had +heart trouble—isn't sufficient reason to me. Why in the name of heaven +did he do such a thing!"</p> + +<p>Ben stopped his work. But he did not look at Baird; he looked out at the +struggle between sun and mist. After a considerable pause, he said +slowly, "It seems the cruelest thing in all this night's work, don't +it?... I can't explain it.... The Ridge'll give its reasons, an' first +among them, that there is knowed to be one Westmo' whose mind ain't +right, an' that now the thing's showed itself in Edward.... It's all +right your askin' me—I know you are considerin' Ann same as I am. You +can ask me anything you like an' I'll answer to the best of my ability, +but it's a thing I won't discuss with nobody else. I thought a heap of +Edward—I don't want to talk about it. My biggest trouble now is Ann."</p> + +<p>If Ben intended to divert Baird, he succeeded. Baird moved restlessly, +then got up. "He's in there a long time!" he said through his teeth.</p> + +<p>He went to the door and looked out at the misty morning. It had been a +steady, deep-sinking rain, like the satisfying answer to a prayer, and +now the sun was fighting the steaming moisture, trying to work its +vivifying will upon the growing things; in an hour's time it would +triumphantly climb the heavens.</p> + +<p>Ben looked at Baird's drooping shoulders. The boy was almost falling +from fatigue. He was certainly a "cool-head," but a boy, nevertheless; a +young fellow experiencing his first big trouble, and not knowing just +what to make of it. He loved Ann completely, he had shown that, a +somewhat astonishing thing in one of his rough-and-ready sort, Ben +thought. If the doctor brought them bad news, they were both going to +suffer.</p> + +<p>Baird straightened and turned. "He's coming," he said.</p> + +<p>Ben rose uncertainly to his feet. "You go ask him," he returned in his +deepest growl.</p> + +<p>But Baird was already on his way. The doctor's buggy had come into view, +and Ben watched Baird go. He peered intently at the group, the doctor +bent forward a little and Baird standing with one hand on the dashboard, +as if for support.... The buggy moved on, and, for a moment, Ben could +not make out whether Baird was returning laggingly or not. Then he saw +that he came with head up, and Ben stopped swaying.</p> + +<p>Baird's tired eyes were alight. "Ben, he says there's no serious injury, +just a severe shock. It was the concussion made her unconscious so long. +He said she might never have come out from it, that many don't, but that +she had. And he says her spine's all right." It was the fear that had +harried them both, and to which neither had referred.</p> + +<p>"Um!" said Ben. It was an expressive monosyllable.</p> + +<p>The two looked at each other in the way usual with men when uplifted and +yet held by awkwardness.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to the club now," Baird said.</p> + +<p>And Ben asked as prosaically, "Where's your horse?"</p> + +<p>"I left him in the doctor's stable—I don't mind walking.... I'll come +over this afternoon." And he went.</p> + +<p>Ben stood for a time, considering, and the color that for a few moments +had dulled the patches on his face gradually faded. One trouble had been +lifted from his mind, but it was crowded with others. He was thinking of +Judith Westmore—and intently of Coats Penniman. Sue had done her best, +and he had listened without questioning, but she had not deceived his +intelligence. Ann had told him that they had found Garvin's letters. +Coats' sudden going and his failure to return were curious things. Was +it possible that he had been mistaken? And that he had misled Judith?... +If he had, he had unwittingly saved a Penniman at a pretty big price to +a Westmore.</p> + +<p>Ben was thinking anxiously of the future.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a>XXXV</h2> + +<h3>WAITING</h3> + + +<p>The middle of June brought hot days and unrefreshing nights to the +Ridge, frequent rains and steaming heat, and yet Baird stayed on. He was +comparatively idle now, for he had done about all he could in the +Southeast for his firm. Dempster needed him in the West; any day the +summons might come.</p> + +<p>Baird could not and would not go until Ann was on the way to recovery. +It was three weeks since her accident and yet he had not been allowed to +see her; she had been too ill. Coats Penniman had returned to the farm +the day after the Westmore tragedy, and had immediately sent for a city +specialist, who had simply confirmed what the Ridge doctor had said, +that there was no injury except the shock to Ann's entire nervous +system. She had youth in her favor, but, at best, nervous prostration +was a slow matter. Rest and freedom from worry of any sort was his +prescription, the usual prescription.</p> + +<p>Coats and Sue and Ben, and Baird also, knew why Ann was so lifeless, +that she was not only ill from shock, but sick with grief as well. Sue +had talked to Ann, affectionately and pityingly, and Coats had shown +Ann far more paternal tenderness than he had expressed in all the +seventeen years past; Ann was surrounded by kindness, but she remained +lifeless, too weak to walk, too weak to talk much, even to Ben, though +he was her constant companion, her nurse, in reality, for his seemed to +be the only presence that did not tire her. The sight, even the sound, +of her grandfather made her eyes dilate dangerously. The attentions of +her family appeared to exhaust her; she could not sleep when they were +with her.</p> + +<p>Very little of the talk and excitement over the Westmore tragedy +filtered to Ann. Ben told her a little about Judith's and the entire +Westmore connection's quiet acceptance of an overwhelming trouble. The +day following the tragedy, the city papers had given accounts of the +occurrence that carefully avoided any mention of the Westmore family's +inherited misfortune which was being openly discussed both in the city +and on the Ridge. Colonel Dickenson had given to his friends in the city +the only reason the family could assign for Edward's act, the same +reason Mr. Copeley had given to Baird, and their explanation of Garvin's +fate; a frantic haste to reach Westmore, and the condition of the +Post-Road bridge.</p> + +<p>For a time the Ridge had buzzed with comments: the Ridge had always +known that the family misfortune would reveal itself in another +Westmore, and for Garvin they had terse sentences: a reckless dissipated +man, what else could you expect? A dash in an automobile on a black +night and over such roads as theirs! The Ridge had always known that he +would come to some such end. Ben was questioned by every one he met, and +talked with apparent frankness of his connection with the tragedy. Baird +had said little, but had listened intently to the Ridge gossip. When it +was apparent that no one knew of Ann's connection with the Westmore +brothers, he breathed more freely. Ben was keeping his secret well. +Baird's own surmises he kept strictly to himself.</p> + +<p>Coats Penniman had very little to say to any one—except Sue—there were +no secrets between them. They had come together, those two; mutual +distress had united them. It was known now on the Ridge that they would +be married as soon as Coats' daughter was well. Coats went about the +farm working hard, as usual. He had carried his arm in a sling for some +days, then had discarded it. He had always been a silent man, he was +more silent than usual, that was all.</p> + +<p>Sue alone knew what weighed on his mind. His most constant thought was +of Ann, and how best to help her. It seemed best to leave her to Ben. +Sue knew how acutely Coats was suffering, and she clung to him with the +greater devotion.</p> + +<p>During the last of the three anxious weeks, Ann had talked more with +Ben, and after that she gained a little strength. Ben wished that she +would weep; her calmness was unnatural.</p> + +<p>Ann's stoicism frightened Sue. "I'm afraid of it," she was driven to say +to Coats.</p> + +<p>The furrows in Coats' forehead deepened, but he said quietly, "Don't +worry, Sue. There's plenty of good sane blood in Ann. Just wait and let +time help her."</p> + +<p>Baird also was anxiously waiting. Every day of that three weeks he had +stopped at the Penniman house to inquire about Ann. Often he rode on to +Westmore and spent the evening with Judith. Though urged by the whole +connection, Judith had refused to leave Westmore, even for a day. She +had faced God's half-acre, faced the present and the future with the +same undaunted spirit with which she had faced the difficult past. She +had taken up Edward's interests; she rode about Westmore like any +capable overseer, and her evenings she spent seated beneath the Westmore +portraits.</p> + +<p>She was always at home to Baird, and Westmore seemed to Baird much as it +had been. Save for Judith's black gown, there were few signs of +mourning. Judith bore herself spiritedly, was the same fluent speaker, +and charming, as always. If Baird had not noticed her expression at +times, when she was off guard, he might have thought her heartless. He +knew that, in her way, she was suffering as keenly as Ann. Her manner to +Baird was a mixture of friendly interest and something deeper, a tacit +recognition of their former relations, and as tacit a disclaimer of any +expectations.</p> + +<p>Baird was in many respects the "cool-head" Ben Brokaw thought him. So +long as his own feelings were clearly defined, he felt no hesitation in +going to Westmore. On the first occasion when Judith said, "You are not +looking well, Nickolas," he had answered without preamble or apology, +"You know, I suppose, how fond I am of Ann Penniman? She's very ill—I +doubt sometimes whether she'll pull through. I'm not feeling +particularly happy, Judith."</p> + +<p>If Judith had rehearsed her answer many times, it could not have been +more equably delivered: "Yes, I know you are. Ben tells me that it was a +fall in the barn, and I'm sorry both for you and for her. But she's +young and strong—she will get well."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I hope so," Baird said.</p> + +<p>The drop in his voice had told Judith far more than his avowal, and she +could not endure it in silence. "Ann was fond of my brother—of both my +brothers," she said dryly.</p> + +<p>Baird had winced; so she knew all that history, doubtless far better +than he did. Then his jaw set, and he quoted her own words, "But she's +young and so am I. And as I'm good at both fighting and waiting, I +generally win out."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will," Judith said, with an instant return to her usual +manner. "There is no one whom I'd rather see happy."</p> + +<p>After the first flash of anger Baird forgave her the thrust. He had been +rather brutal. Still it had been a necessary brutality; unless there was +a distinct understanding, he could not continue his visits. Baird judged +that Judith would not again swerve from the attitude she had adopted, +and he was right. He genuinely liked and admired Judith Westmore. He +admired the strength of will that enabled her to go on playing the role +she had chosen; she was a pretty splendid sort. And he was profoundly +sorry for her; she'd had a beastly hard row to hoe, and had hoed it +well. He took off his hat to her!</p> + +<p>But Baird did not take his depression and his fears to Judith. When he +was "down," he rode for miles into the country, often until late at +night. He thought continuously of Ann. He was convinced that she had +been a more potential factor in the Westmore tragedy than any one +dreamed. Baird wondered endlessly whether Ann was not suffering as much +from remorse as from grief. He had long ago decided that she was both +elusive and compelling, the type that gives little and receives much, +the sort of woman who drives a man to fight for all he receives. +Certainly two men had struggled for her, and, Baird was convinced, had +died because of her. And he himself! He had fought for her against death +itself, and was still fighting.... Well, he liked to fight; he had never +treasured anything that came easy.</p> + +<p>From the beginning of time men have yielded to the women they think +potential, a fascinated interest that may or may not be love. Certainly +when coupled with desire it is an irresistible force. When allied to +tenderness, it is the blind worship which has urged men to most of the +chivalrously romantic acts in history.</p> + +<p>Baird told himself that he had sensed the potential in Ann, on the day +when he had captured a kiss. She had drawn him away from Judith and had +compelled him even when he knew perfectly well that her thoughts were +with one or the other of those two. She had compelled him to put up the +stiffest fight he had ever made, an actual grapple with death. It might +seem to others that he was infatuated with a girl of no importance +whatever, but he knew better: Ann's surroundings were an accident—by +right of innate superiority, she belonged to Judith's class, and Edward +had realized that, too. No, he was held and compelled and overwhelmingly +in love with a potential woman.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Baird was simply laboring under the hallucination usual with +lovers, which urges them to swathe the objects of their affection with +an interest quite indiscernible to the sane-minded. Possibly the tragedy +in which Ann was involved and the fact that she almost certainly owed +her life to him had touched an imaginative strain in him. It is more +likely that, like Edward, he was a shrewd judge of character and that, +despite her youth and her simple rearing, Ann did possess potentiality; +that eventually she might even emerge a gifted woman.</p> + +<p>However that may be, certainly no lover came into the presence of the +woman he loved with more profound sensations than stirred Baird when at +last Ben brought him to Ann. "You can come on in," Ben said. "She says +she wants to thank you."</p> + +<p>When Baird's eyes leaped to her, he lost the power of speech, for +illness and grief had worked havoc: they had thinned her face until it +looked small and pinched, had set immense circles about her eyes, +destroyed the softness of lips and chin; her hair appeared to be the +only unchanged thing about her, a black mass crowning the pillow.</p> + +<p>Ann lifted to his clasp a hand that seemed as fragile as a bird's claw, +but her voice had not changed, the old soft drawl enlivened by the +well-remembered touches of coquetry and aloofness: "Ben says you saved +my life—and I can't ever pay off that debt, can I? Not unless I save +yours some time. I'll have to be always watching out for the chance, but +all I can do now is just to say, 'Thank you—thank you very much,' an' +not talk any more about it."</p> + +<p>A light answer was quite beyond Baird. For almost the first time in his +life he was pretty thoroughly tongue-tied. "I wish you weren't so ill," +he said simply.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him, a parting of colorless lips over white teeth. "Ben +says young things get well quicker than old ones. He says funny things +to me, an' some of them I reckon are wise things. He said yesterday, +that, if a man had any heart left at all after he had done playing with +it, he didn't really know nothin' about what kind of a heart it was till +he was forty, an' that a woman, whether she had a heart or not, 'never +knows nothin' about it at all.'"</p> + +<p>Baird was permeated by an aching disappointment. Ann had seen what lay +in his eyes, and on the instant had donned a mask and interposed a +shield. She had confessed to a debt, that was all. She wanted none of +him; Judith could not have conveyed the impression any more skilfully.</p> + +<p>From somewhere within himself Baird managed to bring forth what strove +to be a light sentence: "Ben's a pretty good second father to you, isn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I reckon he is—" Then, suddenly, her mask slipped. Her eyes +widened, filled to overflowing with grief and pain—then closed. The +tears gathered beneath her lashes and rolled down her cheeks, until a +storm of sobs caught her and shook her.</p> + +<p>Shocked and bewildered, Baird bent over her. He was never able to +remember just what he said, only that he tried to lift her up and that +Ben made him put her down, then drew him out of the room.</p> + +<p>"She ain't fit to talk!" Ben said forcibly. "Jest you go on along, an' +come another time!"</p> + +<p>Baird went out and rode for miles, until long after dark. He would have +carried his wretchedness to bed with him had he not returned through the +Penniman place. Ben was lounging by the gate.</p> + +<p>"Well?" Baird asked dully.</p> + +<p>"She's right smart better," Ben growled.</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Um."</p> + +<p>Then Ben explained. "Women's nerves is like plants—they needs water. +I've been wishin' this long time that Ann's would get rained on.... +She's jest naturally cried herself to sleep."</p> + +<p>"And you think it's done her good?" Baird asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"I do.... When she asks me to fetch her the lookin'-glass, I'll rest +easy."</p> + +<p>Baird felt rather than saw the twinkle in Ben's eyes, and he laughed +from sheer relief, the first time he had laughed in weeks.</p> + +<p>He went on to the club and wrote to Dempster, asking him for a month's +vacation. "You see," Baird wrote, "the girl I love and mean to marry—if +I can get her—has been next door to death. There seems to be a chance +for her now, and a month will mean a lot to me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a>XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>"IT LIES WITH ANN"</h3> + + +<p>Baird was granted his holiday. He would have taken it, despite +consequences, but it was better to have gained it in this way. Dempster, +who was a rough but kindly sort, had written: "All right, take the +month, but don't you fail me in August. Make the best of it and bring +her back with you—we'll welcome her."</p> + +<p>Baird had laid the letter down with a groan. "Bring her back with me! If +he knew how hard I'm up against it!" Nevertheless, he made his daily +visit to the Penniman house.</p> + +<p>Ann was certainly improving. By the first of July she was able to sit on +the porch, even to walk as far as the terraces. But not with Baird. +Baird was very certain that neither Coats nor Sue nor Ben was +responsible for his not being allowed to see Ann again. He felt that all +three were friendly to him and to his suit, for there was no mistaking +his intention.</p> + +<p>"He's desperately in love with her," Sue said to Coats. "I'm sorry for +him when I have to tell him that Ann doesn't feel well enough to see +him. It hurts me the way he looks at me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's wretched," Coats agreed, "but I've nothing to say one way or +the other. It lies entirely with Ann. He's a good sort and he's +open-minded, but there are things may daunt even him. Ann will have to +decide for herself. I know her a deal better than I did, Sue—I was all +wrong in my estimate of her. She's too proud and strong-willed for any +man to capture easily. I've been a poor enough father to her in the +past, the best I can do now is to hold my peace."</p> + +<p>Possibly Ben knew what disposal Ann meant to make of Baird; he knew more +about Ann's thoughts than any one else did. At any rate, it was he who, +on the Fourth of July, told Baird that Ann was feeling well enough to +see him. He appeared at the club and delivered Ann's message:</p> + +<p>"Ann wanted I should tell you she was able to see you," he announced.</p> + +<p>Baird flushed crimson. "Shall I go now?" he asked hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit—till the sun's gone," Ben said. "She'll be out to the porch +then." He looked grave. "Mr. Baird, jest you remember that Ann's been +through a deal, an' don't you overdo her." He fumbled his cap +uncomfortably. "When I were young I was always in a turrible hurry—I +never reckoned on time. An' I were awful decided in my mind about +everything. Now I don't do no decidin' to speak of—I lets time do it."</p> + +<p>Ben's remarks were not altogether clear to Baird, but the first part of +his speech was easy to grasp. "I'll try not to tire her," he promised.</p> + +<p>"All right," Ben said, and departed.</p> + +<p>Baird watched him rolling off to the woods, like a bear freed from human +interference. His oddly bent body suggested a craving for the woods and +a thirst for running water. He had been caged for a long time; Baird +guessed that it had worn upon him; he doubted whether any one but Ann +could have compelled Ben to do it.</p> + +<p>To fill in time, Baird walked to the Penniman house, loitering along +beneath the cedars. He was reflecting that love did queer things to a +man; it could strengthen his body into iron, make him fight like mad, or +turn him as weak as a baby and as humble as a slave; weak in the knees +and sick about the heart.... But, if only for a moment, he could hold +Ann in his arms ... and she should cling to him.... He stopped, shaken +from head to foot at the thought of possible response.</p> + +<p>The thing swept him and shook him.... Then he walked on. He was a fool; +he was forgetting. The best he could hope for was a little kindness. She +meant to be kind, or she wouldn't have sent for him.</p> + +<p>It was not twilight yet, the sunset was too brilliant, and fear of not +finding Ann on the porch made him come slowly up the road. When he saw +her white dress, he strode along. He was grateful to the glow, for he +could see her face. It was not so thin as when he had last seen her, +and her eyes were less shadowed; a little of the old-time softness had +returned to her lips and chin. But she was still wan and thin and +fragile enough to remind him of Ben's warning. So help him! he'd behave +more sensibly than on the last occasion! He could even force himself to +be banal.</p> + +<p>"It's good of you to see me," he said when he reached her. "Are you +really feeling well enough to talk?"</p> + +<p>She smiled up at him, and her smile made her look more like the Ann he +remembered. "I can stand up, but I won't," she said with a touch of her +old-time gaiety. "My feet feel queer an' far away when I do."</p> + +<p>"Stand up! I should think not!... May I sit here on the step, where I +sat the first time we ever really talked together? That was about a +hundred years ago, I think." Baird ventured this reference to the past.</p> + +<p>Ann answered gravely. "A little less than two months ago—I was thinking +of it to-day."</p> + +<p>Baird chose to consider the speech propitious, and he ventured further. +"I remember you gave me a definition of love, and then couldn't remember +just what you'd said.... I've always remembered that definition of +yours."</p> + +<p>"I don't remember now what it was I said. I know, though, that I'm not +wise about such things." She spoke with a quiver of feeling, and looked +beyond him, at the sunset.</p> + +<p>Baird did not dare to say one of the things that crowded to his lips. He +decided to say, "Wisdom never proceeds from a vacant head, and what you +said was a bit of wisdom. I haven't forgotten a word of it."</p> + +<p>Ann moved restlessly. She made no reply, but Baird saw the color tinge +her cheeks. He had purposely chosen the top step of the porch, for then +he could look up into her face, and, surreptitiously, he could hold a +bit of her dress. There was comfort in the contact. He felt queerly +nervous, for it was so evident that he was not talking to the same girl +who had thought aloud while she stared up at the stars. There was a +disconcerting air of maturity about Ann.</p> + +<p>Somewhere above them a locust started its song and Ann withdrew her eyes +from the distance and looked down at Baird's steady upward gaze. "Do you +hear that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Her look, veiled and troubled and at the same time observant of the +changes the last weeks had wrought upon him, had no more connection with +her question than Baird's eager gaze had with his answer. He had grown +thinner, his cheek-bones more prominent and his jaw less heavy; he +looked more nervously and less brutally forceful.</p> + +<p>"That fellow's retiring late—they've been winding their watches under +my window all afternoon." He replied, while his blue-gray eyes, alight +and questioning, searched her face: "I went for a walk this morning, +beyond the creek, to where they're cutting grain, and the grasshoppers +were everywhere, grinding their legs as if getting ready for a busy +summer. You know the big flat rock, down by the creek, in the woods near +the Back Road? I found a tree-toad in the chinkapin bushes there, and +two little red and yellow turtles in the creek. I brought them all home +with me and played with them a while.... You see, I've been driven to +nature for comfort—while I've been waiting for a sight of you."</p> + +<p>Ann had grown dead white; her eyes had shifted to her lap, to her +tightly clasped hands. "Locusts and grasshoppers coming so early mean—a +dry summer—" she said with difficulty. Then more clearly, "I wanted you +to come as soon as I was able—because I had to ask you something—" She +stopped.</p> + +<p>"Well?" Baird breathed.</p> + +<p>She met his vivid look, shrank a little under it, but did not look away. +"Mr. Baird, I know why you are staying here—an' I'm sorry. It's no +use—I'll only hurt you more and more. You must go away."</p> + +<p>Baird sat motionless, his eyes blank.</p> + +<p>Ann went on more softly. "You've saved my life—you've done much more +than that, an' the only kindness I can do you is just to tell you to go. +If I let you go on caring for me, I'd be doing you a wicked wrong."</p> + +<p>Baird flung back his head; color and life and the urge to fight had come +back to him. "Suppose you let me decide what's best for me! How can you +judge of the future? Am I hateful or repellent to you?... I don't +believe it. You like me, and in the end you'll love me."</p> + +<p>"I can't ever love you," Ann said firmly.</p> + +<p>He took her hands. "Ann, give me a little time, dear? Just a fighting +chance?... That's all I ask."</p> + +<p>"No. I've been responsible for trouble enough—I can't do it."</p> + +<p>"Why can't you? What possible harm can it do for you simply to be kind +to me? Give me a chance?"</p> + +<p>She was silent, trembling and breathing quickly.</p> + +<p>Baird bent and kissed her hands, put his cheek against them. "Ann, I +love you—I never dreamed that I could love any one as I love you. +You've gone deep down in me and nestled against things I didn't know +were there. I'll be patient—if only you'll give me a word of hope."</p> + +<p>"I can't—I can't give you hope when there isn't any!" Ann said with +sudden sharpness. "If you asked me for anything else in the world I'd +give it to you, but you want a thing I can't give!"</p> + +<p>Baird dragged himself up and stood with his back to her. "You hurt me—" +he said through his teeth.</p> + +<p>"I'd have to hurt you—like this—every time you came," Ann said with a +drop into huskiness. "That's why I'm beggin' you to go an' stop thinking +about me. I've got to go on livin' whether I want to or not, an' I +couldn't bear it."</p> + +<p>Baird turned around. "I'll go," he said. "I'll go to-morrow.... But I'm +coming back, Ann.... I'll keep on coming to the end of time. I put my +life into you that night—you're part of me. It isn't a debt you owe me, +it's just that I belong to you and you to me!" He spoke with passionate +conviction.</p> + +<p>Ann said nothing; she sat with eyes closed.</p> + +<p>Then he said thickly, "I've made you ill—is there any one here to look +after you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—Aunt Sue—"</p> + +<p>He bent down, took her face between his hands and kissed her lips. "I'm +going now. I had to say that last—it's true."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a>XXXVII</h2> + +<h3>COLD CASH</h3> + + +<p>"July, August and September—an endless number of Julys, Augusts and +Septembers as futile as these last three months have been. That's my +future, I suppose—if I go on with it," Baird said to himself. He had +just come up through the Mine Banks Road, had crossed the County Road, +and had turned into the long winding approach to Westmore.</p> + +<p>Baird drew rein and looked back at the looming Mine Banks. Autumn had +wielded a full brush, splashing the country with October colors, reds, +warm-browns, yellows, rioting in gaudy pre-senile triumph over the +resigned duns of field and pasture and the stately indifference of the +never-changing cedars and pines. The bald iron-reddened forehead of the +Banks, forever ferocious over man's vandalism, glared as angrily upon +autumn's saturnalia as it had upon spring's tender eagerness. The +venturesome tendrils of wild-grape and Virginia creeper, tolerated by +the evergreens, had not dared to wind themselves about the Banks' +burning forehead, and, now, unlike the more courteous evergreens, it +supported none of all this brilliant decay. Not even the sumac, +inconsequent reveler, had planted its crimson torch upon the Banks' bald +head; only the impalpable blue haze, like the courageous wind and the +rain, the sun and the snow, ventured to touch it.</p> + +<p>Baird's eyes traveled from the Mine Banks to the pastures, then to the +brilliant semicircle of woodland that curtained the Penniman house. "If +I go on with it," he repeated. He turned and faced Westmore; spoke to +his horse and they moved on.</p> + +<p>Nickolas Baird, who loved to fight and to conquer, owned himself beaten. +He had kept his promise to Ann: he had gone west to Dempster and had +worked indefatigably throughout July, August and September, and, now, in +October, they were sending him to France.</p> + +<p>Throughout the first two months, he had written frequently to Ann, long +letters sometimes, a pretty complete self-expression. She had not +answered; it had been a little like writing to the dead. Early in the +summer, when terribly anxious over Ann's health, he had written to Coats +Penniman, and had received a courteous but reserved reply: "Sue and I +wish you well," Coats had written. "We have always thought highly of +you. All I can say regarding Ann is that she is steadily improving in +health. Yes, she has received your letters, for I have heard her speak +of them. Cold comfort this had been to Baird."</p> + +<p>Early in August it had occurred to Baird to write Ben. The epistle he +had received in return had won Baird's lasting gratitude. There was a +big soul in Ben Brokaw, tenderness and loyalty and sincerity. Baird had +had some conception of the patient effort Ben had expended upon that +letter; he could vision the huge creature compelling himself to chair +and table, the dictionary on his knee, his hairy paw cramped by a pen. +Ben had told him some of the things he was yearning to know: quite +unimportant things Ann said or did, sustenance, nevertheless, to a lover +as starved as Baird was. Among other things, Ben wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"She's not herself yet, but she's prettier nor ever, though, +more growed up and stately."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Baird had not asked why Ann would not even acknowledge his letters, and +Ben had not referred in any way to what lay between Ann and Baird, yet +his entire letter had breathed understanding and sympathy. It had +emboldened Baird to ask, "Ben, you know Ann better than any one +else—tell me, is there no hope at all for me?"</p> + +<p>Ben's answer had been cryptic:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"About your hopes—I ain't no wise judge of women, but I've +noticed that some of them is just naturally born giving +hearted, and some has to grow up to it. The kind that has to +grow to it generally loves most to be loved. They seem to grow +up to loving by being loved, that is, if they're loved the +right way."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Baird had been thrown upon his own resources, as he had been when he had +struggled for Ann's life. He had succeeded then in infusing her with his +vitality, why could he not infuse love into her now? Those letters of +Baird's to Ann were vividly honest self-expressions; the best in him +went hand in hand with acute physical craving.</p> + +<p>Then, in September, he had received a staggering blow. Ben wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Something has happened you'll want to know about. Edward +Westmore's will has been made known and it's sure that he's +left Ann a considerable sum of money. Westmore and one-fourth +of his money he left to Judith, and the other three-fourths to +be divided equal between Garvin and Sarah and Ann, Sarah's to +be held in trust. In case either Garvin or Sarah should die, +their portion was to be divided equal between Judith and Ann, +so Ann gets half of Garvin's money right now, as well as her +own. Edward's will states distinct that he is giving a Penniman +this money because of wrongs done the Penniman family by the +Westmore family in the past.</p> + +<p>"There's great talk on the Ridge about it, and there's those +who says that Judith sure will try to break the will on the +ground that Edward couldn't have been of sound mind—that the +way he did for hisself showed that, and that the will were made +just before he died. But I know that Ann will get her money. +It's a big thing for Ann, and I thought you'd want to know +about it."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Ben had also told Baird that, a few days before, Coats and Sue had been +married. "Seems like a little happiness has come to the Penniman family +at last," Ben wrote.</p> + +<p>Nickolas Baird was a thoroughgoing modern with a high appreciation of +the value of money. He came of a money-winning and money-worshiping +race. However, he was sturdy in his ambitions, for he had never +considered marrying money, and had no particular desire to have it given +to him. It was making money that fascinated him.</p> + +<p>Ben's news had cut the ground from beneath Baird, for Ann Penniman, +penniless and tied to the farm, had been a possibility; Ann, independent +and with the world of men from which to choose, was another matter. +Baird had been unable to write to Ann after that. He was handicapped by +as complete a depression as had overtaken him after he had won her back +to life. He had been straining to get a hearing; suddenly it seemed +futile to attempt anything at all; she was beyond him.</p> + +<blockquote><p>But he wrote to Ben: "Thank you for telling me of Ann's good +fortune. I suppose I ought to be glad, but I'm not. I feel more +as if I'd had a blow on the head. I can't write to Ann or do +anything—she's passed beyond my reach. I've nothing to offer +her now—to save my neck, I couldn't clean up more than about +twenty thousand—that and my salary. When I make my pile, I +suppose I'll have courage to try again—if somebody doesn't +get ahead of me, or if in the meantime I don't fall for some +woman whose love is big enough for both of us."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Baird was in exactly this frame of mind as he rode up to Westmore under +the October sunshine. He had fallen hard, down upon the worldly earth; +upon old and familiar thoughts, trite aspirations and desires, cast +there by the vision of Ann buttressed by money. The sweet thing that had +permeated him had grown sick when frowned upon by cold cash. There was +an ugly vacant ache in him.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked himself, as he looked at Westmore, its stuccoed +length mottled by splashes of red and yellow, clinging vines and +low-hung branches. Judith had never failed him. All that long summer her +letters had come regularly, warmed by interest, asking nothing of him, +simply giving, giving—all she felt she would be allowed to give. He had +not told her that he was going to Europe. He had not even told her that +he was coming out to the Ridge, for he had decided to keep away from +Ann.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, he had changed his mind. He would go to New York by the +southern route; give himself the comfort of seeing Judith. But he would +not see Ann.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXVIII" id="XXXVIII"></a>XXXVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE REVELATION</h3> + + +<p>It seemed very natural to be welcomed by Hetty and shown into the +drawing-room. "Miss Judith, she'll be surprised!" Hetty exclaimed. +"Lord, Mr. Baird, you done growed thin!"</p> + +<p>"I've had too happy a summer to grow fat, Hetty."</p> + +<p>"Why, you ain't got married, is you?" Hetty asked seriously.</p> + +<p>"Far from it, Hetty—you run along and tell Miss Judith I'm here. I'm in +a hurry, for I have to get back to town this evening."</p> + +<p>Baird looked about the beautiful old room. How well he knew it! It was +Judith's rightful setting; he was glad she possessed the place. The fact +that she was a rich woman did not trouble him at all; if he loved her +greatly, he supposed it would.</p> + +<p>Judith came presently, her light quick step in the hall, then her actual +presence, welcome in every movement, her cheeks warm and eyes very +bright. She was still in black, but Baird thought he had never seen her +look more youthful. Or was it simply because he felt so many years older +than when he last saw her?</p> + +<p>"You here, Nickolas?" she said.</p> + +<p>Baird took the hands she held out to him, clasped them firmly. "Yes—to +say good-by for a time—I'm sailing for France day after to-morrow. I've +snatched a few minutes this afternoon because I wanted to see you."</p> + +<p>There were swift thoughts surging through Judith's brain, but her answer +was spontaneous enough: "That was good of you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, kind to myself," Baird said lightly. "I felt urged to come."</p> + +<p>Judith's smiling eyes had taken instant note of his appearance, and her +keen perception was busied over him. He lacked buoyancy, lacked it +utterly; every trace of boyishness was gone. He had aged, hardened. He +had the air of a man who looks coolly and joylessly upon his future.</p> + +<p>Judith had learned nothing from Baird's letters. He had left the Ridge +very suddenly; something had gone wrong. Probably Coats had intervened, +or, possibly, when she had discovered herself an heiress, Ann had failed +him. Judith had the jealous woman's bitter estimate of the girl who had +brought both her brothers under her sway, and had entangled Baird also. +The intensity of detestation she felt for Ann sometimes sickened Judith. +That Ann had won part of Edward's fortune had ground Judith's +detestation to a dagger's point.</p> + +<p>Under her brilliant exterior Judith was quivering. She had longed for +the sight and touch of this man and, but for Ann, she might have +recaptured him. Yet she had refrained from dealing the girl a blow. For +months Judith's soul had been crisscrossed by passions and burdened by +secrets. And Judith was in revolt. In revolt against conventions, +against her rearing, against herself; against everything. She was +typical of many women of her period; the restless craving woman of 1905 +was at heart a revolutionary, and ten years of revolt have molded her +into the feminist of to-day.</p> + +<p>Judith had been resolutely considering her future. What did life, lived +as she was living it, offer her? Unproductive, undeveloping middle-years +and a solitary old age. She felt that she had paid her last debt to +Westmore, and that the future lay before her, to be lived in different +fashion—if she had the courage to make the break. She had decided to +make it.</p> + +<p>And in her visioning of the future Nickolas Baird was a prominent +figure. He was an ambitious man, vastly capable, and destined for big +things, and she could help him. He would not marry Ann; she felt certain +that she could prevent it; it was her duty to prevent it. He would +recover from his infatuation, for he was not the sort of man who would +be held very long by an infatuation.</p> + +<p>Judith had been on the point of writing to Baird her momentous +decisions, and in coming to her he had given her an unexpected +opportunity. The smile did not leave her lips. "I have made all the +arrangements, Nickolas—I intended to write to you about it before I +left—that I am going to Paris, too—in a few days."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> leave Westmore!" Baird was too much surprised to express +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am leaving Westmore—and I doubt whether I shall ever return to +it." Her color had risen; though she smiled, a little of the bitterness +she felt edged her words.</p> + +<p>"I imagine it must be desolate for you here—but you, out of this +setting—I can't conceive of it exactly." Then it occurred to Baird what +this move of hers would mean to them both; a continued intimacy, +certainly. The vague motives that had brought him to her prompted the +quick addition: "We'll meet in Paris then, Judith—we'll see it +together."</p> + +<p>Though undefined, there was a suggestion both in his words and his +manner that affected Judith curiously, urging her to a sudden defiant +candor. What had her restrained, conventional life won for her? Nothing +more than expressions of gallant admiration; never the vital gripping +thing. "My setting!" she said scornfully. "A woman reared as I have been +has no more freedom of will than a walled-in prisoner! She's a perfect +slave, bound to the past and handed over hand-tied into the future. From +now on, I'm going to live. I am going to know countries, and nations, +and women and men—more as a man knows them. I'm going to think as I +please and live as I please. Not even the past is going to dictate my +future!" She had flung out her resolve, body tense and head high.</p> + +<p>Baird studied her; she had both surprised and amused him. Though not +widely experienced, he had met this sort of revolt degenerated into mere +free-living. Baird considered himself broad-minded, but he had not +passed beyond the conception that a woman's assertion of free thought +and action invariably meant that she was considering—as he would have +expressed it to himself—"going on the loose."</p> + +<p>But Judith Westmore, with her monumental pride and her immense +self-respect and her narrowly conventional rearing, talking of becoming +a free-lance! She didn't know what she was talking about; she could no +more do it than she could fly. She would see Paris—the world and its +peoples, for that matter—and "<i>men</i>," as conventionally as her class +and kind always saw them. She was simply worn into exasperation by +Westmore troubles—and her love for him. The thing was laughable—and a +little sad.</p> + +<p>It was Baird's very genuine admiration and liking for Judith that was +responsible for this conclusion. To almost any other attractive woman +who had tempted his present uncertain mood, he would have answered, and +meaningly, "Well, why not?" But to Judith he said kindly and amusedly, +"I don't wonder you want to throw all this off and get out into +breathing space. It'll do you good to get a change. I don't believe +you'll paint Paris a vivid red, though, Judith, even if I tried to help +you do it."</p> + +<p>It was evident that he had not taken her seriously, and Judith decided +that it was as well that he had not done so; she had said much more than +she had intended to say. The future was before them, and he would +discover soon enough that she was in deadly earnest. He would find a +changed woman when they met in Paris.</p> + +<p>She regained her usual bright manner. "I'm glad you're not too shocked +to continue our acquaintance. I hope you'll come to see me in Paris, and +then you can tell me what you think of my new way of life."</p> + +<p>Baird smiled. "Of course I'll come."</p> + +<p>She was very beautiful as she stood there, head high and with the color +of defiance still warming her cheeks. The ugly ache in Baird reminded +him that, at a few words from him, her structure of independence would +crumble. She would marry him to-morrow if he asked her, and give him an +immense devotion. His flush deepened into a dull red.</p> + +<p>Judith wondered of what he was thinking so absorbedly. Of Ann? Mentally, +she had passed on to the other decision she had reached. "Nickolas, you +knew, of course, that Edward remembered Ann Penniman very generously in +his will?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Baird started and stiffened. "Yes, so I understand."</p> + +<p>"Do you still care about her?... I wouldn't ask unless I had a good +reason."</p> + +<p>Baird had not realized that anything could hurt so keenly as this +questioning. His thoughts of a moment ago had vanished at the first +mention of Ann's name. "Yes, I love her just the same."</p> + +<p>"But things haven't gone very smoothly, I am afraid, Nickolas?"</p> + +<p>"No—they haven't.... I love Ann—she doesn't love me."</p> + +<p>"I doubt whether she is capable of loving anybody, very much," Judith +said quietly. "I hear that she is going to take her little fortune and +leave the Ridge—educate herself; first of all, for she is ambitious.... +You mean to see her before you go, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Baird did not know why he said it; he had meant to go without seeing +Ann. But, from the depths of him, the "Yes" came, resonant with +determination.</p> + +<p>Judith grew dead white, for what she meant to say next was of tragically +serious import. And it was not jealousy alone that actuated her. She +spoke very slowly and clearly. "I'm sorry to hurt you, Nickolas—I'm +certain you don't know—but if you really mean to persist, if you intend +to try to persuade Ann to marry you, you ought to know. She may risk not +telling you, she may not tell any man whom she wants to marry, and let +him in for disgrace in the future, for any amount of undreamed-of +trouble.... Ann is not Coats Penniman's daughter, Nickolas.... Edward, +my brother, was Ann's father."</p> + +<p>Judith was looking directly into Baird's eyes, and she saw how curiously +they widened and grayed. She watched the blood drain from his face. In +spite of the passions warring in her, Judith's love for Baird was a very +complete thing. She suffered as she watched him. She felt that she had +hurt him terribly.</p> + +<p>Baird moved at last, looked down at the floor. "I can't realize it—at +once—all it means—" he muttered.</p> + +<p>Judith continued. "You see, Nickolas, Edward was only a boy, he was only +twenty-one, and he was madly in love with Marian Penniman—and she with +him. She was a very pretty girl, with Ann's same dangerous allure about +her. You know the family quarrel? They met secretly—my father knew +nothing about it, neither did Mr. Penniman—until it was too late. +Edward was a nice boy, he loved Marian and he wanted to marry her. There +was fearful trouble. Mr. Penniman and my father quarreled violently. My +father swore that no Westmore should marry a Penniman, and Mr. Penniman +was as determined that no daughter of his should owe anything to a +Westmore. Edward would have run away with her if he could, but Mr. +Penniman guarded his house with a shotgun, and between them all they +married Marian to her cousin, Coats Penniman, just to save her good +name. Coats loved her—he honestly wanted to help her, so it was a +marriage only in name. It was a wretched business. It killed Marian, I +believe, and it almost killed Edward." Judith's voice quivered with deep +feeling. "Poor Edward!... And, in the end, he's sacrificed for his +family's sins—"</p> + +<p>Baird had heard Judith's explanation, his senses mechanically grasped +what she said, while he pondered the thing which was of such tremendous +import to him. When Judith had finished, he was still pale, but +collected enough.</p> + +<p>He looked very steadily at Judith when he asked his questions. "Did +Garvin know Ann's relationship to him?"</p> + +<p>"No. Mr. Penniman, Coats and Sue, and Edward and myself—we were the +only ones who knew.... And Ben Brokaw knew. I think Ben guessed rather +than knew—way back in the beginning. And from the beginning he's been +like a father to Ann, I mean in feeling—much more so than Coats."</p> + +<p>"And Ann didn't know?"</p> + +<p>"Not till Edward told her. Ben says Edward told her, for the first time, +on the afternoon of his death.... I don't know just what Edward had in +mind for her—certainly to take her away from the farm, and perhaps to +adopt her. I know he would never have made the truth known—he would +guard the Westmore name too carefully for that."</p> + +<p>There was coldness in Judith's assertion, a discounting of Ann. Judith +Westmore had the southern aristocrat's pitiless contempt for the +illegitimate. It was the heritage of the negro, the curse of the South, +but why think about it? Nothing would have compelled her to countenance +Ann.</p> + +<p>Baird understood, but he made no comment. He prepared to go, and smiled +when he took Judith's hand. "Thank you for telling me—you have done me +a kindness. It's settled that we next meet in Paris, and happily, I +hope.... By the way, I must have your address."</p> + +<p>Judith gave it to him. She wished that she could keep him long enough to +smooth away the last few painful moments. It had certainly been a shock +to him, but it would be salutary. He was very cool-headed; he would +think it over, and from all angles; and he would not go to Ann.</p> + +<p>When Baird had circled the lawn and had reached the road below, he +looked back. Judith still stood where he had left her, on the steps of +the portico. She waved to him, and he lifted his hat. Then his eyes +traveled over Westmore. It was a beautiful old place.... And the proudly +arched brows of Edward Stratton Westmore, first Westmore of Westmore, +had been transmitted unto Ann!</p> + +<p>When he turned to open country, Baird's face was set and resolute.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="XXXIX" id="XXXIX"></a>XXXIX</h2> + +<h3>"WILL YOU GO WITH ME?"</h3> + + +<p>Baird walked slowly down the cedar avenue, for he was waiting. Then he +chose a spot beneath the trees, where the branches hung so low that they +shut out the country, and sat down. By leaning forward he could look up +and down the avenue, otherwise he was shut away from the world, canopied +by a leafy tent. And the evening was closing in early.</p> + +<p>Sue had told Baird that Ann would return from the village by way of the +avenue. As he waited, Baird remembered the first time he had ridden up +between the cedars, light-heartedly determined to discover Ann. That had +been a boy's quest. He was still seeking to discover Ann, a man now, +anxious and tensely determined.</p> + +<p>It seemed a very long time before he saw her at the end of the avenue, +driving slowly, her cape about her shoulders, but with hood thrown back. +He saw the black and white contrasts of face and hair first, before her +features grew distinct. She was leaning back, with reins lax and eyes +lowered. Even when he came out into the road, she did not look up; he +had time in which to see what the last three months had done to her, +that they had brought back much of the old roundness and softness to +chin and lips, and fulness and warmth to her throat. The beautiful arch +and sweep of her brows, her Westmore inheritance, was even more +pronounced. Ben was right, she had grown more arrestingly beautiful.</p> + +<p>Baird let the horse pass him, he was abreast of the buggy when she +looked up and saw him. Her convulsive jerk of the reins stopped the +horse, and Baird came to her, looking directly into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ann Westmore," he said.</p> + +<p>She sat motionless for a full moment, then she answered, very low, "You +know, then."</p> + +<p>"And you thought that would matter to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The color swept into his face. "So that's why you sent me away, and +would have none of me all summer!" He drew back. "Will you come with me +now, where I can talk to you, or will you drive on with your Westmore +and Penniman pride and leave me to travel alone?"</p> + +<p>Ann looked down at the reins, then up, straight up the avenue, a long +enough moment to vision the future. Her thoughts, whatever they were, +drew the color of surprise from her face. Then she looked at Baird, lips +parted a little and eyes blank, like one frightened by what she had +seen.</p> + +<p>"Will you come?" Baird repeated.</p> + +<p>"Yes." She dropped the reins and moved vaguely, as if to get out on the +other side, but Baird reached in and lifted her, held her up, as he had +once before, long enough to look steadily into her troubled eyes.</p> + +<p>Then he set her down. "Come this way—I'll take my answer, whatever it's +to be, here—not in the middle of the road."</p> + +<p>He guided her to the spot he had chosen. "We'll fight it out here," he +said in the same controlled way, though his eyes were alight.</p> + +<p>Ann complied in silence, not confusedly, absently rather, as if too +completely engrossed by her thoughts either to speak or to object. She +sat with hands lax and eyes vague.</p> + +<p>Baird studied her, trying to determine just how to begin: by telling her +the truth about himself first of all, he decided, though he longed to +set that aside until he had captured the one all-important thing.</p> + +<p>He began abruptly. "Judith told me about your father and mother, the +whole history, and I hoped that was the reason you had sent me +away—that you thought it would matter to me.... I can match you history +for history: my father and mother found each other much as yours did, in +spite of their different religions, which was quite as insurmountable a +difficulty as Edward and your mother faced. My mother was a Jewess and +my father an Irish Catholic. They lived together two years, and then, +because I had come, they went before a justice of the peace and gave me +my father's name. To their way of thinking they weren't a bit more +married than they had ever been. Love had married them and they had +clung to each other in spite of everything. I've often thought, when +I've seen the children a loveless marriage has brought into the world, +that I've had the best of it—that those children must be wanting in +some way. I never fully realized how much the mere legality of a +marriage means to people like your people until I listened to Judith +this afternoon.... So, you see, Ann, it doesn't matter to me. It matters +a good deal more to me that you've suffered because of the narrow +prejudices of your people. You told the collie, when you hugged and +kissed him, in the barn, that first day I talked to you, that he and Ben +were the only ones that loved you. You have gone hungry and +thirsty—that's been the trouble with you."</p> + +<p>Ann's vagueness had slipped from her; she was quivering from head to +foot. "I know it!" she said. "I'm always wanting to be loved an' trying +to make people love me, and it's led to fearful trouble. It drove Garvin +mad and it took my father—away—from me—" Her voice failed her.</p> + +<p>Baird put his arm about her, bent and kissed her hands. "Don't think +about all that, Ann. You love me—I <i>know</i> you do—there's nothing +between us now."</p> + +<p>But she held him off. "Yes, there is!... Let me tell you: I let Garvin +love me—I thought for a time that I loved him. But it was just that I +wanted so badly for somebody to love me, an' I know now that the way I +felt to him was like I would have felt if I had known he was my father's +brother—just that I was fond of him an' sorry for him. I had to tell +him so and—" She broke off with a shudder, then went on with head hung. +"I've felt differently to you.... Back at the time you kissed me—I +loved it. When you used to come an' talk to me, even then I liked +you—sitting close by me—even while I was worrying over Garvin an' not +knowing what to do, an' at the same time caring more for Edward than for +any one else in the world, just <i>feeling</i> that he was my father, an' not +knowin' why I loved him so much. That night you met me on the spring +house path and asked me if I was engaged to anybody, I told you I'd +rather you stayed away, because I was angry at myself for feelin' to you +the way I did. I felt <i>hateful</i> caring for three men at the same time, +like I was doing. Then when I read your letters this summer—"</p> + +<p>Baird was not to be denied any longer. He pulled her hands from his +shoulders, drew her forcibly into his arms, and lifting her bowed head, +found her lips.</p> + +<p>He kissed away resistance, her efforts to speak, plead and demanded +until he won response, arms that circled his neck and clasped him, and +then her long and passionate kiss. Even when her arms slid from his neck +and her head dropped back against his shoulder, he held her imprisoned. +He put back her fallen hair and kissed her brow and her cheek and her +throat, until the chill of something striven for and still unpossessed +touched him.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her. "What is it?" he asked. "You love me—why aren't +you happy?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I do love you—but—"</p> + +<p>She tried to free herself, and he let her go, for he was sobered by the +pallor that had replaced the hot flush in her cheeks. "What's the +difficulty, Ann—tell me!" he demanded. "It's not going to make any +difference, whatever it is—but tell me."</p> + +<p>"It's something I can't tell, but it may bring disgrace on me an' that +will be disgrace on you—if I let you marry me."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing you have done—I know that!" Baird said quickly. "What +other people have done doesn't matter to me.... You mean the true +inwardness of all that tragedy last spring?... Why, Ann, I've always +known that half that story hadn't been told."</p> + +<p>"I was the cause of it all.... Any day it may come out who I am and +worse things than that for you to bear. That was the reason I made you +go away an' wouldn't answer your letters."</p> + +<p>"Westmore and Penniman pride—there it is again!" Baird said. "I don't +want your secret, dear. I think there's not much you could tell me that +I haven't already guessed—in spite of Ben." He circled her with his +arms. "Do you think that anything could drive me away from you +now—after that kiss of yours?... Tell me again that you love me! Tell +me!"</p> + +<p>Her answer was a drooping glance and her slow smile, which Baird stole +from her lips. "Ann, you're here in my arms and I'm holding you close, +but I've a queer feeling that I'm clasping something that may slip away +any moment—it makes me want to hold you tighter. It won't be like that +by and by—when you're all mine?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she said slowly. "I'll always be wanting to be loved an' +not thinkin' so much about whether I'm lovin' or not.... I know it was +like heaven when Edward told me he was my father and how much he loved +me. I'd been wanting to be loved like that—all my life—"</p> + +<p>Baird pondered her answer for a moment.... She had not pretended; she +had told the truth about herself; the woman in her answered to the man +in him, but there was, deep in her, a capacity for loving that he had +not yet touched. It was guarded by hesitancy, elusiveness, and, not +selfishness exactly, nor timidity, but an indefinable inaccessibility +that was simply Ann. Judith was more forceful and less complex.... +Perhaps if Ann had striven over him as he had striven over her, the +thing he wanted to grasp would be his. Edward had come nearer to the +indefinable thing than he had.... And yet, it was her inaccessible +quality that had drawn him, and that made him hold her the tighter now.</p> + +<p>Baird remembered something Ben had written: "... I ain't no wise judge +of women, but I've noticed that some of them is just naturally +giving-hearted, and some has to grow up to it. The kind that has to grow +up to it generally loves most to be loved. They seems to grow up to +loving by being loved, that is, if they're loved the right way." Ben had +defined Ann very accurately.... But how was he to discover the right way +of loving her? Certainly not until he possessed her.</p> + +<p>Baird looked down at Ann. "Probably it's your nature not to give much, +and I love to struggle for all I get. You're all quivering nerves, a +mixture of snow and sunshine, and I've no nerves to speak of—I'm all +fight. I think we're suited to each other." He spoke decidedly. "Ann, +they're sending me to Europe; I'm going day after to-morrow—will you go +with me? Will you marry me to-morrow, and come away from all this?"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a long time. "I'd rather wait—till you come back," +she said finally.</p> + +<p>It was the answer he expected. She was very true to herself, and he +liked it. "I'll be gone for a good many months," he said quietly. "What +will you do while I'm gone—stay here?"</p> + +<p>"I—they want me to go to school.... I can't stay here. My father wanted +me to be educated—I'm so ignorant. He told me he meant to make a +wonderful woman of me. That I would grow to be a more charmin' an' +wonderful woman than Judith.... But those things he thought because he +loved me so much." She spoke bleakly.</p> + +<p>"You'll be a deal more wonderful than Judith, because you have a quality +she doesn't possess," Baird said. "Do you want to go to school, Ann?"</p> + +<p>There was actual terror in her reply. "No. They'd all be +strangers—there's nobody would care anything about me."</p> + +<p>There it was, her one great need, the thing upon which he must build. +Baird kissed her breath away. "You sweet reluctant thing! Do you think +I'd go away without you!" His voice suddenly deepened. "Ann, you want to +be loved and I want to love. I've been <i>hungry</i> for you, literally +starved. I <i>want</i> you—you can't understand how much I want you. You'll +travel, and you can study, and I'll be satisfied just to study you.... +Come with me, Ann!"</p> + +<p>"An' you don't mind taking me and trouble both together—for there may +be big trouble?'</p> + +<p>"I've told you—I'll take anything, so you come with it."</p> + +<p>The dusk had gathered rapidly; close as they were to each other, their +faces had grown indistinct. Ann's answer was groping hands lifted to +him, a pressure of slim fingers on his neck. But when he tried to kiss +her she bent her head, smothering his caresses with her hair. "I must +say 'yes' my own way," she objected.</p> + +<p>"Well—say it your way," Baird whispered, husky from emotion.</p> + +<p>She lifted her face and brushed his cheek with her lashes. "A +butterfly's kiss," she said with soft gaiety.</p> + +<p>"You've pretty ways—dangerous ways—" Baird said chokingly. "I'll love +you too much—that'll be the trouble." He strove for control. "Ann—do +you remember what you said to the stars, the night I didn't know my own +heart—when you told me what love was?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember."</p> + +<p>"Repeat it, won't you—I want to hear you say it."</p> + +<p>Ann's slurred syllables again made music of it: "Love is wantin' +somebody for all your own—so badly you feel sure you can't live without +them ... an' at the same time bein' such good friends with them that you +care more about makin' them happy than being happy yourself."</p> + +<p>"There's a bit of the Golden Rule in that," Baird said. "That's what +makes it difficult. Do you think we can live up to it, Ann?"</p> + +<p>Ann answered him to the best of her ability.... Years later she answered +the same question with a better understanding.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONCLUSION" id="CONCLUSION"></a>CONCLUSION</h2> + + +<p>Is it permissible to steal a fragment from later history in order to +elucidate what has gone before? It is a responsibility the fictional +historian must sometimes take.</p> + +<p>Judith and Ann and Baird are of the present. Life has woven them into +subsequent history, drawing from a skein as tangled as was the skein of +thirteen years ago. The fragment I pilfer is the conclusion of a letter +from Judith to Ann, penned in our day, and part of another story:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I have written you a few facts, Ann. I have one more thing to +tell you, something that reaches back beyond these years of +mutual antagonism.... The day after Nickolas Baird married you, +Coats Penniman came to see me, and told me the following: that +Sue had found certain letters of Garvin's to you which gave him +the erroneous impression that Garvin had wronged you. Then he +went, hot from reading them, to the Mine Banks, thinking he +would find you with Garvin. That he met Garvin at the first +ore-pit and accused him, and that Garvin denied it. That he +gave Garvin the lie and they drew their pistols, that they +fired, and that Garvin wounded him in the shoulder, disabling +his pistol arm. That Garvin had leveled to fire again, when, +suddenly, Edward appeared and tried to hold Garvin back, and +that Garvin's pistol went off. Coats thought the shot had gone +wild until he saw Edward drop. He said that Garvin laughed +wildly then and ran back into the Banks.</p> + +<p>"Coats said that Edward had passed instantly. He realized then +some of the complications that were certain to follow, and that +he went directly home, and that Sue drove him into the city, +where he had his wound dressed.</p> + +<p>"Coats said that he had had no intention of shirking his +responsibility, that he had simply waited for events to shape +themselves, and that what followed made any action on his part +unnecessary, but that he had determined to come to me with his +confession as soon as he felt that your future was assured. He +told me to proceed against him if I thought fit, that he would +face any charge I made. I thought I had paid my last debt to +Westmore, but I was mistaken; I told Coats to take his secret +back with him and keep it.</p> + +<p>"And I have kept it until to-day. Now I turn it over to you, +together with my confession: for the sake of my family's good +name, I did the thing that saved you from disgrace; I saved one +brother at, what seemed to me, a lesser expense to the other.</p> + +<p>"Take what I have told you and add it to your already full +experience of lives inextricably tangled because of you. +Wherever you have cast your net, you have brought in a heavy +haul.... <span class="smcap">Judith.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>And from Ann's reply also a fragment:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"... and what you have told me is not new to me. Coats told me +long ago, while I still lay ill. Coats told me, and dear old +Ben told me all he knew—I made them tell me, for I knew that +my father had never forsaken me—<i>of his own free will</i>.</p> + +<p>"And, Judith, I also know just why you have written all this to +me. Throughout these years it has been a Westmore pitted +against a nobody's child. But I feel no bitterness, only an +immense interest, for out of it all has grown a wonderful +thing.... <span class="smcap">Ann.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody's Child, by Elizabeth Dejeans + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY'S CHILD *** + +***** This file should be named 36531-h.htm or 36531-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/5/3/36531/ + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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